The Weka and the Pīwakawaka

Flightlessness and?Freedom

Recently, I visited a scenic lookout over Toi Moana (Bay of Plenty) on the Northeast coast of Aotearoa New Zealand. The lookout occupied the site of an ancient Pā (Māori settlement) belonging to the famous explorer Toi, thought to be one of the earliest Māori (and possibly one of the earliest humans) to set foot in Aotearoa.

While there, I saw several weka, flightless birds indigenous to Aotearoa, which are often mistaken for the similarly flightless kiwi.

The existence of so many species of flightless birds fascinates me. In contrast to the proverbial ‘canary in the mine’, flightless birds hark back to a time when birds were not bothered by mammalian predators. The largest of these, the moa, was hunted to extinction by the first humans. The arrival of Europeans and their possums, stoats, and rabbits has threatened the existence of the smaller flightless birds as well.

The weka is a threatened species and it is quite unusual for a casual tourist to see one, let alone two or three, out in the open.

Flightlessness conveys vulnerability, and the thought fills me with horror. What is the point of being a bird, without the freedom of flight? And yet, as I considered those birds, pecking around on a sacred and ancient site once occupied by important human ancestors, it occurred to me that flightlessness could be a gift rather than a source of fear. The birds were connected to the whenua (land), to a time long before Toi arrived. Their weka ancestors saw the Māori arrive in waka (canoes) and build their Pā. Early weka did not know to fear those strange animals that walked and ran on two legs, outweighing them by at least seventy times, and they were blissfully unaware of the even more threatening white-skinned humans who would bring smaller but more virulent four-legged creatures to hunt and kill them and their flightless friends.

When viewed in the context of their whakapapa (ancestry), these birds make me think of freedom — freedom from fear and insecurity. I wonder if they ever wish they could fly.

As I returned to the car, several birds called pīwakawaka (fantails) came flying out of the trees toward my spouse, Nell, and I. These birds, also indigenous to Aotearoa, have long thin tails that spread out like fans. They are beautiful and intriguing and, when found indoors, are thought by some to be a harbinger of death.

They were so close, I thought they might land on me. I tried to snap a photo, but they were too quick. I started to feel unnerved, wondering if they were actually foretelling?our?death, perhaps in an accident on the way home on narrow winding roads.

A quick Google search brought another view. Instead of portending death, the fantail symbolises change. We took this to mean that our lives here in Aotearoa are about to end as we step forward into our new life.

We are on a journey, moving to the United States and, as might be expected, we’ve had doubts. What if, after giving everything away and leaving behind our nice life here, it all goes pear-shaped? What if we can’t get jobs? What if we run out of money? The political news from the US is certainly not friendly and welcoming to people like us.

Every day, Nell and I draw strength and courage from a Higher Power (that we don’t understand) to do the next right thing. We ask to be released from fear and for courage and guidance. The message from the pīwakawaka was just the sort of guidance we needed. “Go forth,” they were telling us, “make this change with courage and boldness. Go with our blessing.”

Nell thanked them for their message and they immediately flew back into the trees and stayed there. It was as if they were assured that we got it. The littlest birds of Aotearoa had told us to go, we’d understood, and they were happy.

Some people might suggest that these happenings were just coincidence. The pīwakawaka were interested in the bugs we’d stirred up in the grass and came to find food. The weka were bravely searching for their own food in an area relatively free from humans and four-legged predators.

But as we got in the car, I was thoughtful and intrigued. The flightless birds were staying put, grounded in the whenua. The flighty fantails were telling us to go forth with courage and confidence. Which was it to be?

The answer is?both.

For Nell and I, either by birth or by choice, Aotearoa is our turangawaewae. It’s the place where we’ve planted our feet and we will always come back here. We are flying away to a new life because we’ve been compelled by circumstances to do what is right for our whānau (family). Like the flightless birds, though, we’ll remain grounded — and will always be guided back home.

It might be far-fetched but I believe we were given some powerful messages by those indigenous birds of Aotearoa. Embrace change, don’t be afraid, and remember our roots. Sometimes the small and the vulnerable can be our greatest teachers.