4WDing

When a co-worker of Cory’s invited us to spend the weekend with him and his 4WD club, I can’t say that I really knew what to expect. Of course we took him up on the offer, as both of us are of the attitude that we might as well try it once. (There are a few exceptions to this – bungee jumping being one – and I suppose the more I think about it the longer the list of exceptions will get, but, generally, why not try it out?) So, as I was packing for the weekend, I was in a little bit of a quandary.

The plan was to drive a few hours to where the group would be camping. We’d ride with David in his truck or with someone else in their truck if we wanted to switch things up. I was also told that Fleur, David’s girlfriend wouldn’t want to just sit in the truck all day and that if I would like to bike with her, I should bring my bike. You may recall my last mountain biking adventure, but I was assured that she wasn’t too over-the-top and it would be gentle riding.

So I tossed in a couple of shorts and t-shirts, along with my flip-flops. I also grabbed my tennies for bike riding. Cory reminded me to toss in my fleece, and then, as we were leaving, suggested I grab my hiking boots as well. I didn’t really think we’d have any time for hiking, as we weren’t going to get there ‘til the afternoon on Saturday, and after a bike ride and a drive, we’d have to leave at a decent time Sunday. But why argue? There was plenty of room in the car, so I tossed in my boots as well.

After we were on the road, Cory asked if I’d brought a pair of jeans. I hadn’t, and I was a little irritated that he was asking now, as we clearly weren’t going to turn around. And why did I need jeans anyway? We were just going to be riding around in a jeep or something and maybe taking a bike ride.

I probably should have pinned Cory down on what exactly 4WDing involved. I envisioned sitting in a vehicle with big tires and mud flaps, driving around muddy, rough back roads. In the apartment garage we’d even seen a vehicle with a snorkel, to help keep the engine dry in water and to help cool the engine with fresh air in muddy situations (or so I’m told). But these vehicles had a roof, doors, a windshield, etc. To be fair, I’m not sure Cory knew what to expect either…

We arrived at the camping area, and David and Fleur were clearly excited to get going. David hustled Cory off in a vehicle that looked a little different than I’d been expecting, and Fleur, attired in a serious-looking biking outfit, and I hopped on our bikes. Fleur and I chatted as we rode, and she pointed out trees and birds in the surrounding bush. I think she was taking it easy on me, and I appreciated this. After our quads (or at least mine) were sore enough, we headed back for camp to have a cup of tea.

We sat and chatted, having been joined by some others that weren’t out 4WDing. And then the guys came back. I really wish I had a picture of Cory as he walked up to us. He was covered in mud; his hair was standing straight up and looked gray from all the dust. But he was grinning and had clearly enjoyed himself. The others looked just about as bad – dusty, muddy, wet, but all grinning. I was beginning to understand why I might want hiking boots and those jeans…

We spent that evening listening to everyone tell stories, drinking beers, and dodging kids as they ran around. Each family cooked their own meal, most of which looked pretty good and smelled even better. Ours was definitely the best meal, though; David had a herbed chicken, roasted veges, and chocolate mud cake with cream.

We toddled off to bed and after a quick breakfast the next morning, headed out in the trucks. I rode with Bruce, a friend of David’s, as there are often only two seats in a vehicle. Cory rode with David, and we switched every now and then. There were six vehicles out on the tracks, all which used to be logging roads. When I say they used to be logging roads, I mean that long ago, perhaps someone would have been able to identify them as a road. They were definitely not roads any longer. Sometimes, I didn’t even know there was a track of any sort! And there is no way any other type of vehicle could drive these tracks.

All of the vehicles with us were 4WDs custom-built for this purpose. There were huge tires, huge hydraulics, winches, axel-locks, and I don’t know all what else. Most of the building had been done by the drivers themselves, as well as all of the frequent repairs and upgrades. If you ever find yourself with any sort of car trouble on the side of the road, these are the guys you want to stop. They didn’t change any tires that day, but they swapped batteries, jump started, winched, and towed pretty fast and pretty frequently.

There were so many times I thought that it was simply not possible for a vehicle to go in, over, around, above, etc a particular area. Water, mud, huge ruts, uphills, downhills, logs, rocks, crazy angles…no problem! Sure, sometimes they had to winch someone up, or even all the cars had to be winched through a particular area, but they did it, without batting any eye.

I worked hard that day – keeping my arms inside the vehicle (just in case we rolled); keeping my mouth shut (no one wants a mouthful of mud); protecting my face from branches and sharp-edge grass (one small cut on my nose); squeezing my abs (to maintain a mostly upright position); and trying to keep my eyes open (the better to enjoy the experience – or something like that). I worked hard, too, trying to keep from crying out a warning – because surely we weren’t going to be able to make it alive through that!

But we did, and, once we were out there awhile, I began to realize that, while definitely crazy, these guys weren’t dangerous. They knew what they were doing. They also clearly enjoyed being out in the bush. They knew the names of trees, could identify birds by their call, knew what plants were native and which had been introduced, and really loved the area.

4WDers get some crap from environmentalists sometimes, but they consider themselves environmentalists, too. The area of bush they were driving in was a park. They had an agreement to only drive on the previously established logging tracks and they stuck to that. They helped maintain the access routes, re-grading park roads and clearing debris in some areas. It was interesting to listen to them, as they talked about the changes they’d seen in the park over the years they’d been driving there. New Zealand has had some introduced predators do significant damage to their native species. The possum, stoat, pig, and cat have all been problematic. The current method of control applied by the Department of Conservation (DOC) is to use 1080, a type of poison, applied to the land in pellet form. This is a controversial method of control and was universally disliked by this group, but the DOC feels it is safe and effective. I’m off on a tangent here, but it is a really interesting debate, especially as New Zealand has such interesting natural species.

We drove all day, returning to camp around 7. And while it was definitely fun, I have never been quite so excited to take a shower. I’d managed to keep my face pretty clean, but had chunks of mud stuck to my head and could shake dust from my hair. My boots and socks were covered in mud. I’d skipped the shorts and instead worn my pajama pants (no yellow duckies, thankfully, just cropped sweatpants) with my fleece – both of which were also covered. Cory was worse though. His jeans were soaked, and his once gray shirt was mostly brown. It took two wash cycles and a lot of stain remover to return his shirt to a sort-of wearable condition. Luckily, he was so thoroughly muddy, it just looks as if his grey shirt now just has an all-over brownish cast.

But we did thoroughly enjoy the weekend. The bush was beautiful and exploring it in such a manner is something we had never done before and, with the Honda as our only vehicle, probably won’t do again!

Happy Holidays!

Merry Christmas, everyone!

In my book, there are a few prerequisites for Christmas season – intense holiday baking of ridiculous amounts of goodies; carols playing in every store and 24/7 on at least one radio station; goofy themed sweaters/sweatshirts on middle-aged women, perhaps paired with awful earrings; and miserable weather, with ice and snow making travel difficult, if not dangerous.

Without this wonderful build-up to Christmas, you can understand how the day snuck up on both Cory and I. (We were both doing last-minute shopping on Christmas Eve, which, while usual for Cory, is unheard of for me!) Here, Santa wears “jandals” (or flip-flops) and may sport board shorts; a solid Christmas pudding and a pavlova decorated with kiwi fruit and strawberries stand in for the cookies, pies, and candies; and the weather is balmy enough to grill your Christmas lamb outdoors.

On Christmas Eve, Cory grilled our steaks and potatoes, while I boiled some fresh corn-on-the-cob. We ate our meal, listening to carols about white Christmases, with the balcony doors slid wide open and the windows letting in a nice breeze. Our little tree, a topiary purchased specially for the season, was lit with a single strand of lights and a dozen or so miniature red balls. We propped a picture sent to us of the first snow in Iowa in front of it, as an homage to home.

Christmas morning we woke around 4:30, not in our excitement to open presents, but to set off to climb the Mount and catch the sunrise. It was cool and threatening to rain, but, thankfully, it held off and we climbed quickly, settling in with our thermos of cocoa to watch the sun break through the clouds. It was a nice start to the Christmas day. (Excitingly enough, we may have also accidentally “crashed” a wedding proposal, too. A younger couple came up after us, and as we left, were smooching away. Later we saw them walking down; she was carrying a little jewelry box wrapped with a ribbon.)

Cory went to round; when he got back we opened Christmas presents, and then he made a great omelet. We lazed around until later in the day, when we headed over to a friend of a friend’s house. Originally, our friends, Lee and Dawson, had invited us to their house. But they then received an invitation to James and Sharon’s house, so we managed to plop ourselves in the middle of two families’ Christmases. Amazing.

But it was delightful! A crowd of 9 adults and 5 children assembled, with enough food to feed an army. The pool at James and Sharon’s had just been completed and the kids were in heaven. They swam until mealtime, with the adults watching over them while grazing and drinking. Cory’s sangria was a hit with both the kids and adults. (An NA version was made up especially for the kiddos – no worries!) And then we ate... The meal was outrageous, with grilled lamb and stuffing; a ham pricked with cloves and decorated with orange slices; venison sausages; homegrown potatoes; couscous, tomato, & feta salad; beetroot, walnut, & blue cheese salad; and 2 or 3 other green salads. Before the meal we all opened a Christmas cracker, half of which were filled with a musical instrument that looked suspiciously like a kazoo, but which everyone called a whistle. After the meal, Sharon had high hopes of us assembling ourselves into some sort of an octet, with her directing (complete with a chopstick for a baton). She valiantly tried, as did several others, to whip us into shape, but we were disastrous. Our listeners, in agony, could not make out one tune we attempted.

After it was clear we were not going to improve (and after several younger group members absconded with their instruments), we were given up on and allowed to eat dessert. The pavlova was twice as high as my early attempt, and decorated with fresh fruit. I watched as Carol, Lee’s mom, unmolded the Christmas pudding. It was lit and the appropriate “oooh”s went up. A fruit salad, my almond tarts, and Christmas cake were also on offer. Somehow everyone managed to squeeze some dessert in. Surprisingly, during our after-meal swim, no one was so loaded down that they sunk.

After drying in the sun, the littlest girl decided that it was time to open gifts. We had drawn Frankie’s name, and she conned me into helping her locate her gift from us, which she then lugged around until everyone gathered by the tree. She then “helped” everyone open their gift, or, in most cases, simply opened it for them. Very convenient!

Everyone was pleased with the day and quickly settling into a post-event stupor; it was clearly time to pack up and get home. We did so, knowing the day after Christmas here is Boxing Day (check Wikipedia for the possible origins of the day), allowing us a good four days to enjoy and rest up...

Know that we think of you all over this holiday season and wish you the merriest of Christmases. We miss you, but will see you next year!

Waitomo

On Saturday, after Cory rounded, we hopped in the car and drove the two hours to Otorohanga. We stopped there for lunch at the Thirsty Weta and then walked around the Kiwi House and Native Bird Park. We both totally love this sort of thing, and it was the first time we’d seen live kiwis. They are nocturnal, so they are kept in a darkened enclosure during the day, but you can see them moving about. We were also there for a feeding time, which was awesome. The two birds we saw were Western Brown Kiwi, and they were much larger than we had thought. The rest of the park was really neat, too, but the kiwis totally stole the show.

We drove on to Waitomo, where we were staying for the night. After dinner at the Huhu Grill (huhu being a large grub – none on the menu, thanks), we headed back to our hotel and rested up for the big adventures of the next day.

In Maori, “wai” means water and “tomo” means shaft or hole, so you can get a pretty good idea of what adventures might come our way. The Waitomo region is famous for its caves – about 300 have been discovered and mapped so far. There are three main caves, however, that are well-trafficked. We were headed to Ruakuri. The story is that the cave was discovered when two dogs (rua + kuri) surprised some Maori, appearing to come from no where. They tracked the dogs back to their den at the cave entrance, thus discovering what would be a major money maker for the area, at least until the European settlers took over. (The land was recently handed back to the Maori tribes of the area.)

On Sunday, we went on a guided adventure tour of Ruakuri. I really like the term “guided adventure” – you are offered just enough excitement without much possibility of danger. And this clearly is the intent of the numerous guiding groups in Waitomo. Our guides were friendly, knowledgeable, and took every opportunity to make you think about any fears you might have without really freaking you out.

The adventure began with our second wetsuit experience. We suited up in heavy wetsuits, complete with jackets, booties, and a balaclava if you had long-ish hair. Topping the look off were our helmets, head lamps, and gum boots. A fright right from the start – they wanted to take a picture. The one consolation was that it was clear from looking around that no one looked good in this get-up, not even the guides who had wetsuits that fit them.

We did a quick training on rappelling or abseiling as it is called here (and perhaps in the rest of the world). The mechanism for slowing your descent was different than what I had used before, and I will say it took a little bit of time to get used to it. Our guide had warned us that if we panicked and used the wrong hand to stop ourselves in an emergency, we could lose a thumb. Fantastic.

After the training and warnings, we each headed, one-by-one, down the tomo at the cave’s entrance. I worried both our guide and Cory, who was still up top, by momentarily forgetting all the training in my excitement. But I got focused, made it down safely, and can report that I still have all my digits. I did see a cave weta (sort of a large cricket/grasshopper found only in NZ) on the way down, which was really cool.

After we all got down the shaft, we walked a ways, our path lit by our headlamps. Then it was time for a flying fox, which I think is pretty much a zipline – done in total darkness. We each zipped along ‘til the end where our guide helped unhook us. As you got your bearings, you realized you were right along the edge of a high river bank, the dark water moving slowly along below you.

After a quick snack, we each grabbed an inner tube and jumped down into the cold river water. This is were a well-fitted wetsuit would’ve been nice, as the cold water filled my boots and slipped into my suit. Yowza! But the cold was quickly forgotten as we got our first really great view of glowworms. Glowworms are the larvae of the fungus gnat, and can live wherever there is a dark, damp area and access to a food supply. The glow they give off is essentially their urine, stored in their tail or applied to a sticky string that they dangle to attract and capture small bugs that have made their way into the cave. Nice, huh? But they are really cool to see. We walked and swam a ways upstream, with the guides pointing out cave formations and talking about the limestone, sandstone, and mudstone that made up the caves. Then we linked together, turned off our headlamps, and floated back downstream, heads tipped back, watching the glowworms above us.

A ways downstream, we regrouped and again walked and swam a bit further. Our guides were quick to remind us to keep an eye out for eels and to point out other interesting cave formations. We had a few areas we had to wiggle and crawl our way through, which is, of course, about the time someone pointed out the eel they’d seen. We spotted one more large one in a small, dark alcove – he is often there and the guides had named him Cecil. Cute, huh?

After a few more squeezes through tight spots, you could begin to hear water rushing. Our path out involved climbing up the shaft of two small waterfalls. I probably would’ve been okay, but our guide’s job was to tell us where to put which hand/foot. (Remember that “guided adventure” thing?) I knew I wasn’t great with left versus right, but I am also not good at following oral commands apparently. Now I know what those stressed out students feel like! Anyway, without too serious of an incident – just a little foot slip – I made it out. Cory is much better with left versus right, and he made it out with no problems. It didn’t feel like we’d been underground all that long, but it had been about 3 ½ hours.

We did the touristy thing and bought a CD with pictures from our adventure. If nothing else, the shot of us all in our gear is probably worth the cash anyway! Maybe we’ll make duplicates and it can be everyone’s Christmas gift from us! Just Kidding…

Hangin' 10

Our original weekend plans to head to the Waitomo Caves were cancelled on Thursday when one of Cory’s co-workers suggested we come up to Whangamata and spend the weekend with he and his family. We jumped at the chance, knowing we could go to Waitomo any weekend. The other big draw was this: Jason had offered to give us a little surfing lesson!

Being from Iowa, where there is no ocean (and where the distance to travel makes access fairly difficult), neither Cory and I have surfed. In fact, we really haven’t spent a whole lot of time playing/swimming/anything in the ocean. The few trips we’ve taken to places like Hawaii and Florida seemed to have come at times when the ocean water was chilly and laying on the beach seemed much more appealing. So, waves, really, are new to us.

How sad that sounds, though it may help make the images I’ll try to describe in the next few paragraphs much more accurate…

Our first task was to gear up. We headed to the local surf shop on the main street. Upon stepping over the threshold, I’m sure I looked out of my element. The small store was jammed full of boards, wetsuits, and clothing brands I’ve never worn. The walls were plastered with posters of surfers, snowboarders, and skaters. The guy behind the counter was bronzed, blonde, and salt-worn. And I had no idea how to even begin to ask for a surf board.

There are long boards and short boards and mini-mals (and probably others I don’t know yet). The long board is the easiest to stand up on, so Jason got us 9’ boards, which is probably as long as they come. Because the water is still a little chilly this time of year, most people are still in full-body wetsuits. Jason had a loaner for me and Cory rented one.

We then walked ourselves and our boards down to the beach while Jason drove the car down to a parking area. (We didn’t have any way to get the boards in or on the car – that is how big they were!) Carrying my board was in itself a challenge. If I tucked it under my arm, I could just barely wrap my fingers around the edge. And while it wasn’t really heavy, the length was awkward. I’m sure I looked hilarious, the board see-sawing as I walked, stopping every now and then to hike it back up near my hip and re-grip with my fingertips.

I was really glad to make it to our destination and set the board down, allowing my fingers to un-cramp. But then we had to get into our wetsuits, which was another first for both of us. I knew wetsuits were supposed to be form-fitting, but watching other people slip into them never seemed to illustrate just how form-fitting they are! I wish I could have watched Cory and I as we tugged and hiked and, occasionally, flailed, trying to wriggle our way in. Mine was short-sleeved and short-legged, so I had it easy really. At a couple points, Jason had to help Cory hike things up. Cory has clearly never put on pantyhose, as he was at a loss as to how he’d get his suit up his legs, trying to pull them on like pants. (I suppose him not having put on pantyhose before is an okay thing when you consider it.)

Anyway, we finally got into our suits, probably much to the disappointment of the family a short distance behind us. Cory actually looked sort of sleek and sporty, much like some sort of aquatic super hero. I’m pretty sure that wasn’t the look I had going on, but, luckily, there were no mirrors to confirm this.

Our first instruction was on land. Jason showed us about where to position on body on the board when laying on it. Then we practiced getting to our feet. In theory, one can sort of push up with the arms and then jump the feet into position. You can also pop into a kneeling position, with one knee up and one knee on the board, and then rise to a standing position from there. We practiced this a few times, and really, on land, I am not bad. Turns out adding water does add to the challenge. But I don’t want to get ahead of myself…

We strapped the boards to our ankles and strode bravely into the waves. Once it was deep enough, we set the boards down. There was even a lesson to learn here; as a wave comes at you, you tip the front of your board up, so that the board slides up over the wave. If you should forget to do this, the water pushes the board back toward shore, dragging you, attached by the leg strap, back with it.

We went out a short distance from the shore, maybe 150 feet. The water was only up to my chest, which meant I could jump up and lay on the board pretty easily. For the first few waves, we were only going to ride in towards shore, so we could learn to feel when the wave caught our board. Jason reminded me where to position my body and then, laying on the board, told me when to start paddling. I paddled, hardly moving a foot before the wave caught me up and rushed me to shore.

I know we were in shallow water, but it was pretty breathtaking when you could feel the wave lift your board and you found yourself racing towards the shore. I rolled off my board as I got to the shallow water, laughing and hooting.

After a few more rides in, Jason said it was time to actually try to stand up and “surf”. (Again, I use the term loosely.) So I hopped on my board and waited for his command to paddle. As the wave picked me up, I promptly forgot all early practice and used my new-found geriatric version, scooting myself up onto both knees. This puts you in sort of an awkward position, as you’ve now lifted your center of gravity away from the board yet not moved to the more flexible position on your feet. May be why no one does this…

A couple more attempts, though, and both Cory and I were to our feet. He got up first and actually managed to ride in a ways. The first time I got up, I promptly fell off. For the next hour or so, Jason bounced between the two of us, offering advice, answering questions, and shouting encouragements.

He also doled out helpful tips, like how to fall properly. You need to make sure and kick your board towards shore and push your body back into the wave, away from shore, so that you don’t end up with your board behind you, battering you into the sand.

I certainly don’t want to discourage Jason from continuing on his orthopaedic career, but he probably could make it as a surf instructor. He is a really good teacher and remarkably patient, even with two landlubbers from Iowa.

The start of summer...

It is summer here. This is marked not only by the official start date of December 1st but also by the weather and the beach-goers. It is definitely causing me to forget that Christmas is on the way - we almost missed the last mailing day for overseas packages – but I guess if that is as bad as it gets, I’ll probably make it…

Befitting the first day of summer, we had a jam-packed summer weekend. Friday, after stopping at my newest favorite-spot-in-New-Zealand, Pluto’s Juice Bar, I wandered down to Pilot’s Bay. This isn’t the “main” beach at the Mount, so I hadn’t really anticipated the sunbathers, but there were young couples and families and moms with kiddos. I sipped my tutti-frutti smoothie and sat on a picnic table for awhile. A few kids in their togs splashed about in the water, but mostly folks just lounged about on the grass or sand, a few reading, a few sleeping… That evening, I went for a walk and stopped for a while on the main beach to watch a 7s team (a modified version of rugby) practice and to see the novice surfers on the small breaks. It’s been four months since we arrived, but these are the scenes that still take me by surprise and delight me.

Saturday I headed into Tauranga for their farmers’ market while Cory was rounding at the hospital. Usually he enjoys coming too, but we were hoping to get on the road as soon as we could, so I needed to finish my errands early. It is a really nice farmers’ market, with great fresh veges (that is how it is written here), citrus, smoked fish, meats, breads and baked goods, cheese, olives and oil, honey, potted plants, and cut flowers. As soon as Cor was done, we drove down to Rotorua to visit our friends’ at their new place. The registrars (or residents) at the hospital move to new assignments on December 6th, and the couple going to Rotorua had all ready re-located, so we headed down to check out their house. They live near Okarewera Lake, with a pretty gorgeous view out the back windows. We ate lunch on their deck, with Cory lounging in a hammock for most of the meal. Then the boys threw the kayaks on the roof of the truck and headed down to the lake for a paddle. The girls opted to laze near the lake’s edge.

As the afternoon wound down, we had to say our goodbyes and zip back to Tauranga for the inaugural Tauranga Moana Seafood Fest! It was a great evening – we had mussel fritters and stir-fried squid, and then we watched the Ngati Ranganui, a local Maori iwi (tribe), and some fire dancers perform. The food was good and the performances even better. The fire dancers, which included the usual flaming batons and hula hoops and also featured flaming whips and a little fire-breathing, were pretty crazy, with a fire fighter escort to boot. But the hands-down favorite for both Cory and I were the Ngati Ranganui dancers. They performed a number of traditional songs and dances that were completely amazing. Our instructor for our Te Reo Maori class was there performing, too, which made it even cooler.

Cory took some video and posted it on YouTube; link to this from the photos if you are interested. I’m going to try to take a minute to explain some of what is on the video, but if you are actually someone who knows something about the Maori culture, you should either a) skip reading because you’ll be annoyed with the lack of detail and my inaccuracies or b) email me and add to/ edit it for me! Here goes… The songs and dances of an iwi are deeply ingrained in tradition. I can actually tell you very little about the lyrics, except that they communicate important information, usually telling a story. The two dances that Cory has included links to are the poi ball dance and the haka. Poi balls were originally used by young men to practice hand-eye coordination for the art of war, but somewhere, these poi balls have been incorporated into a dance performed by the women. The ladies make it look easy and graceful, but it is not simple at all. The haka, performed by the men, is a war dance. Before a battle, the two warring tribes would face off, each performing a haka to intimidate the other group. The large eyes and aggressive facial and body posturing makes their intent clear. The haka is also well-known because a version of it is performed by the All-Blacks rugby team before games.

Anyway, if you get a chance to watch some of the video, it is really great. And that Saturday night should have been enough fun to get us through the weekend, but there was more to come!
Sunday was just as beautiful a summer’s day as you could ask for. We had cranberry-orange muffins (made with left-over cranberry orange relish from Thanksgiving) and some hand-squeezed orange juice (great deals at the Farmers’ Market) on the balcony, while watching the finishers of the Tinman Triathalon straggle by before heading down to the Mount for some Christmas shopping. After that, we headed over to a staff member’s house for the annual Ortho department pig roast.

Having not been to many, make that any, pig roasts, I really didn’t know what to expect. I guess the concept is pretty self-explanatory, and we’ll leave it at that. The host’s home was beautiful, with distant views of the Mount and a magazine-worthy landscape. A pool, water feature, horse paddocks, tennis court, and children playing cricket on the lawn pretty much finished off the panorama.

After a grand meal, though, the idyllic scene was shattered. Remember “Movember”? Well, it and all of it’s horrible hair-iness was about to come to an end… The residents and a few willing staff were ushered into the center of the crowd of party-goers. The opportunity to shave off the facial hair of your favorite (or least favorite) man was auctioned off to the highest bidder. Cory went for 100 bucks, making him the second-highest participant behind the host. I didn’t know, really, how to handle the congratulations I received, but I guess maybe I’m proud or something like that. Anyway, the beard, and Movember, is history!

How’s that for celebrating the start of summer?