I've Found Joe Wellington

I’m unsure how to even begin this post. The last few days have brought many emotions; some I wasn’t expecting at all. I’m knackered.

I couldn’t sleep well the past few nights. Partly due to the heat but mostly due to the buzz from leads pouring in. My husband and I stayed up late on our computers, looking up every tip. Even the stupid Moody Blues my husband mocked with (I Know You’re Out There Somewhere) distracted me only briefly for a laugh.

I have to laugh.

This journey is fun. The youthful, carefree energy from 1998 with me even as I wade through comments, trolls, and pictures people send. Because I like to write fiction, I think it gets easy for me to think of him as a character. But he’s not.

He’s very real.

For two years, I’ve blogged about this person. Someone I connected with long ago- we were two kids, really- in a large city, unsure of our place. We clung to the comfort of the other (me more than him, I’m sure). Many years ago I traveled to San Francisco, grieving a significant death of someone I cared about very much, and I began to heal. Joe was a part of that, and at the time, wanted to be. I’m grateful. His meaningful inscription in a book about connection and healing, motivated me to look for him now that I’m living in New Zealand.

Thanks to the Dominion Post for seeing the fun in this story, and to the lovely people of Wellington, I now have a proper name for the person I’ve referred to as Joe Wellington for so long.

Joe and I have been in contact. I nearly had a panic attack when the email hit my inbox. Because he’s real.

So what’s next?

We’ll meet. Today. I have no expectations.

Right now, I have dishes to do and a sunrise to honour. But, I’m happy to finally be able to say:

I’ve found Joe Wellington.

(More to come)

Thank you!

Thank you, Wellingtonians for your help with this search. You've been most helpful.

Extra special thank you to Jessy Edwards for taking an interest in this story!

It's been a bit overwhelming. I've got heaps of information to go through so I'm going to press pause a bit, while I go through all the new info.

I appreciate this very much. You're all lovely. Will get back to you as soon as I can.

Cheers!

Getting Closer!

Time to get others involved in this search! Er, more like thousands? Ten thousand? Hundreds of thousands of searchers? I may be pushing it, but...

Yesterday, I sent an email to New Zealand's Stuff Newsroom, hoping someone with more exposure would be willing to help me find Joe. It was a giant leap of faith that I'm glad I took!

Today I got a call from a reporter who seems just as excited about this story as I am! Wahoo! We'll be meeting on Tuesday for a chat and some photos. I can pretty much guarantee I won't be sleeping the next two nights.

We're going to find him, I know it!

Stay tuned...

UPDATE: Huge thank you to Jessy Edwards at Fairfax Media! The article is live! More to come about the interview, but for now, here's to finding Joe!

Calling All 'Wellingtons'

Joe's inscription in the book he gave me in San Francisco 1998

The 2015/2016 phonebook came out a few months ago in Wellington. A friend sent me a photo of the names under Wellington. Two I'd called before and was met with no answer.

During the holidays, I put all writing about my search on hold. Until today.

Welcome to the first Joe Wellington post of 2016!

Thumbing through the W's, ticking off with my index finger the 'J Wellington' options, I tap the numbers into my phone. Not nearly as anxious this time than my last attempt at calling.

A man answers with a strong Kiwi accent.

"Is this Wellington?" I sputter.

"Sorry?"

"Is this surname Wellington?" I try again, thinking maybe I dialled wrong.

"Are you looking for Jeanette?"

"Oh, sorry. No, I'm actually looking for a Joe."

"Joe?"

"Yes, Jay-Oh-Ee." Spelling it out may help?

The man gets quiet, surely confused. "There's no Joe Wellington here."

"Ok, sorry to bother. Thank you!"

I feel like an absolute idiot. This is silly. Why continue on with this? I've met heaps of other people in my travels who I've connected with and then lost touch. Why bother with this particular one? If I've not found him yet, I won't. Perhaps he doesn't want to be found, as some people have mentioned.

Joe "Wellington" in San Francisco 1998

Yet, I'm determined. Because it's a really great story. He was such a good person when I knew him briefly in 1998. I considered him a friend. And now I'm in New Zealand, where I never even dreamed of being. It's a pretty damn good story.

On Twitter, I interacted with a lady with surname 'Wellington' living here in Wellington. I sent her a tweet asking if she knows a 'Joe Wellington'. Guess where that got me? Nowhere. Another dead end.

For nearly three years now I've written about my search. Safe to assume his last name just isn't Wellington, so how will I find him?

I ring another 'J Wellington' listed in Eastbourne.

"Jerry Wellington," he answers. His accent thick, for a split second I thought he said, "Joe".

"Hello, I'm looking for a Joe Wellington." Saying the name aloud is very strange. I've been writing about this person for so long now that he seems fictional.

"Joe Wellington... I don't know of any Joe Wellington's. Sorry." Quite a pleasant man.

"Ok, thank you. Sorry to bother."

I guess I'll just have to continue searching.

Wandering Otari-Wilton's

Otari-Wilton's Bush

Gratitude list for 2015:

Grateful for my son's health. His curiosity. His charm. Wit. Snuggles. Sleeping. Preschool.

My husband's insight. Humour. Intellect. Openness. Bravery. Love.

My mom and dad's willingness to travel twice to New Zealand to visit us. Their health. Healing. Their genuine interest in their grandson, son-in-law and their flexibility. Their love.

My brother's easy communication. Connection. Genuine care for his nephew. His perseverance in completing his doctorate. Being a fantastic father to his children. His compassion.

My mother-in-law's love. Her helpful advice. Support, encouragement and easygoing mentality about having to have a relationship with her grandson over the Internet.

Grateful for my friends near and far who allow me to be imperfect. Forgiving and encouraging and kind. Who gently challenge me. Who accept people for who they are- never willing anyone to be someone they're not. Their passion for life, love, others. Loyalty.

I have a true appreciation for our new home and the safety it has provided. Our new landlords, the 'angels' they are- helping us to make a home, offering us a sense of security during an uncertain time. God was listening to my prayers for guidance. I continue to listen to Her messages, too.

Grateful to live in New Zealand. For the tui, the toetoe, the rimu, the flax, the pohutukawa, the pongas. The sea. The colours in the sky. The people.

A ponga tree (silver fern)

The writing. The editing. The writing community. The readers. The passion. The resilience.

I hope to never forget the things I've learned.

The Tasman Sea

Full of grace, this is what I think of as I wander Otari-Wilton's. And I hope you have also found what you're looking for this year and then some.

I wonder what Joe Wellington is thankful for?

Traipsing Taupo

Craters of the Moon, Taupo

All right, Joe Wellington. Are you in Taupo?

Taupo (means 'The great cloak of Tia', the one who discovered the lake) is a town in the middle of the North Island of New Zealand. It's bordered by the largest lake in the country and a volcano. With a population of 24,000 people, surely Joe could be there?

My search began at Craters of the Moon, a geothermal walk known to be rather touristy but an easy little trek for any preschoolers in tow. The bubbling, steaming pools of mud and geysers along the walkway provided an eerie sort of soundtrack to the otherwise gorgeous view.

We wandered along, oohing and awing that just below our feet, earth is doing its thing, with magma ready to burst and burn us all (ok, maybe it doesn't work that way but fun to be spooky near Halloween, right?). A few people, most with young kids, stopped for photos among the craters but none who resembled Joe Wellington. Still, it was nice to brush up on our geology.

Craters of the Moon, Taupo

Next up, we drove to Huka Falls (Huka means 'foam'). According to the web site, they are the largest waterfalls on the Waikato River, and empties into Lake Taupo. Another tourist destination, I was quite confident I'd have a good chance at finding my Kiwi mate here. The entrance was overwhelmed with crowds and I gave a good up and down glance to as many as I could. One man in particular caught my eye with his light red hair and beard, but as I was about to ask him if his name was Joe, I got completely distracted by this intense rushing sound and a vibrant turquoise hue with foam splashing atop! Huka Falls! I ran to the viewing platform to attempt a photo; I had to try to capture the power of the falls. Impossible. A jet boat full of people on a tour approached the falls only to get forced away by the angry current.

Huka Falls, Taupo

When I turned away from the falls, my possible Joe sighting had vanished. I figured. Oh well. It probably wasn't him, anyway. I mean, if he lives in New Zealand, why would he want to visit tourist attractions, right?

Onward to Wai-O-Tapu, a 'thermal wonderland' near Rotorua. It was a bit of a drive, 40 min from Taupo, but long enough to let my kid have a sleep and ponder yet again how I've not found Joe in the two years of living in this small country. Some people suggest he doesn't want to be found. And I suppose there may be some truth to that. It'd probably weird me out, too if some acquaintance from years ago had a blog about trying to find me. Maybe this is as far as I'm supposed to get in my search.

So, I decide, instead of looking for Joe Wellington at our next stop, I'm going to stay in the moment and just enjoy the sights.

I pull into our next tourist attraction and instantly pinch my nose. I even try to hold my breath so the sulphur won't seep into my lungs. Or pores. Ew. The stench of rotten eggs is overwhelming and my son thinks his dad is passing gas. Eventually, I just get used to it because this place is awesome!

Wai-O-Tapu Thermal Wonderland, Rotorua

pretty but so stinky!

hot!

It's said that back before there were kitchens and stoves, Maori women would place their food on the rocks near the volcanoes/geysers to cook! Mother Earth always giving back...

Gollum? Are you in there?

So, no, Joe Wellington didn't pop out from any volcanoes, nor did Gollum from Lord of the Rings. But I came away with an even deeper appreciation for what this small country has to offer. It's pretty wild to drive from the ocean, through the desert, to a lake, to waterfalls, and to volcanoes (!) within hours. Anyone would be lucky to grow up here. Every day, I look out my window at home and see the Cook Strait. Never in a million years would I believe that I'd be living here. Yet, I am. So, I best appreciate the moment rather than looking for some dude.

Goodbye for now. I'll have to come back to Taupo again soon. You know, to see if I can find Joe Wellington...

Lake Taupo

Searching the South Island:Te Waikoropūpū Springs

Looking down into the main spring

While searching for Joe Wellington in the north part of the South Island, I stumbled upon Te Waikoropūpū Springs. I wasn't sure what I'd find here, having only seen the sign for it along the road with a large dirt car park and barely any vehicles, I was certain it'd be 'just another tourist destination'. 

My son and I walked hand in hand toward the entrance and to my delight, I saw the word 'hine' (girl, daughter) in several of the brief explanations about the area. Perhaps Joe Wellington has a deep appreciation for Māori mythology? Worth a check, anyway.

Maroon posts of the marae were carved with the legends of strong wahine (women) and descriptions on each one. There's too many for me to name, but while reading about Hine Ahu One (the first mother of the land), I knew this stop wouldn't be trivial. Having to chase after a preschooler, I wasn't able to linger and read more. What I did understand before taking to the path was this: the grounds and water are sacred. Don't dump anything in the spring. Don't take water from the spring. Don't smoke or eat or drink. Respect the guardians and the Papatūānuku (earth mother).

Once on the dirt path sheltered by Manuka trees, it was stop and go several times due to a pebble hitching a ride in my boy's shoe. He was in good spirits, his playfulness refreshing. But I couldn't shake the feeling like we were being watched. Not in an eerie sort of way (although, that'd make a good story), but there was a definite presence. Joe Wellington of the Wind? Right. Joking aside, you could just tell you were in a special place.

We approached the main spring that looked like a normal, quiet pond with flax plants and pebbles lining the shore. But when I peered straight down into it, the colours were none I've ever seen of water before. It was like a Monet (see above photo).

the waters represent the lifeblood of the Earth Mother & tears of the Sky Father

My boy gazed into the water, too, mesmerised by the eels and trout living beneath 'the submerged garden of Eden' while his grandparents explained as best they could the importance of not disturbing the sacred water. This was a place full of history, spirit, and conservation.

According to Māori mythology (forgive me if I'm misunderstanding), these springs are  protected by female guardian Huriawa. I've not had time to research as much as I'd like, and to be sure I don't get it wrong, I'll offer Wikipedia's explanation on Huriawa: 

"She is a diver of land and sea, travelling deep beneath the earth to clear blocked waterways. She is brave and wise and believed to still rest in the waters of Waikoropūpū, when she is not away attending to business." 

It's said to be an honour to gain guardianship over such sacred places as this. The role has been passed down over several generations from the ancestors to "ensure that the matauranga (knowledge and legends) and aroha (love) of our sacred place is not lost."

'the tears of the spirit ancestors'

Aha! So it's the female guardians whose presence I felt along the path; now making it a spiritual experience for me. Geez, I can't give up knowing more now... These mythological taniwha's are the 'dawn maidens', the 'mothers', the 'keepers', the 'sisters', the 'protectors'. They are described as brave, wise, strong, but also full of knowledge and love.

I'm finding in my mid-thirties, I'm appreciating what an honour it is to be a woman; grateful to the women before me who've fought to have their voices heard and to the women who've stayed silent but with a loud spirit. I'm in awe of the women who've carried shame, and the women who've not had time for it. I weep for the women who've suffered and applaud the women who've persevered even when silenced. I adore the women who dare to have an opinion and the women who laugh when insulted for speaking up. I join in solidarity for the sacred stillness we long for within.

Let no one take our power or the life-force we protect. I only hope I can pass on to younger generations (such as my son) a devotion to all things fragile, breathing, connecting us all.

It says at the entrance to the sacred grounds, "Because the physical and the spiritual are inseparable, the health of the whole system reflects the well-being of our community”.

Well, I can't deny that.

Sorry, Joe. Maybe we'll connect at the next stop. And this concludes my search on the South Island (until next time). Right now, I'm too busy protecting my womanhood.