we were here/there

Three weeks back in the States, time enough to develop the role of film begun in Wellington, finished in Denver. From the windy damp to the hot dust, we’ve begun fixing up our version of a home. Coming from one season to another feels like time travel. Fall leaves, piles of blankets and warm boots have been stashed and replaced with buzzing fans, popsicles and flip flops. Memories of Wellington are still fresh, deep palimpsests on the surface of our minds, but I can almost feel them begin to seep away into drawers, file cabinets, hidden spots for later discovery, always changing.

_10_0013 door etc _18_0021 __8_0011 __7_0010 __6_0009reading :: The Book of Laughter and Forgetting, Milan Kundera
watching :: Ken Burns’ Prohibition
eating :: homemade bread and popsicles (frozen kefir, berries, honey)
listening :: Waxahatchee, Cerulean Salt
touching :: the weight of an electric guitar


little river

P2170694P2170697P2180708roomP2180714Towards the end of our trip through the South Island we were in need of a place to rest our heads on the Banks Peninsula. After perusing a couple of guide books, I chose Little River on a whim. As the sun set on our drive through the peninsula, we kept passing all these great-looking b&b’s and cabins, and I wondered if we made the right choice. We did, absolutely.

Little River is a home/commune/venue/campground. The kind of place where some good folks set up their homestead and opened their land to other travelers. Finding a piano in a grove of trees or a mirror ball next to the river seemed totally natural. It was quiet while we were there, only a couple of other cars camping, and we splurged on a little cabin all to ourselves. If you can call the extremely low rates splurging. There were traces of raucous musical gatherings and mud slide sledding. We were only able to stay long enough for a sleep and a wander, but I’ve already begun plans for a return trip with our family in the future. If you’re ever in the neighborhood I highly recommend; it is one of my favorite places I’ve stayed, anywhere, ever.


“My greatest skill in life has been to want but little.” ~ Thoreau

On our way from Milford Sound to Te Anau, we stopped along the road to have a walk. We weren’t sure where we were going or what we were looking for, and that is why I think we found this magical place. The forest floor was wonderfully and terrifyingly springy, like it could give way at any moment to murky wetness. And to my delight and horror, it did a few times, and my feet were soaked as we leaped leaf pile to log on the sponge. The trees made gnarled animals and picture frames. Our trail lead to a wire bridge across a stream, and we each took our tightrope walker moment with glee (hats off, Tiny Monty!).

*All photographs except the bridge by William