Sweet Home Otekura!

I remember the second time. It was only two days since the last incident.

I was standing by the window folding laundry when Gordon ran through the living room to open the back door. He had heard sirens once again. With the back door open wide we could hear the vehicles approaching, their sirens ringing over the hills. We stood there silently trying to piece together where the emergency vehicles were traveling from.

Something felt different this time.

Two days ago, a fleet of emergency vehicles had been down this quiet gravel road. Traveling almost independent from one another, and possibly from three different township areas, three fire engines, three ambulances and three police cars all made their way down the gravel road to turn just before the McLay farm at the Cannibal Bay road turn off.

Gordon and Reuben took the quad bike to investigate the situation which would bring these emergency personnel along their paddocks. The kids were noticeably alert from all the excitement. This never happens out here. Coming from a metropolitan city, you tend to forget what it’s like without a siren echoing through the skies every 10-15 minutes. My curiosity is always peaked when I hear a siren or pull over for an emergency services vehicle, but I usually spend my time praying that no one is severely injured or dead. You almost forget that it’s happening all around you all the time in a place like Toronto. In the farm country, a land owner may be the first to respond to an accident scene. Most emergency response teams are volunteers in the country, so it takes time to respond to any situation.

Out here, in the quiet hills of Otekura, you notice something like a fleet of emergency vehicles.

Two days ago, it was a van rollover. A 12 seater van had slipped off the gravel road and began to roll down a very steep embankment. Luckily, a tree stopped their plummet, and they only rolled onto their roof. It was a van carrying elderly people who were out on a day trip in the area. Thankfully, nobody was seriously injured. All passengers were rescued from the vehicle and checked at a nearby hospital before being released.

But their fate could have been much worse. The hillside they were about to plummet down is steep and very deep. The original call to the volunteer emergency personnel was that people were trapped in the vehicle. This lead to the deployment of two helicopters from the Dunedin hospital, fearing the worst. They were eventually turned back when the situation was reassessed and there was confirmation of no serious injuries or deaths.

There was a hustle and bustle in the air. You wanted to see it due to curiosity, but you didn’t want to interfere nor be disrespectful to those directly affected.

The second time was different. The sirens came and everyone was a little more sullen this time around. This time the car accident was further down the road, closer to the beach. This time a tree did not stop the single vehicle from rolling down the hill. This time, the driver (sole occupant) passed away from his injuries.

The road would be closed off for a good part of the day.

These narrow, windy, gravel roads. Roads with only 1 ½ lanes, barely wide enough for two vehicles. Roads traveled on by large transport trucks (stock trucks especially), inexperienced camper van drivers, tourists, young drivers who think they are invincible, and locals. A deadly mix, especially when you see some sections of these roads. Speed, inexperience, tiredness, apathy, the roads. I’m surprised I haven’t heard of more accidents since arriving in NZ.

Watching the fire engines with their lights flashing, traveling down the gravel road, kicking up the dust behind them. A moment that is embedded in my mind.


Everything Happens for a Reason

When I was four, I wanted to live on a farm. To be precise, I wanted to live in a barn. I remember this book my parents bought me for my fourth birthday. I think it was called “I Am Four”. It’s about this little girl and it follows her as she says all the things she can do now that she’s four. At one point, she is sitting on a big comfy chair and it says underneath “Now, let’s talk about farms.”(or something to the thought). I remember my mother telling me that it was one of the reasons they had bought me the book. Growing up on the Earlton Airport, I had a lot of friends who lived on farms. The stories they would tell me would build the basis of my farm fascination. Then there was this barren land on the other side of the road from the airport and it had a run down barn on it. I don’t know where the owner of the property was, but I remember being told that there were bear traps all over the property, so I was scared of ever hopping the fence to explore. So I stood, on the other side of the fence dreaming and wondering about what life would be like if I lived on a farm.

Then I came to New Zealand, and following a series of events, Brent and I found FHINZ, which led us to the McLay family, who we then left, and through a stalled series of new events found us traveling back to the McLays – for a quick hello, which turned into a month long farming adventure.

I might never have moved into that one barn that I dreamt of during my childhood, but I was blessed with an incredible farm experience that changes every day.


It’s been almost a month since our return to the farm. Detained by car troubles, we’ve been blessed with every moment shared with this family. We sincerely love this family and are so grateful for their generosity and hospitality.

How do you capture every laugh, every inside joke, every dinner table conversation, every game of “I Spy”, every time we are spoken to in “Canadian”, every tear, every morning story read, every evening Milo, every towel whipping adventure – which always ends in injury, every sheep symphony, every piece of lolly cake, every special moment. You can’t. Not with pictures, not in blogs. And we can’t remember every moment while we sit here thinking back on the last month of our lives. The stories will come out when different adventures spark the memories. Forever embedded in our thoughts will be this family and everything that we’ve shared.


Where do we begin?


Being back on the farm. That has been mint.

Sudoku competitions. Especially the one time where three of us got car sick while solving a Sudoku puzzle while en route to Milton for a meeting. I will miss the younger ones learning to play and how they always wanted to help with the five star puzzles (the hardest ones in the Otago Daily Times). I’ll miss Reuben, Brent and myself helping each other out, or messing each other up trying to solve those uncrackable 4 & 5 star challenges.

The hand slapping game – I have never lost so quickly at a game in my life. Every joke the kids would come up with. Reuben’s camp antics brought home. Chinese whispers. Our elaborate games of charades, some of which were videotaped. Pictionary. Monopoly Junior. NZ Monopoly. Cadoo – especially those combo cards.

I still love the lambs more then anything. Now with a greater affinity to those lambs going through puberty, meh’ng with their raspy changing voices. I just want to hug them. Or Lambchop, one of the 7 pet lambs remaining in the small paddock, and one of the pet lambs that was brought to the hay shed on our first trip to the farm. Soon enough, half of them will end up at the Freezing Works, which is a part of raising lambs. Just listening to them calling out for milk and attention in the mornings. Yup, never going to get over loving the lambies.

Working with the sheep and lambs in the sheep shed. Brent had an experience at the killing shed. He also had an opportunity to drench some lambs (you have a pink medicine-like mixture strapped to your back a-la-ghostbuster, and you feed a tube into their mouths and squirt out an exact measurement of the medicine to keep the lambies healthy). Dagging sheep (which is a nice way of saying shearing off the poo from their bums – this is done before they are shorn). Using sheep shakers to round up the flock into the pens. Watching the drafting of the animals.

Working on the farm and around the front section of the house. Pulling nails out of the boards, cleaning the spouting, gardening, and picking red currants and gooseberries.

If people think that farming is inhumane, they have never met Mr. McLay. Watching him work with his cows, calves, sheep and lambs is a wonderful experience. He genuinely cares about the welfare of these animals and gives them greater attention when he works with them, then I see a lot of people give to other human beings they work with. He is passionate about his work, and it’s a real pleasure to what him do his work. I love hearing him speak to the stock, calling the animals ‘mother’. We spent an evening trying to shift a cow that had been in labour for an extended period of time. We walked it all the way down a gravel road with a dead calf hanging out of her backside. He had to bring her to the cow yards to assist her in extracting the calf. We couldn’t save the baby, but could save the mother. Watching him work with her and try to calm her was wonderful.

Sitting on the back of the quad bike, looking through the shepherd’s crook attached to the front of the bike, I sit and think about how things used to be in the land of Israel with the shepherds working in the fields and living amongst their flocks. The art of shepherding is almost lost in the modern world. Almost all but forgotten.

The animals.

Shadow tag on the beach at Cannibal Bay.

Eating outside in the summer months.

Attending the Conference in Green Island on the 1st of January. The MAF meeting in Milton.

The smell of ammonia under the wool shed. On the first morning of shearing that Brent and I were on the farm, Isabel and I were underneath the wool shed chasing out the sheep that were placed in this area overnight. You basically had to walk around like a crab as it was only tall enough for a sheep to stand beneath, and crawling on your hands and knees would mean slushing through a whole lot of fresh sheep droppings. So we slowly got them out. Slowly. Man, the fumes down below were my first experience with what I would call “strong sheep odor”. I can’t describe it, except that it was so potent, I felt like I couldn’t escape the smell from my nose for at least an hour.

The two days we helped with shearing. On the first day, Brent was in the sheep yards penning up with Reuben, while I was in the wool shed working as a rousy in training, along with Isabel and Esther. The rousy’s job is to sort out of the wool after the sheep has been shorn. I stood alongside one of the two rousys and followed her instructions as much as possible, as well as her actions, pulling the wool out from under the sheep at specific times for the one shearer I worked below. It was a pretty neat experience. Separating the wool, hoping you’re doing it properly, and then sweeping off the platform with a flat plastic brush. Then comes the part where you carry the blanket of wool (that has been shorn off the sheep) to the wool press area and you become covered in the sheep’s oil. Yum. When I looked down at my shirt and arms, I felt like I was experiencing something similar to being tarred and feathered. Sheep oil, followed by wool fibers, followed by more sheep oil, then more wool fibers. You became a white wooly human. Funny.

The shearers are a part of a shearing gang. It’s just what they are called. It’s the group that travels together and work at the different farms. There are ‘x’ number of shearers and ‘x’ number of rousys and sometimes a wool presser (I think). After the second day of shearing, where I spent my time on the farm penning up the sheep, we decided we would form a penning up gang. Brent, Reuben, Isabel, Josiah and I were working in the back shooing the sheep and lambs into the pens and counting down the numbers as the shearers worked away. It was the ‘behind the scenes’ of shearing. Another unique experience.

I’ll tell you something you’ll never forget. What it feels like to have a sheep or a lamb stomp on your foot when you try to shift them into the race or a different pen. The pain rippling through your gumboot. We found some pretty interesting bruises on our bodies following the drafting and shearing days. Then there are moments like when Susan banged a sheep shaker on the back of a lamb and the lamb got its revenge. It bucked against her foot before moving away.

When the lambs start bucking as they hop towards freedom. When you open up a gate and let a mob go, it’s almost like watching a series of victory mid air kicks. So strange. I still don’t know why they do that.

The red fleet shifting a herd of cattle. Brent and I were returning from Balclutha when we came over one of the last hills before the McLay farm and found ourselves facing stock on the road. From the side road, out popped Mr. McLay on his red quad bike and Reuben on his red dirt bike. Then there was us in our red Sgt. McClaughwd. Three in a row, we slowly moved along behind the stock as they made their way to a new paddock to feed. A red army marching behind the animals. It was perfect timing, and amusing.

Making my first Christmas turkey with Susan & Isabel just after five in the morning. The screams we squealed when washing out the turkey with water and taking out the innards of the dead bird. My first time handling raw meat without gloves on. Yuck. But we survived. Trying to figure out temperature conversions after finding out that the NZ ovens are set in Celsius, and realizing that we cook in Fahrenheit back home in Canada. Stuffing the turkey. Ms. McLay saving the turkey from being dried out.

Eating the turkey. : )

Brent learning to drive the quad bike. We were on the farm alone one afternoon trying to get some stuff done around the front section of the house for the family. Mr. McLay gave Brent a lesson before they left for a church picnic. When we were alone, we loaded the trailer and then Brent would drive us to our drop off location to offload everything. It felt like we were farmers when we would ride around the paddock just beside the wool shed. Mind you we would be farmers who might not run a very successful farm. We were passing off an appearance today, but don’t really know what we are doing. If we actually owned a farm, Brent and I could share the work load, but I’d probably just end up petting lambs all day while Brent would be out enjoying his newfound interest in motorized farm vehicles. But we’d both be smiling.

Camping out in the tents. Every night for a wee while a few of the younger ones would hop out in the evening to sleep in the tents. They wouldn’t all last through the night. It all depended on who was outside with them. One night I slept in the grey tent with Susan, while Isabel and Naomi slept in the orange tent right beside us. Ladies giggling and enjoying the outdoors. Susan, not letting me live down an early slumber. The rubber ducky. The two girls who slept in the orange tent, whose walls do not connect with the ground sheet; Harold the cat crawling into their tent at night.

The Christmas Play – The Son of God rode on my back. The behind the scenes preparations. The arts & crafts. The rehearsals. The wardrobe. The special effects and sound effects. The curtain call. The fun. Little donkey. The laughs. The bows.

Christmas in New Zealand. What a blessing it was to be with a family and experience a true NZ Christmas. We met so many people on the McLay family tree. Christmas dinner (lunch) was a wonderful feast! Followed by a Christmas barbecue for tea with more family. A Rugby game (what else could you ask for?). A play featuring the McLay kids and foreigners (us). A game of NZ Monopoly. We’re so kiwi! But simply sitting outside for an evening barbecue on Christmas day, knowing that back home there were reports of “Stormegeddon”. Calling home and finding out about my brother’s adventures in trying to make it home for Christmas. Looking over grassy hills and remembering what would be waiting for us back home during the winter months.

A green Christmas. Very strange. You really do miss the snow. But we wouldn’t have asked for a better Christmas away from home. Being around six children on Christmas morning, it was so wonderful to be around such excitement!

The two Christmas trees that Mr. McLay brought home on Christmas Eve. The decorations the kids had painted to decorate the tree with. Snowmen decorations, in a land with no Christmas snow. We loved that!

Hearing that the NZ Public Health department has sent a questionnaire back home to Canada for us to complete regarding our Cryptosporidium episode. Oh well. Can’t do much about that now until we get home.

Our car breaking down 5 minutes from the house, while we were on the way to the Owaka museum with Esther, Naomi and Josiah. Meeting the Leslie family while we waited to hear back from AA about our callout. Inadvertently, spending the afternoon with the Leslie family – which was so much fun.

Running into serious problems with a garage in the area that did heaps of unauthorized work on our car. Paying off a bill that was double the price of the car, even though it was a “cheap and quick fix”. In the end spending close to $1500 to fix a $500 car. It’s just as expensive to be sick in this country when you’re a foreigner as well!!

Car troubles and the people we met through the ordeal. Thanks to Gordon and Coralie who were able to point us to the right people. Paul Goatley. Balclutha motors. People who listened and treated us like customers.

Failing our WOF. Just the timing of it was all wrong – during the holiday, everyone in New Zealand shuts down. We were at a stand still for a good amount of time. Luckily, Paul knows people – so he had the ability to truly help us out and get our car up to standard to pass the WOF.

Finally passing the WOF. Our dear car is good to go until the 7th of July. So, he’ll be WOF ready for selling at the end of June. Doing a servicing and NOT hearing about any further repairs required. Phew.

The puppies at the Goatley house!!! We spent a few hours at Paul’s house, even having lunch with his family, while he worked out the kinks in our car. Their puppy Teka had given birth to four pups one week earlier. They were so precious.

Veggie tales and the songs that get stuck in your head after you watch a video. I ain’t got no belly button. You are my cheeseburger.

Sunday evening, December 21st. Helping Mr. McLay shift a few cows. On a part of the farm that I had never visited before. High atop a hill near the hay barn. Just remembering the amazing views. And lamenting the fact that I did not have my camera (which is unusual for me). That perfect sunset with a glowing sky, God rays pouring through the clouds. Sitting on the back of a four wheeler atop that high hill, overlooking the wonderful hilly terrain that is the McLay farm. Trying to take it all in. Gorgeous!

My amazement over how the goats don’t even bat an eye when the quad bike drives near them through a paddock. They take no notice to the vehicle, while sheep on the other hand make a mad dash for their lives.

Spittle bugs in the field. Walking through a paddock, Gordon sometimes stops to show us something new on the farm. These WEE little green skink like bugs were so cute, living in a cocoon of spit bubbles. Being in a cow paddock, I would have simply assumed the bubbles of white stuff were cow dribble, and I never would have explored it any further.

Hopping off the quad bike and being left alone in amongst a herd of cattle. Completely surrounded by large creatures who have been riled up by the motor bike bopping around. Gulp. We still don’t trust cattle.

Drafting the sheep and lambs to prepare them for shearing. Sheep shaking them into the race. Listening to the symphony begin as the sheep and lambs are separated for the evening before shearing. Watching those special few who freak out and barge into the fences and gates. Having a lamb charge at you and almost kick you in the face as it leaps for freedom.

The Gore mystery bus trip. Susan, Isabel, Esther, Naomi and Josiah (Reuben was away at camp). The drive into Gore with the kids singing in the van. The entire day, spent with over 70 other children. That dreadful steep hike down the hillside that was the ‘shortcut’ to the lunch site. Collecting tired and children on the way down the hill. The boot camp like activities. The view from the farm’s hills. The music at the end of the day that quieted down the rambunctious group of kids in the front of the bus. “Whoa, what you do to me…” The day spent with the McLay kids on the bus trip. Mystery tea at KFC. Ice cream treats in Clinton. Playing in the park. Playing games in the car together on the way home.

Sitting on the back of the quad bike. Gumboots dangling off the side, kicking through the long grass.

While we were shifting cattle, I almost put long grass in my mouth. Thinking twice about my fate. Crypto was too recent for slip ups around any stock.

The greenest of green hills, the bluest of blue skies, and that black & white cow who popped his head into my view over the side of the hill.

Tire tracks from the bike left behind in the long grass. Looking at the tracks left behind by the cows, and the body prints that they make when compressing the long grass in the paddocks.

That cow paddock’s terrain. Rough and steep.

Shifting cattle – you can’t always trust that they won’t charge you. Or at least Brent and I don’t.

The classic bull with the gold ring in his nose. Seeing breath being blown through a cow’s nose, like in a cartoon.

Brent losing his gumboot in the mud and gunk in the cow paddock. Trying to rescue the boot, fighting against the suction without sacrificing his sock or foot to a momentary loss of balance.

The retro rusty tin can rattler – I love this one. Making new milk jug sheep shakers for Gordon for Christmas. Chasing sheep up ramps and into pens. The crazy ones that jump the fence and break their legs.

Brent busting his knee on the motor bike. Susan brought him out to learn how to ride the motor bike one day in the paddock behind the hay shed. He fell off the bike on his first time, which those of us watching could confirm occurred due to the fact that he didn’t bring up his feet once the bike started to go. His feet precariously hung out both sides, bouncing off the ground periodically as he tried to preserve his balance. Then, bam. He met the paddock. After a new lesson from Susan, he got back on and tried again. Success. Unfortunately, the first fall banged up his knee a little bit. A good bruise. I reckon he looks more comfortable on a quad bike.

Reuben flinging sheep feces at Naomi. Naomi's response: “It’s just poo”.

Day trips to Balclutha, Milton, Mosgiel and other places.

Oral tests of the NZ Road Code with the kids. You know it’s a NZ road code book when you read questions relating to what you would do if sheep/stock were on the road.

The food – simply cannot be topped.

A day in Dunedin. We love Dunedin.

Walking in the paddocks. Lying in a field of grass and embracing the quiet solitude this environment can offer.

Jem. Ty. Kate.

Treasure in an Oatmeal box. Kevin didn’t have to die. : (

Meeting so many new people.

The semi-permanent sleep over with Susan and Isabel. Every morning, being joined by Naomi, Esther and Josiah in the bedroom. And again, Susan who will never let me live down falling asleep on her one night. ONE night.

Living in our gumboots again. Ahhh such a nice change.

The open arms that invited us to stay when our car broke down, and again when we failed our WOF and were slightly stranded.

Washing dishes. Their water is significantly hotter then we’ve ever experienced.

New Year’s Eve with the McLays. Watching the Sound of Music with the family on television. Brent, Reuben, and I staying up to ring in the New Year, only Brent and I were fast asleep on the couch. Brent fell asleep on the couch at half past eleven, and I followed soon after near quarter to twelve. Just after midnight I think Reuben said something to us, which woke both of us up, prompting me to look at my watch, wish Reuben a quick Happy New Year, and fall right back asleep. So, Reuben sort of rang in the New Year alone. Outlasted by a teenager…must be getting old.

The 6 POP campervans that arrived through our time on the farm. We were excited to see even just one.

Tiki tourist day on our last Saturday with the family. We spent the day driving around and being tourists by visiting amazing locations throughout the Catlins. FINDING A LIVE CRAB!!! Thanks to Naomi’s sharp eyes in murky water. He was too big to scoop up without a net. This was a wonderful way to end our trip on the farm and in the area.

Harold the cat’s victory kills – which he doesn’t eat. The mice, the rats, the birds. The one mouse I caught for Harold by stepping on his tail. I guess that isn’t as much fun, so Harold lost interest in him as soon as I stopped him from moving.

Visiting the Owaka museum on our last day in the Catlins. That museum has so much information, and it’s amazing to see photographs of distant relatives of the McLays in the early 1900s.

Spending two nights alone with Reuben, Esther, Naomi and Josiah. The fun we had together playing games, watching Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, creating kitchen adventures, working around the farm and in the house, the septic tank mishap. You were all gems.


Gordon, Coralie. Susan, Reuben, Isabel, Esther, Naomi, Josiah.

To Gordon. Your love and passion for the farm and the work that you do are incredible. You are a great man, and we have been so very blessed to spend time under your roof and in your paddocks. We have loved every bit of information you have shared with us and all the things you have taught us while working with you. Like searching for a pregnant cow, yet learning about spittle bugs. Or walking in the bush and finding out about all the different trees and flowers. Thank you for all the extras that you put in to make our stay so memorable.

To Coralie. What can we say? You have been such a blessing in our lives. You have opened the doors to your home and welcomed us with no questions through all the problems we had during our ‘short’ visit to see you all once again. Thank you for everything, for every word, for every laugh, for every tear, for every moment. We cannot thank you enough for loving us. You are an incredible woman and mother, and we wish nothing but true blessings to you throughout your life.

To Susan. My wee little sister. The eldest of six. Oh the laughs we have shared. The one who just couldn’t get enough of leaving us behind. : ) Why do we have to say goodbye more than once? Thank you for being our wee sister and for everything that you shared with us. Including cleaning the race out in the sheep shed. : ) For our talks, for our giggles, for our fun and games. You are a very special person, and we very much look forward to seeing where your life path will lead you. Good luck and be safe!

To Reuben. Our little instigator. You have a sneaky smile about you, and we’ll miss it. You always made us laugh, whether motivated by you or something you missed out on. Your sharp wit and sense of humour will be missed. You are going to do great things in life. You are smart, determined and have so much potential. We look forward to hearing about your future on the farm. Reuben’s so cool, he’s mint.

To Isabel. Thank you for reading to us in the mornings, however, I would choose a more uplifting book next time! For all the time we spent with you in the sheep yards and the wool shed, thank you. I would also like to thank you for always trying to include me on your farm excursions; you always made me feel very welcome. It’s been fun spending more time with you on this second trip of ours. Thank you for all the good times we shared and for the adventures you created. We look forward to watching you grow up (via photos and emails) and are excited to see what lies ahead of you. Bless you.

To Esther. The inquisitive one. You are very bright. We’ll miss your inquisitive nature. We’ll miss your helpful hand around the kitchen and the house. For the times you shared with us while feeding the animals. For all the jokes you would tell. For my super horse mask for the play. That rocked! For your smile and that twinkle in your eye. In Canada…we’ll miss you.

To Naomi. I will miss your infectious laugh. Your joix de vivre. Your musical cucumbers. Especially the songs you would play on my knees. No, I won’t actually miss those. : ) But we’ll miss you. You were an excellent pictionary partner and crumble maker. Thank you for letting me sit on your knee. Don’t worry Breeeeennnt will miss you too!

To Josiah. Our little pup. Thank you for being a super helper whenever we asked. We very much appreciated that. Both inside and outside the house and during the shearing days. Sorry we won’t be around anymore to sit beside, thankfully you have 5 other siblings to love around the table as well as two parents. Be careful as you grow bigger, don’t get stuck in the hay traps when hunting for the hen’s eggs. Thank you for the games of snakes & ladders and for the fun in the playgrounds we shared. Be good while we’re gone. ; ) We’ll miss you.


In the end, everything happens for a reason. Even though we were delayed in our travel, we leave now with our car fixed. We’ll probably be avoiding the Rees-Dart track, which would have been in flood had we arrived on time in late December. They have had torrential rain fall in that area, with the rivers and streams all flowing at 10x the normal levels (as reported by DOC). There is still a search on for a female tramper who is presumed drowned, after possibly negotiating a swollen river on her own near the Dart Hut, a hut found on the Rees-Dart track. And more recently, there has been two deaths at the Fox Glacier after an unstable ice shelf fell on two Australian brothers. The two individuals crossed a “DO NOT CROSS” barrier to get a closer look at the phenomenon, and in doing so risked their lives and eventually led to their untimely deaths. These two situations mentioned above have taken place in two areas where we would have been tramping/touring at the same time as the mentioned incidents if we had not stayed at the farm. That would have been freaky. Everything happens for a reason.


Canadian words vs New Zealand words – the never ending saga…

Facecloth = Flannel
Hallway = Passage
Tumayto = Tomaado
Think outside the box = think outside the square
Counter = bench
Cool = Coo
School = Schoo
Garage = Gahridge
Bathroom = Toilet
Pants = Trousers
Sweater = Jersey
Rubber Boot = Gum Boot
Flip Flop = Jandal

There’s heaps more, but they escape me at this time…(kids you can add to this list...)


Our time is coming to an end. Driving back to the farm from the Owaka museum felt sad yesterday. Seeing the sights one last time. The rolling green hills of the Catlins. The multitude of sheep farms. Pulling onto the McLay’s road one last time. Tomorrow we leave a family who took us in and made us feel like one of their own.

It’s hard to say goodbye. It was wonderful to come back to visit. Returning to the kids and the smiles. Enjoying our time with Gordon and Coralie, and watching the kids being kids. They are a riot! I can’t wait to see these kids grow up - mind you it will be through pictures, but I’m excited to see where each of their lives will lead them. They are truly like six younger siblings. We only want the very best for them. To our friends and family, which we have found under this roof.


Thank you for the memories.


Love your shepherd and shepherdess in training


Rahdy rahdy rah.