The Tale of Hinekiwi and the Mischievous Pīwakawaka - Day 29
In a lush, green ngahere (forest) cloaked in mist, where ancient rimu and kahikatea trees reached to touch the sky, lived Hinekiwi, the small and humble brown kiwi. Hinekiwi was known for her quiet and hardworking nature. Every night, under the cover of darkness, she would dig through the soft soil with her long beak, finding juicy worms and grubs to eat.
Nearby lived Pīwakawaka, the mischievous fantail. With his flitting wings and cheeky nature, Pīwakawaka delighted in playing tricks on the other animals. Though clever and charming, he often pushed his games too far.
One evening, as the moon rose and bathed the forest in silver light, Hinekiwi was busy digging near the roots of a giant tōtara tree. She had found a patch of rich, damp earth teeming with plump worms, a rare treasure. As she carefully plucked one from the soil, Pīwakawaka swooped down, chattering loudly.
“Ah, Hinekiwi! What a feast you’ve found!” Pīwakawaka said, his voice light and teasing. “Surely you don’t need all those worms?”
Hinekiwi looked up, startled. “I worked hard to find these, Pīwakawaka. Please, let me eat in peace.”
But Pīwakawaka was not one to take no for an answer. With a flick of his tail, he darted down, snatched a worm from Hinekiwi’s beak, and zipped into the trees. Hinekiwi called after him, but the cheeky bird only laughed and disappeared into the shadows.
The next evening, as Hinekiwi searched for food, Pīwakawaka reappeared. This time, he didn’t just take one worm—he stirred up the soil with his wings, scattering Hinekiwi’s carefully dug treasures. “Such fun!” he chirped, leaving her with little to eat.
Hinekiwi was patient and wise. Though upset, she didn’t confront Pīwakawaka directly. Instead, she hatched a plan.
The following night, Hinekiwi ventured deeper into the ngahere to a place she knew well—a boggy patch near the edge of a stream, filled with fat worms. But this time, she made sure to spread word among the forest creatures that she had found an especially rich spot for foraging.
It wasn’t long before Pīwakawaka heard the news. Eager for an easy meal, he fluttered over. As Hinekiwi pretended to dig, Pīwakawaka darted down to steal a worm. But instead of finding soft earth, he landed in sticky, muddy clay! His wings flapped furiously, but the more he struggled, the deeper he sank.
“Help! Hinekiwi, help!” he called, his usual cheer replaced by panic.
Hinekiwi calmly approached. “Why should I help you, Pīwakawaka? You’ve stolen from me and made my hard work even harder.”
“I’m sorry!” Pīwakawaka cried. “I only wanted to have fun. I didn’t realize I was hurting you.”
Hinekiwi looked at the struggling bird and sighed. She was kind at heart and knew everyone in the ngahere played a role in the balance of life. “Very well,” she said. Using her strong beak, she dug around the sticky clay until Pīwakawaka was free.
From that night on, Pīwakawaka changed his ways. He still loved to play, but he no longer stole from Hinekiwi or anyone else. And when he saw Hinekiwi working late into the night, he would flutter close and chirp cheerful songs to keep her company.
The moral of the story:
Respect others’ efforts, for kindness is repaid with kindness — but mischief will stick to you like mud.
Poll: Would you rather: Christmas in summer forever or winter forever?
Just a bit of a fun poll to get you thinking.
If you had to live out your Christmas days, would you prefer it was a summer Christmas or a winter Christmas?
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60.8% Summer
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37.3% Winter
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1.9% Other - I'll share below
Te Whakapono o Tūmanako - Day 30
The Faith of Tūmanako
In a small village nestled between the mountains of Aotearoa and the vast ocean, lived a young Māori man named Tūmanako. His name meant “hope,” and his kuia (grandmother) often reminded him, “Tūmanako, e moko, your name carries a promise to the world. You must learn to walk the tides of life with grace.”
One summer morning, Tūmanako’s world was upturned. A fierce storm rolled in from the sea, its winds howling like angry taniwha. His whānau’s (family’s) marae was badly damaged, and the crops they relied on were swept away. Despair gripped the village. Many cried to Tangaroa, the god of the sea, asking why such calamity had befallen them.
Tūmanako, too, felt the sting of loss. “Why, Kuia?” he asked his grandmother. “Why does life bring so much suffering?”
His kuia sat beside him, her face weathered with years of wisdom. She handed him a tī kouka (cabbage tree) leaf. “Take this, moko. Bend it.”
Tūmanako did as he was told. The leaf bent but did not break.
“Now, hold it tighter and twist it harder,” she said.
He twisted until the leaf sprung back and slapped his hand, leaving a sting. His kuia smiled gently. “This leaf is like life. It bends under the weight of the wind but refuses to break. Yet when we fight against it, we feel pain.”
Tūmanako listened but wasn’t sure he understood. His kuia continued, “Life is a cycle, moko, just like the seasons. There will be days of sunshine and warmth, and days when the rain soaks the earth. Both are needed for growth. To fight against the storm is to forget the blessings it will bring in its wake.”
In the following weeks, Tūmanako began to embrace his kuia’s wisdom. Instead of mourning the storm, he worked with the village to repair the marae. They sang waiata (songs) of strength and unity as they planted new crops. Tūmanako noticed the soil, enriched by the storm’s floodwaters, yielded more bountiful kumara than before.
Years later, Tūmanako became a respected rangatira (leader). When challenges arose, he would remind his people of the tī kouka leaf. “We are like this leaf,” he would say, holding it high. “Life’s storms will come, but we will bend, not break. Let us move with the winds, not against them.”
The people of the village came to cherish this teaching. They learned to greet hardships with calm hearts and open minds, trusting that every storm would eventually bring new growth.
And so, the wisdom of Tūmanako and his kuia lived on, teaching the generations that to accept life’s ups and downs with equanimity is to find inner peace and wisdom.
The moral of the story is:
Resilience comes from embracing life’s challenges with acceptance and grace. Just as the storm nourishes the earth, adversity can lead to growth and wisdom when met with an open heart.
⚠️ DOGS DIE IN HOT CARS. If you love them, don't leave them. ⚠️
It's a message we share time and time again, and this year, we're calling on you to help us spread that message further.
Did you know that calls to SPCA about dogs left inside hot cars made up a whopping 11% of all welfare calls last summer? This is a completely preventable issue, and one which is causing hundreds of dogs (often loved pets) to suffer.
Here are some quick facts to share with the dog owners in your life:
👉 The temperature inside a car can heat to over 50°C in less than 15 minutes.
👉 Parking in the shade and cracking windows does little to help on a warm day. Dogs rely on panting to keep cool, which they can't do in a hot car.
👉 This puts dogs at a high risk of heatstroke - a serious condition for dogs, with a mortality rate between 39%-50%.
👉 It is an offence under the Animal Welfare Act to leave a dog in a hot vehicle if they are showing signs of heat stress. You can be fined, and prosecuted.
SPCA has created downloadable resources to help you spread the message even further. Posters, a flyer, and a social media tile can be downloaded from our website here: www.spca.nz...
We encourage you to use these - and ask your local businesses to display the posters if they can. Flyers can be kept in your car and handed out as needed.
This is a community problem, and one we cannot solve alone. Help us to prevent more tragedies this summer by sharing this post.
On behalf of the animals - thank you ❤️
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