I crave crave crave crave
jaaam …… jam …… mmmm.
Fifty percent fruit mixed with
fifty percent sugar …… mmmm.
Simmered in the preserving pan.
Cooling …… cooling …… sealed
in jam jars with air tight lids.
Dangerous for diabetics
not safe for our health at all.
Shows up very bad numbers
in our regular blood tests.
Just sometimes I have a little
jam for an occasional treat.
Yesterday I had jam with a
little butter on half my
lunchtime ciabatta bun. …. MMMM !
Earth’s rocky rifts thrust up
our young islands, millennia
clad their rugged ridges with
vast verdant swathes of forest.
Several centuries ago Maori
arrived in ocean going decked
double canoes along our coasts,
travelled through deep forests
built villages large and small
on hill tops, peninsulas, beside
lakes and sandy beaches.
Many an urupa, sacred burial
site was established near sandy
shores where loved ones’ graves
final resting places were dug.
Over the centuries the urupa
were remembered, the names
often forgotten as tribes moved to
new hunting and fishing grounds.
Once the white man’s missionaries
came Maori started to mark graves
with headstones bearing names, dates.
Then the twenty first century’s
tumultuous storms eroded beaches,
banks, cliffs, strewing bones from
ancient graves along stormy beaches.
Who will bury them again ?
how ? Where ? Today’s descendants
must bring themselves to decide.
In 1886 land wars between indigenous
Maori and European newcomers
had finally subsided, new settlers
and tourists round the country went
holidaying, sightseeing its varied
Lake Tarawera’s vast blue waters
at the foot of its towering mountain
drew many to its prosperous hotel.
One sunny winter day a new sight
crossed the far side of the lake.
A mighty canoe powered by many
paddlers, their passengers standing
in between, clad in flaxen cloaks,
large feather bunches in their hair.
The visitors clapped as the canoe
passed their sightseeing boats,
reported it in letters to their families.
Dread filled local Maori in their
lakeside villages. No such canoe
had been on the lake within living
memory they told local Europeans.
The standing passengers were
dressed for burial. The area’s
history of brutal violent warfare
went back to ancient Maori times.
Terrible disasters would soon occur.
Mount Tarawera’s summit exploded
a week later as it erupted violently
burying the villages at its foot.