On dealing with loss and change

It's been a crazy few years.  First came Covid, and we had to learn and adapt.  And just as we started to get the hang of the pandemic we had unprecedented flooding in Auckland - unlike anything seen in mine, or even my parents, lifetimes.  Just over a week later, Cyclone Gabrielle tore through the North Island of Aotearoa, destroying our whenua.  Displacing 10,000 people and countless animals from their homes.

It's difficult to quantify the loss.

Damage near our local awa in Henderson - the log and silt aren't usually there

How I feel right now is heavy.  Bone deep tired. 

But I also feel gratitude.  Not only to have personally come out unscathed, but to see the level of whanaungatanga within our local communities.  The flooding was so sudden here it was difficult to process, but people started helping each other from the minute they realised how serious this was.  When I went to drop clothes around to our closest drop-in centre so many items of clothing and bedding had already been donated there wasn't room for more.  I asked what was still needed and bought some of those items to drop off instead.  Many people I've spoken to did the same.  We do not live in a wealthy area but we live in an area where people will give the shirts from their backs. 

We live in an area rich in aroha.  It is humbling to witness this during times like these.

Flooding in Wairoa after Cyclone Gabrielle

Processing what has happened locally has been difficult enough, but the impact of Cyclone Gabrielle on Hawke's Bay is hard to fathom.  Having seen the damage in our own backyard - the silted walkways, the downed fences and uprooted trees, and having spoken to those who have lost so much, I have some idea.  But here it's not all our fences.  We have not all lost our homes.  The level of loss in Esk Valley is immense.  The footage is hard to watch not because we want to ignore it, but because we feel the pain of thousands.  I know they will recover from this, but right now it feels overwhelming.

The physical level of recovery will take decades.  Not just to return our whenua to a healthier state, but to put infrastructure in place to ensure this level of destruction doesn't happen again.  Our local councils needs to revisit water management systems.  They need to look at increase housing levels more sustainably.  They need to reconsider flood-plains management.  We need to assess our rules around forestry slash.  And we need to plant more trees.  Not just to replace the thousands we've lost to the floods and cyclones, but to help manage the level of future flooding.  We have shortsightedly cut down too many trees to put in housing.  Planning and putting in these trees will take time.  And trees take time to grow.

As do kumara.

While the most recent series of climate events has truly rocked our confidence in the familiar, they are by no means the first events.  The biggest reason for the rising costs of fresh fruit and vegetables in Aotearoa is climate change.

It wasn't so long ago that Auckland suffered one of its most severe droughts in recorded history.  In February 2020 Auckland broke the record for the most days recorded without rain - it did not rain for 40 days*.  The impacts of a drought don't just effect our produce - they impact the wellness of our livestock, which in turn effects the prices of dairy, lamb and beef as the season renders lower yields than anticipated.  And there are many, many other industries affected which impacts pricing of groceries.

Many are happy to complain about the rising cost of living.  Many are happy to blame this on the government.  But just as many still seem uncomfortable connecting this cost with climate change.  That this is to be expected.  That we should have started preparing for this a long time ago.

But in fairness that preparation is hard because changing how we do things is hard.  For many, it's incomprehensible.  We know this from the recent freedom rallies.  I believe change is hardest for those at extremes - for those constantly negotiating change due to circumstance and those who are seldom required to change.

Foraged from the local bush supermarket

Even for me - a person very used to adapting to change - managing this constant state of flux isn't easy.  Growing up poor, moving house a lot, living in isolated places are all conducive to learning how to adapt.  Having this experience and knowledge is a blessing in times like these, but change still takes a toll.

Like I said before, I'm tired.

I'm tired of being a responsible adult.  Of ensuring we have plans A, B and C in place and set to go.  Of thinking of which documents I have yet to photograph and store on the portable hard drive in the grab bag.  I'm tired of reassuring our kids after the emergency mobile alert goes off on my phone.

Honestly, there are days I just want to quit adulting and curl up with a bag of Burger Rings.

And I feel so much guilt for feeling like this.  Because others have lost literally everything.  And these are not just faces on the TV these are people in my community.  I have workmates whose homes have flooded.  I have customers who've shown me footage of the flood waters completely covering the area around their homes.  The worst our household suffered was a three hour power cut.  We are truly lucky.

But I am trying to work through that guilt.

Because while we have been extremely lucky, we have still suffered a loss.

A small cabbage tree from a local park ripped from the ground

I believe regardless of circumstance, most of those living in the affected areas have suffered a loss.  My mother, who was driving during the flood, has lost her sense of confidence with driving.  She gets noticeably anxious when the rain starts to get heavier.  My cousin, who's wedding was the weekend after Cyclone Gabrielle hit had to sit with the knowledge that the roads north may not be open in time for anyone to attend.  We did not see our resident ducks for over a week.  I thought they had all drowned***.  I see people most days for whom there's been little direct impact, but their nervous disposition, their desperation to talk about the flooding with anyone, is a clear response to trauma.

These losses are not the same as the loss of a family member or a home.  But they are still losses.  And they still leave a mark.

What I think we need is a massive tangi. A space where we can collectively voice our grief.  Where we can mourn our losses whether it's an uprooted favourite tree, access to our local gym, or our lost tomato crops.  Where we can share our fears for the future, for our children and our communities.  Where we can wail and beat our chests and admit that it's ok to feel scared.  It's ok to feel sad.  It's ok not to have all of the answers.

Because maybe if we acknowledge that pain, we can start working through it.  Through knowing our pain we can work through our fear and then maybe we can start coming up with some solutions.

And maybe we'll feel less tired.

The day some of our visiting ducks returned home.  We were beyond thankful

* Not all of Auckland - we definitely had a very light rain at our place around the 30 day mark - but less than 1mm of rainfall in a day is still considered to be 'dry'.

** We are not in that position currently.  We are extremely fortunate in that respect.  But I know I can do it if I need to.

*** Thankfully, this wasn't the case [we've only lost a few] but it was very upsetting at the time.

On remembering Huckle

Where else is it appropriate to write a memorial of your cat if not in a blog?

Sadly, our thirteen year lovely ginger cat Huckle was hit by a car on our shared driveway, and died at the end of February.  It was a horrible way to die, and came as a very big shock though I am grateful to have been with him when he went.  All I could do was stroke his head and say 'You've been a good cat Huckle, you can let go now'.  But rather than remember that last day, I thought it'd be good to remember the rest of the days before.  Because Huckle was a most excellent cat.

When I was about 20 I lived alone in a flat in Helensville above a shop.  I liked living alone, but having never done so before felt a little lonely.  So when my Aunt and Uncle's cat had a litter of kittens I chose one to come and live with me (Tanith).  Whilst living here a lot of crazy stuff happened and my anxiety got the worst it's ever been (I couldn't leave the house and had to leave my job) so I moved home.

We'd decided to let Tanith have one litter of kittens before getting her spayed and, cats being cats, she was knocked up before we knew it and gave birth to two sets of twin boys (two separate sacs).  Two were a pale champagne colour, and two were ginger and stripy, one of which was very, very small and didn't make it.

  

But his twin did and my boyfriend at the time decided he wanted him, so he named him Huckle.  Apparently we told my Mum and brother it was Chinese for orange.  Huckle is not 'Chinese' for orange, although Vincent would have said that, and I would have backed him up, thinking (like him) it's funny to pretend he knew about his Chinese heritage.  Many children from the 80's will recognise Huckle Cat as a character from the books of the beloved Richard Scarry.  Richard Scarry was American.

Huckle never went to live with Vincent as his parents wouldn't let cats in the house and he would have had to be an outside cat, which I disapproved of (we are very much bed-cat people).  So he stayed with Mum, along with his brothers (one of whom was promised to a cousin, who also couldn't take him).  When I moved out again, I took Tanith with me as post-kitten she'd become a total bitch cat.  We decided to keep the boys together as they had never lived apart, and relieve them of their bitch mother.  Sadly (for them), at a point in the future I moved home and we decided Tanith would stay at Mum's regardless as she didn't cope with change well.

So Huckle grew up in Helensville with my Mum and his Mum and his brothers.  Sadly, his brothers were not so nice to him.  And when Mum got other cats (by accident), the other cats weren't nice to him either.  We decided it must be because he was too pretty and they were all jealous.  Only one of the cats was ever nice to Huckle, which was sad because Huckle really wanted to be friends with everyone, and was very affectionate toward animals and people alike.

I loved Huckle and he loved me and he would always play with me differently to everyone else.  I'd taught Tanith to jump up and rub her face on my fingers when I clicked them.  I taught Huckle the same, but instead of rubbing he would grab my fingers with his paws and try and bite them.  Sounds rough, but it was very, very cute.  Huckle was obsessed with cheese and would turn up whenever the fridge door opened to beg for it.  Mum coddled her cats, and he was allowed cheese, and she bought pet milk (no lactose) regularly for him.  Huckle was very playful and played with cat toys right up until he died.  He preferred woollen toys he could hook his claws through so he could toss them up in the air.

Mum had lived in the same house for a long time, but eventually had to move into a small one bedroom flat.  At this stage she had seven cats.  Seven cats  is a LOT of cats, and was certainly too many cats for her new smaller space.  We decided to take Huckle as he never fit in with the other cats, and my brother would take his cat Duffy to make things slightly less cat mad.  Mum ended up with only four cats, as shortly after shifting Tanith went missing and we've never seen her since.  I like to think she's still alive, terrorising all those who cross her path (she was a bitch cat, but a cool bitch cat).

So Huckle came to live with us in Pt Chev with our flatmates and our other inherited cat Roux and Wellesley (our rabbit).  Having never moved house, it was pretty scary for him initially, and took him a long time to settle in.  Once settled though, he was a pretty happy boy.  Living with so many flatmates meant meat treats, which was very exciting for him after living with a vegetarian his entire life.  I was surprised he knew what meat was, but he was obsessed with all meat, especially chicken, and would do anything he could to get it.  He really wanted to be friends with Roux, but Roux (having been an only cat his whole life) was not interested.  However, Roux was seldom mean to him like other cats had been, and, on occasion, even let Huckle lick him.  He did find a nemesis in our neighbours cat Sebastian, who would often come into our house and pick fights with Huckle.  I don't know what it was about Huckle - I wonder if maybe he had a very strong cat musk?

When we bought in Sunnyvale, Huckle settled in much quicker than Roux*, and was ready to explore after just one day of incarceration.  He found a new nemesis in our neighbours big ginger cat Dash, who in one fight ripped Huckle's ear in half.**  It would have been ok, but being pregnant and hormonal and seeing Huckle restarting the bleeding every time he flicked his ear, and meowing in pain, we took him to the emergency vet.  All he could do was give him a sedative to calm him while it healed, but we learned (randomly) that ginger on ginger violence is common in cat land.  Although Dash and Huckle continued to fight after this incident, it was never as bad.

When Etta was born both of the cats adjusted very quickly, and Huckle the best.  He wasn't afraid of her and would often come to play with us, which Etta really appreciated.  Despite being a rough playing cat, he was always good with her, and only made her cry once when they reached for the same toy at the same time and he accidentally scratched her.  He realised being around Etta meant extra attention (and sometimes food) so he was happy to have her around.  After Etta was born the cats became more of a team (realising their attention was being usurped by a small interloper) and even almost formed cat ball.

Huckle was also a pretty good hunter, right up until his last days.  One of the funniest things I've ever seen was when Huckle caught a small mouse.  Murray got me to come and try and relieve him of it.  When Huckle saw me coming to take it away, he put the whole thing in his mouth and swallowed.  He then spent half an hour looking for the mouse!  Our neighbour Brian told me he saw Huckle jump straight up on our driveway and snare a bird out of the sky.  Not bad for a thirteen year old with arthritis in his back legs.

Huckle was a clever, hard case cat.  He had some bad habits we don't miss (scratching carpet and sometimes spraying certain places despite being neutered), but on the whole he was pretty damn awesome.  Don't tell Roux, but he was Murray's favourite pet - which is high praise from someone who said he didn't like pets.  We are so sad Etta didn't get to spend more time with him as he was the perfect family cat and she would have loved him as much as we did.

Every time I cut up chicken or cheese, I smile and think of Huckle.  He was a fantastic ginger who is sorely missed.

*Roux hid under the toilet, then under the bed for a week

** Dash's owner is such an animal lover that when we told her what happened she cried, and later Huckle received a card in our letterbox from Dash apologising for his actions.