PHOTO/FILE
If, as our old people used to say, mist and rain be the sign of chieftainship then Tuhourangi and Ngati Rangitihi are lords of all we survey.
Yesterday marked a most significant date in our shared history - the 130th anniversary of the eruption of Tarawera. Early on the morning of June 10, 1886, the ground shook with a series of rolling tremors. The three domes of Mt Tarawera - Ruawahia, Tarawera and Wahanga - exploded.
The eighth wonder of the world, the Pink and White Terraces, were destroyed and the landscape changed forever.
The ructions were felt as far away as Auckland and Blenheim. Estimates of lives lost vary between 108 and 153.
And the lives of my whanau were changed forever.
Through my mother, I am Tuhourangi and whakapapa from my father gives me Ngati Rangitihi connections. But I am unashamedly a Whaka Penny Diver because Whakarewarewa is where my Tuhourangi whanau settled after the Tarawera eruption, offered shelter by our whanaunga Ngati Wahiao.
I have only recently returned to Rotorua, having lived in Auckland for more than 30 years. While I always acknowledged my beginnings and whakapapa, it was more as a visitor that I marked the anniversary in passing as a mere historic occurrence.
Yesterday was so much more. About 100 of us marked the day and it was awesome.
I helped prepare food for the day at Te Rau Aroha dining room on Thursday.
I am still too much of a city slicker to get up before dawn and travel up the mountain for karakia and then walk from Rotomahana to Te Ariki at Tarawera. So off I went to Punaromia (the Orchard) at the Tarawera Landing. I got there early for the boat trip to Te Ariki, so I spent the time setting out chairs in a huge marquee where we were to close the whole commemoration with a hakari (celebratory dinner).
Was I ever glad when it was time to go to the jetty and catch the water taxi along with about 40 others; moving chairs is so not my scene.
The mist was down and we couldn't see across the lake, but got on the launch and off we went. Members of the Rangiheuea whanau pointed out landmarks around the lake, but it was difficult to see because of the mist and the trip was quite rough. The korero was good and they showed where Tuhourangi had a number of villages used when hunting birds or gathering seasonal fruits and berries.
They also showed us where some of our kaitiaki who guard the lake live.
We arrived at Te Ariki, the site of one of our villages destroyed by the eruption, and stopped for a quick prayer by a memorial cairn.
It was damp and we sought shelter at a fishing camp and settled in to wait for those of our whanau who were trekking across from Rotomahana.
When we all gathered at Te Ariki we planted some trees. Mine was a kowhai and I felt pretty chuffed, connected where I had not been.
Then it was back to Punaromia and a fantastic meal. My sister Watu outdid herself with the fabulous selection of seafood, titi and puha, and roast meats, fresh fruit salad, steamed pudding, pav ... the list goes on, all served by students from Rotorua Girls' High School.
It was a wonderful day, shared by young and old. I fall (almost) into the latter category. I reconnected with some of my whanaunga I hadn't seen since school days; shared a meal with our younger generations.
Then we drove home, along a road bathed in mist, the drizzle turning to rain.
And I indeed felt like royalty, enriched by whanau and a wonderful shared history.