In the morning, I set off along the riverbank, searching for one of our cows. Strawberry (named after her red coat) keeps wandering away.

Women from the pa were at the water’s edge, checking the nets and traps they set to catch eels, and the little inanga fish that taste so good when we cook them with flour. We greeted one another. I found myself looking to see if Ngaio was among them, but she was not there.

Here is another memory: they all seem to be coming just now.

One summer night, when Haare and I were about … eleven? twelve? … he and I took fishing lines and went to the shelves of rock reaching out into the river. Janet and Ngaio pestered us until we finally let them come, too.

The world was quiet and still. Stars glittered across the sky. Haare showed me the great canoe that Maori people see in the heavens: the three stars of its prow, the little group that make its stern, the long line like rope, twisting across the sky to the four-starred anchor we call the Southern Cross. Mother has talked of the different stars that shine above Scotland. Perhaps I will see them sometime.

That night, we fixed pieces of meat on our hooks, and Haare broke a rotten egg into the water, since eels are said to like that smell. Janet and Ngaio held their noses. Then we sat on the rocks and talked softly.

Something snatched at my line. It was so strong, so sudden, that I almost toppled into the river. Haare seized me, and we began hauling in, hand over hand. In the water, a black shape struggled and writhed. Three more heaves, and it was thrashing on the rocks among the four of us. An eel as long as my arms: dinner for our whole family.

I tried to stamp on it, while Haare struck at it with a stone. The two girls ran and leaped in circles, screaming. Haare turned his head to shout at them; the stone in his hand missed the eel and hit my bare foot. Our dinner jerked itself off the hook, and twisted back into the water.

I was hopping on one foot, Ngaio and Janet were still jumping and shrieking, and my friend was bent over, laughing so much he almost burst. We teased the girls for weeks afterwards about their screaming. Now I don’t know if I can tease Ngaio any more.

This morning, I saw Strawberry where she was munching on shrubs (not the deadly tutu; cows seem to know) at the edge of the bush. She gazed at me with her huge brown eyes, and swished her tail. I glanced around to make sure nobody could see me, then I put my arms around her neck, and leaned my head against her, while she breathed warm, leaf-smelling air on me.