Mihi whakatau

We lined up in the small parking lot outside the Assembly Hall at Wainui Beach School, all four of us bundled against the autumn wind coming off the Pacific behind us. Five other families also lined up, most with small children who had just turned 5 and were starting school for the first time. We were quiet except a few hushed mutterings. At the front of the line were two older students from the school, standing side by side facing the doors.

At a word from a teacher, they led us into the hall and up onto a small stage at the front where we sat in two rows of chairs. Seated in an orderly grid on the floor were probably 100 students. They all faced forward quietly. With a Maori command from the girl in the middle of the front row, they stood as one, hands on their hips. They chanted a call and response in Maori, the girl in the middle leading each call. They sang multiple songs, some in Maori, some in English, almost entirely self-led except accompaniment from a teacher on guitar. They sang with passion and surprising precision, filling the open room with a sound by turns joyful, solemn, powerful, and inviting. We sat enthralled. When they had finished, they sat as one on command and remained still, looking up at us, serious yet kind.

Though I only know a handful of Maori words, the meaning was clear. We had entered the hall as strangers, foreigners, and they had welcomed us into their community. We were still guests, uncertain and unsettled, but we had a sense of belonging. This was a mihi whakatau, a Maori welcome ceremony for all the new students at the school and their whanau--their families. Here, children start school right after their 5th birthday instead of waiting until the next school year, so many of the children being welcomed that day were just beginning school. But for us and one other family, as new arrivals from overseas, there was a sense in which this was welcoming us not only to N's new school, but also to this community of Wainui Beach that has at its heart this extraordinary little school.

The principal of the school may have said a few words of welcome in the ceremony--I honestly don't remember. We later spoke with her and she was kind and welcoming. But what I remember most is the faces of those children, focused, intent, engaged with the ceremony and with us.

"Ceremony focuses attention so that attention becomes intention," writes Robin Wall Kimmerer in her marvelous book Braiding Sweetgrass. Ceremonies have existed in every human society, but she notes that Indigenous ceremonies have often been particularly focused on reciprocity, on creating community amongst people and communion with the land. Indeed, in the weeks since our mihi whakatau, I have continued to marvel at the warm welcome we receive throughout this community--from kids at school, teachers, other parents, even casual conversations in line at a cafe or the grocery store. "Ceremony is a vehicle for belonging—to a family, to a people, and to the land," writes Kimmerer.

This is a country that is still wrestling with how to incorporate its identities, how to acknowledge the centrality of Maori people and the effects of generations of colonialism. As a newcomer, I don't pretend to understand the complexities and nuance of that history. But they have come a lot farther than many other countries in restoring Indigenous language and culture to a place of dignity and importance in the national fabric. This is part of what drew me to this land, to witness this ongoing conversation and to learn from Maori wisdom, especially here on the East Cape of the North Island where Maori traditions are essential. In a country where less than 20% of its people identify as Maori, Tairawhiti stands out as one of the few regions that is still populated by a Maori majority.

The first step in learning from our community here is to become a part of it. Even now, one month since our arrival, our family has a different feel. This morning, N was able to participate in a mihi whakatau welcoming some new families that have arrived since we did. What a privilege to be able to share the welcome, to extend the sense of community. We are learning a new way of being, a new approach to our daily lives, our interactions with other people, our relationship with the land, our understanding of wellbeing. There were many reasons we decided to undertake this move, but an overarching theme is to explore a different mode of living than capitalist colonialism that views every object or person or opportunity as a resource to be profitized.

We arrived in Gisborne on the 28th of April, exhausted from our travel but exhilarated to finally experience this place we had thought so much about during our months of preparation. The travel was as draining as you might expect--it began with rapid tests at a pharmacy in order to obtain "travel passes" that were required to board our flight to Auckland. We tried not to think about the logistical nightmare that would have resulted if any of us tested positive.

A 2.5-hour flight from Seattle to L.A. went without a hitch, though again it required rides from two generous friends to get all of us and our luggage to the airport. After a trek through the bowels of LAX from one end to the other, we finally found our gate, the only one operating in an otherwise vacant terminal. We were not granted boarding passes for the flight to Auckland until we had shown the gate agent for Air New Zealand our passports and "travel passes" and she had verified our visa.

As I wait in the boarding area for a flight, I often wonder how many fellow travelers share my destination and how many might be traveling on to other places, how many are going home, or going on vacation, or visiting friends or family. This time, as we looked around the gate area, I knew everyone there was going to New Zealand, many going back home for the first time in years, some going for the first time like us. But I knew the country was not yet open to tourists, so everyone there was going for some special purpose, and everyone there had gone through the same hurdles to get approved to travel, to demonstrate their vaccination status, to get their negative COVID test. I had never felt more connected to my fellow travelers as with this group that had come from all over to gather in LAX before crossing the Pacific.

The Air New Zealand home screen in the seatback featured our region of Tairawhiti

For the flight, we had booked seats Air New Zealand calls "sky couch", hoping it would allow us to get some sleep during the 13-hour flight and arrive somewhat ready for our day when we deplaned at 5:45 am in Auckland. With sky couch, the 4 of us had 2 rows of window seats that were equipped with an extra seat cushion that raised up from behind our legs and locked into place to create a bench that extended from seatback to seatback all the way across the row. I had hoped we'd be able to have the kids cuddle up in one row and E and I in the other, but the plane was uncomfortably warm and the kids couldn't manage to get comfortable. In the end, we split up the kids, E with N and O with me. Somehow, O folded up his long limbs and managed to fall asleep, while I just tried to stay out of his way as he tossed and turned. E and N never did sleep, and watched movies and played games the entire trip across the Pacific. Despite the best service I ever remember receiving on an airline (multiple warm meals and kind, helpful flight attendants) we arrived with only one of us having slept at all. Needless to say, I was a dreading getting through customs with our tired brains and excessive baggage.

Perhaps because we were such an early arrival, we breezed through passport control without a wait (and even managed to get SIM cards and mobile plans for our phones). We collected our luggage on two trolleys and made our way through customs, where they took our hiking boots and N's riding boots for a thorough cleaning with biosecurity to ensure we didn't accidentally import invasive species, then transferred to the domestic terminal for the last leg of our journey to Gisborne.

There is one communal waiting area for domestic flights out of Auckland (sadly overseen by a bright Krispy Kreme donut stand), so we waited with everyone else as they called out boarding announcements for flights to other cities before it was time for our flight. The kids were thrilled to board a plane from the tarmac for the first time. Soon we were airborne for our first real glimpse of this land of Aotearoa.

The scenery did not disappoint--sparkling bays and coves carved from rugged coastlines, acres of forest dotted with lakes, and the silhouettes of volcanoes visible in the distance. After 45 minutes, we left the coastline, banked over the ocean, and then this landscape came into view that I immediately recognized. I had only ever seen it in Google maps or street view or online photos. Ahead of us arced a broad scimitar of beach bordered on either side by looming headlands and behind it, the flats of the city itself. As we came in lower, I could see our little town of Wainui Beach behind Kaiti Hill, each feature more rugged and dramatic than I had allowed myself to envision.

We followed the waves into shore, coasting in just over the dunes and onto the runway, then stepped out onto the tarmac. I turned at least two full circles taking in the hills all around, the verdant green that reminded me of our 2 glorious weeks in Ireland. Already I couldn't believe that we would be calling this place home.

The airport is small--it reminds me of Walla Walla airport with its single gate and baggage claim. We were met by an American that E had befriended online in our preparations and had been invaluable in helping us plan as she had done the same move just a few years prior. Two colleagues from work also met us (unexpectedly) and provided a loaner car that we can use for the first 3 months and helped us haul all our luggage. They had bought groceries to get us started so we didn't have to run out to the store right away and helped us get settled into our new house. People here are truly generous, especially to us new arrivals.

Housing is scarce in New Zealand, and Gisborne in particular, so we feel fortunate to have found a furnished rental just steps from the beach. The kitchen was fully stocked, we had clean sheets and towels, and the owner had even made sure to leave kids books and games to keep us entertained. We have 3 chickens who eat our food scraps and produce 1-2 eggs a day, as well as marvelous fruit trees and a gardening space that she had partly planted and partly left for us to plant as we desired. Perhaps most important of all, we have central heat, which is a rarity here but so helpful as we move through fall into the winter months.

Before we could finish unpacking, we were drawn to the beach, which we can access through a path in the backyard that brings us to the outlet of Wainui Stream. This spot has provided hours of play for the kids, and we can walk for at least an hour along the beach in either direction. The water is chilly this time of year--50s to 60s F--but the kids and I have already been out in it a bit. This beach is known for its surfing breaks, so it is a little rough for swimming, but the surfers provide lots of entertainment. Many days you can watch riders on horseback trot along the sand.

Despite the time change and lack of sleep on the flight over, we settled into our schedule here quite quickly, maybe because we didn't ask much of ourselves, focusing on setting up the house and exploring our neighborhood. After two days, we ventured out for a small festival just up the coast from us.

After a stunning drive up the coast along State Highway 35, we arrived at Tatapouri Bay, a small enclave of huts, cabins, and glamping tents clustered along another stunning arc of sand. This beach is protected by a rocky reef that stretches far out into the bay, and the result is a network of tide pools filled with anemones, crabs, snails, and countless hermit crabs. At the center of the campground at Tatapouri Bay is a cafe with a large lawn and outdoor seating area that was the locus of the mini festival. There was live music from a surprisingly multicultural band with lots of Latin and island influences, a Brazilian food truck, amazing bagels and coffee and tea, and incredible berry ice cream. The kids spent hours on the beach between the sand and the tide pools and the stream that coursed across the strand, and E and I even got to dance a bit to the music.

Though the food was delicious and the music was grooving and the setting was spectacular, I was most struck by the sense of community. I looked around and saw no one on their phone. Everyone was fully engaged in conversation or the music or the landscape. There was a sense of presence, of relaxed but intentional attention. No one seemed hurried or distracted, no one was bothered by the long wait for food. I can't tell yet if it is a product of the small rural town or the surfing mentality or Kiwi culture in general, but again and again I have noticed that people here seem more connected to the present and to their surroundings than I am used to.

In fact since arriving, I have been struck by how present I have been in my daily living. It has taken me a month to get to writing this first reflection because I have been so fully engaged with life. I have had a growing sense for years that this intentional connection to the present is essential to fulfillment, but often found it difficult to maintain in the busyness of life in the US.

Here I have been able to be outdoors every day, fully engaged in the splendor of the land. I have been able to be physically active, engaging my body. Most days include playing music, especially now that we have a piano for N and a saxophone for O, as well as ukuleles for all of us. N can walk (or scooter) to and from school, and we love accompanying her because we can meet and chat with other parents. And, because our lives are not overscheduled, we don't feel pressure to get off to the next activity or get started on homework, and we can actually relax and have a conversation. The kids rarely have homework here, and though they have found some activities (basketball and horseback riding and chess club and dance), the schedules are reasonable. No one seems to be trying to turn their kid into the next NBA star or American Idol. The emphasis is on fun and personal growth and teamwork.

Scootering to school with the morning light on the hills behind

Without homework and activities filling our afternoons, the kids have time to get together with friends, play on the beach, or just read a book. And my work obligations are reasonable, allowing me to be home in time to not just eat dinner with the family, but even help with the cooking. When N received a certificate at the school assembly last friday morning, I was able to attend. I have helped coach O's basketball team and usually get to observe N's horseback riding. She's even trying to talk us into doing a family lesson, though I'm not sure I'm ready to get on a horse.

Riding in Lysnar Valley with Wainui Beach in the background

The culture around work in the US is so toxic that many of us feel guilty or ashamed when we take more time off than we "should". Here, many people surf before work in the mornings or after they get off, and colleagues celebrate the wonderful weekends they enjoyed. There is a recognition that engaging with family and community and nature and physical activity and music and art enriches all of our lives, including our work lives.

I imagine I will have much more to say about my work here over time. I am still observing and understanding and adjusting. For now, it is a joy to get back to having the practice of medicine at the center of my work. I don't waste most of my day on documentation and coding and billing. I am not asked to meet productivity goals. If a patient is complicated or upset or just wants to tell an entertaining story, I have time to listen. I do only those things that will help the wellbeing of the patient. I am not asked to satisfy the arcane requirements of insurance companies and administrators. I don't have to consider whether the patient can afford the care they need or come up with workarounds when they can't. I am fully present with the patient and their family. So far, the response has been nothing but gratitude, even when I have little to offer medically. There are still daily challenges, many new to me here, some the familiar limitations of Western medicine. We are a small hospital in a rural district with limited resources. But so far, this is the fulfilling practice of medicine I sought when I chose this profession.

I feel so grateful to be here, to be fully engaged in this life and this work, to be welcomed into this community and to this land. At night, I stand on the back deck and watch the Southern stars, amazed that I am looking into a new part of the universe for the first time.

Fluffy Ducks

Arrived, for now