KO TAKU KUMARA HEI WAI-U MO TAMA by ARAPERA BLANC It is Summer and the sun beats down with stagnating insistence. Who would work on such a day? Ah!—the sea looks right for fishing. The blueness flashes a silvery invitation as tantalizing as the sheen of the paua must be to the kahawai. And with nostalgic yearning the men look towards the shore. They think of the days when grandfather would have dropped his spade and would have gone to catch fish, while grandmother remained behind to finish the chores. Those days are gone now; and though allowed a certain latitude because of his self-employment, the Maori farmer must work to the clock. The clock says at 4.30 a.m., “Get up! Milk the cows! Take the cream to the road—it must catch the carrier! Weed the garden! Mend that fence! Cut the manukas!” The clock ticks on and each tick is a reminder that there is work to be done. Summer, summer, summer—all summer, from dark to dark, in my little village, people and children bend with bottoms up. A sleepy looking village in a sleepy valley, a hot day, cows chewing contentedly in the fields—why such activity? Most city people are on holiday, enjoying the summer sun. It is heresy to forego such pleasure. But the Maoris still bend with bottoms up. They are weeding kumaras. They must “race the rain” before it sets in and the weeds get thicker. Kumaras need lots of attention. They must be weeded carefully since excessive weed robs them of much of their nourishment. Warmth and moisture are needed for successful propagation, and hence the farmer is especially careful in the selection of his plot, which must be well drained and receive plenty of sun. The crop must be good this year and the market offers good prices. So, with insistent attention work goes on. It goes on because from the sale, these people get a very welcome additional income. It is noticeable to me that life is changing—slowly for the more conservative and rapidly for the far-sighted. The root of the change lies it the transference from a system of mutual reciprocity to that of a money economy. For the Maori people money has created a new pattern of values. Where once, without money, the Maori worked communally for a communal existenc, he is now obliged to work more or less by him self and for himself. Where once needs were very simple, they have become more complex. No-one, if he can, works for a mere subsistence level, Wants seem to accumulate endlessly, and they are stimulated by public opinion, which, by its subtle and implied compulsion, demands better education, more farm machinery, better houses and greater investments. For all these things more money is needed, and people are very conscious of this. They know that hard work alone will not do—they know that, in addition, there must be consistency and careful planning. Most of the people in my little village on the East Coast are farmers. Some milk cows and rear pigs for the markets, while others are “big-time”