The Birds of New Zealand

I was driving in New Zealand once, on the way back to the little town of Oxford, where I was staying. I had just been on a week-long tour of the top of the South Island, and was looking forward to returning "home." The drive was long and winding, through lovely fields, woods, and mountains, and I was enjoying myself when suddenly a bird flew in front of me and I hit it.

I couldn't believe it. I didn't think it was possible to hit a bird with a car--they always get out of the way here in the States, at least in California. They are very street savvy. Not so in New Zealand, where there are far less cars on the road.

Well, needless to say, hitting the bird put a major damper on my mood. The worst part about it was the fact that I had just been admiring the flight of a hawk over a field, and thinking how much I love to watch birds in flight. Then I hit one and probably killed it with my car. Talk about irony. Talk about depressing!

I actually saw dead birds fairly frequently on the roads in New Zealand. Another time I was driving with friends on the North Island. Jay was driving, and I was in the passenger seat, while Jay's wife Erin slept in the back seat. It was a gloomy gray day. Suddenly this big bird, some sort of heron-like creature, flies right in front of the car. KaTHUNK! Jay hit it. Hard.

We were both stunned. Erin didn't wake up. Jay and I looked at each other with wide eyes. "Whoa," one of us said. "Yeah," the other said.

Five very quiet minutes later, Jay whispered, "I think it's still stuck to the front of the car."

"What?" said Erin, popping up suddenly in the back seat. "What happened? Did you hit something?"

In spite of my horror at what we had done, I had to laugh. Erin's waking up was so unexpected. She was sad when we told her about the bird though.

Thankfully, when we stopped for gas, we did not find the bird still attached to the car. That would really have been too much. Strangely enough, however, I remember a girl in the first creative writing class I ever took, reading her essay about a trip she took to New Zealand, in which she (surprise) hits a bird, but doesn't find out til she stops somewhere and comes around to the front, and there it is, stuck by the beak right into the grille. Eeeew.

All this talk about New Zealand is making me miss it terribly. I don't miss killing birds, of course. But I miss very much the long, beautiful drives through some of the most amazing landscapes I have ever seen, or ever expect to. I miss Bethels Beach, and the little German cafe in Titirangi. I miss the drive from Kaikoura to Blenheim, along the South Island's east coast. I miss the gorge that I can't remember the name of, between Auckland and Tauranga. I miss the kiwi accent, which I could never quite imitate properly. I miss Thai chicken hot pies from the BP (weird, I know).

I've definitely left my heart in San Francisco in some ways--but I'll tell you what, New Zealand got a pretty big piece of it too.