Mudlarking elver and bubbling mud

I have decided that in another life, I want to be a mudlark. Yup. Digging in the tidal mud on the Thames river searching for odds and ends. Firstly, you have to get a permit to do this muddy task. One permit allows you to dig up to a depth of 1.3 meters, but most permits are for surface digging only. There is a three year waiting list to buy a mudlark licence, which costs about $200. Is it worth it, and will I even be alive in 3 years time? Who knows. The way the nuclear powers are strutting their hubris, we might all be long gone. And if we do survive this present drama, then of course, I would have to be agile and able to skid around in the mud in my gumboots, kneeling down and unearthing things ... The trick for me would be the ability to stand back up again. A walking stick might help? Or maybe not? I would have a backpack to put my treasures into and special trowels to ease glass jars and amphora out of the gunge. I would know the difference between a silver buckle lost from a nobleman's cloak in 1700's and the tie-pull from a 2022 beer can. With one glance I would mutter, "Oh yes, that is definitely a Roman burial offering from 87 AD. Or maybe it is an urn depicting Marcus Aurelius sacrificing at the Temple of Jupiter?" People would be amazed at my knowledge and skill. Magazines and TV reporters would vie for my interviews. Oh, okay, never going to happen, dream on. Once upon a time, many years ago, we knew a man who would scratch through the city dumps and find discarded items to fix and sell. Each year he would amass a small fortune to pay for his family holidays abroad. People do throw away amazing things. Today we went to the Op Shop in town and my fingers itched to buy stuff that others no longer value. No, I am not keen on china knick knacks, but that very pretty glass coffee table was calling my name. Sadly I have nowhere to put it in my house. I suppose it is a sort of mudlarking, scratching through stuff in second hand stores. Where did I learn my skills? From my mother. The thrill of an auction and a bargain were a constant joy to her. Her eyes would shine and the adrenalin would be pumping as she raised her hand. One day my father came home with a mirror. A huge mirror. Large enough to stretch from the ceiling to floor and wall to wall. Firstly it was for a shop he owned, but when that closed, it found a new home in my parents bedroom. I sat in front of it as I prepared for my senior dance, and on my wedding day checking my outfit. There was no hiding from that mirror, it saw all. But it also saved me from that fashion faux pas of going out with my skirt tucked into my pants, or that time I had a piece of toilet paper stuck to my shoe. Sadly all I saw in that reflection was my faults and defects. Short legs, check, hair, mousy brown, check, nose ... eyes ... you name it, they were sub-par. There were things I wished I could have inherited from my parents, but it wasn't that mirror. It was much too judgy judgy for my liking. Yes, for me that mirror had a personality. A character of its own. Not quite evil, but malevolent maybe?

We have had the pleasure of my cousin's daughter visiting us for a few days. I dusted off my tourist cap and enjoyed the sights that I had been taking for granted for years. It's great seeing things through the lens of someone new. A few years back I remember driving along one day and my visitor yelling out to stop at once. Which I did, of course, thinking that something important had fallen out of the car. And this friend said "Wow, look at that, it's steaming mud and giant tree ferns." I was like, Oh okay, so then nothing important? But it is important. It is special. When we start to ignore the beauty around us, we need to invite someone along for the ride, to tune our eyes into seeing the marvels around us. With Kim, my cousin's daughter, we visited aquariums and hot pools, roaring waterfalls and floated down an underground river to see glowworms, we took a cruise on a volcanic lake to a rock carving done as a gift for a grandmother and took photos of buildings made of corrugated iron that look like sheep and dogs. We wandered around themed gardens and listened to my daughter tell us the stories behind the murals in the Egyptian section. Of jealous lovers who murdered their sibling, and how the murdered man's wife searched for parts of his body throughout the land until she had assembled it once again, so that he might be embalmed and resurrected. We listened to a lady talk about giant eels as she fed them. How their faces changed just before they embarked on their mammoth journey across the seas to spawn. A duckling clucked its way into the eel pool and the lady quickly grabbed it and took it to safety before it became a snack for the eels. We missed out on seeing snow covered volcanoes because of the low cloud, but that didn't dampen our joy. While sitting in the thermally heated hot pools, another visitor asked us if we thought the pools were heated with some sort of electricity. We told him that it was heated by a volcano and he looked around and said "Where?" We told him that we were right in the caldera of the volcano. He had obviously not done his homework on his destination and he looked slightly shocked. I was tempted to tell him that the alert level for a volcanic eruption had just been lifted from 0% chance to a 1% chance. He was Australian and again I wanted to ask him about deadly snakes, shark attacks and other things that he lived with every day that might kill him. For us, a little volcano is part of life and really nothing to worry about. In fact, that lovely mineral pool heated to just the right temperature was the direct result of that volcano he seemed so shocked to learn about. There were things we could have done with our visitor that I missed out on. But I think we hit most of the highlights. Well, the highlights that I personally love. I was very selfish and indulged myself with the things I enjoyed and just hoped that Kim would find joy in them too. Some folks might think that New Zealand is boring, or only about Hobbits and Avatar movies, but it is so much more. Glaciers and hot water beaches where heated water bubbles through the sand at low tide. Where golden beaches meet sandstone cathedral-like coves. And then there is the bungy jumping and adrenaline inducing activities. But for me, a lazy day floating down a river on an inner tube, where butterflies and birds flit overhead, that is more my speed. I live in Paradise and must remember to count my blessings and open my eyes to what is around me.

Now back to those giant eels. They weigh 13 kg when fully grown. (28 lbs) They can live to between 80 and 100 years of age before taking to the sea to spawn little elver who then swim back to New Zealand and live their lives out in our rivers and streams. The scientists tell us that the eels date back to 14 million years ago. They think the eels travel all the way to Tonga to spawn, 2,400 km (1,500 miles) But no one really knows. As in the rest of the world, our cost of living is not funny. Each week the price of tomatoes goes up and up and even onions are now at a crazy price. A local Maori man has suggested we take to foraging to fill our pantries with food. Foraging for vegetables like wild onion and watercress and maybe even taking to the bush to hunt for wild boar. Well, okay, that would not be my preferred choice and I do know that hunting eels is definitely off my list of abilities. Firstly, to hunt eels, you have to get up in the middle of the night. Secondly, you have to get into dark river beds and put your delicate fingers in places mine would rather not go, to catch an eel or two. And thirdly, the water is cold. Yes, it could even be considered freezing. To hunt pig, you have to be able to shoot accurately and fast, and then carry the dead animal out of the bush on your back, and that is after it has tried to kill you with its tusks while you stumble around the forest. The idea of paying the extra coin for my food in a supermarket is becoming more and more appealing. Foraging is not for the faint hearted. Sitting here doing my weekly budget, I think of all the food out in the bush that I could forage for and quite frankly, nope, nothing that I would want to eat. I dislike killing animals. Even fish flopping around on the bottom of a boat makes me want to cry. Eels are not something I could eat on a regular basis and the turkeys in the farmers fields get my sympathy. I am not a vegetarian, but I am a coward. Give me a gun to shoot an animal and I wouldn't be able to pull the trigger. Okay, I am a hypocrite because I do like a plate of meat and much as I love avocados, a diet of squashed avo on toast would soon grow tiresome. I admire those people who can be self-sufficient and live off the land, but sadly, my foraging will have to include a supermarket aisle and an eftpos card. My idea of toughing it out is to cut out a treat or two. But then I am one of the fortunate ones in life. I am rich in that I have a roof over my head, a bed to sleep in, safety to live my life and not be fearful and food on the table. In fact you could say that I am one of the richest people in the world. I have the love of my family, I have friends I enjoy spending time with and the ability to communicate with the world at the touch of a button. My home is heated in Winter and cooled in Summer, my cat sits on my lap to watch TV of an evening and I am happy and content. What more can I ask for? Oh, that's right, my cat might not be so accommodating after I dress her in her Halloween costume tonight .... but that is a small price to pay for a giggle and a laugh and a grumpy cat for an hour or two.