The Green Garden

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February 11, 2018February 19, 2018 The Green Garden

Summer: tents, beaches and long lost memories.

January 18, 2016February 11, 2018 The Green Garden

On breastfeeding in public in the UK

January 13, 2016February 10, 2018 The Green Garden

Visiting art galleries with four year olds

February 12, 2013March 28, 2018 The Green Garden

Making our own Beads of Courage

August 20, 2017February 19, 2018 The Green Garden

Five years on: the space between

August 16, 2017February 19, 2018 The Green Garden

Five years on: the day I learnt too much.

August 15, 2017February 19, 2018 The Green Garden

Five years on: Why now?

August 14, 2017February 19, 2018 The Green Garden

Family update: Here we are.

August 13, 2017February 10, 2018 The Green Garden

Five years on: Kintsugi.

August 14, 2016 The Green Garden

Golden.

June 24, 2016February 10, 2018 The Green Garden

Autumn: Anchor Me

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It’s the very middle of winter here in New Zealand. Solstice was celebrated last night in two ways - a Matariki performance with fireworks and bonfire at the school for us all, and then later, a ladies only skinny dip in the freezing Tasman Sea for me. Another wonderful year celebrated in the dark, chilly air. This morning, I woke to a terrific frost - thick and sparkly across everything. I walked down our dark garden path to the train, with no time to stop, passing our icy Tamarillo trees guiltily. I’d not covered them in advance and they may never forgive me. I called Marcus, still fast asleep, as I drove to the station. “There’s been a massive frost” I explain to him. It’s not clear to his snoozy brain, the importance of such meteorological news at such an hour. I ask him to take warm water in buckets and rinse the frost off the Tamarillo trees. They really don’t like frost I explain. I don’t want them to die I say. He admonishes me for calling him. He thought, with my Dad so ill, that my phonecall meant that something bad had happened. Not yet, I explain. Not yet. I planted those trees in memory of our childhood garden. Mum and Dad loved Tamarillos, and on the plentiful harvest, they were a regular feature in our lunchbox, our cereals and our deserts. I never liked them and I still don’t, not really, and yet the trees are precious to me. A living connection between then and now. I want to place tamarillo in my boys lunchboxes too. To squash the layers of time and love between their lives and my parents. Marcus tells me off again sleepily for ringing. “I thought your Dad had died” I feel my heart in my throat. No, he hasn’t. Not yet. And I realise my panic about warm water on tamarillo trees is not about the frost at all.
Some more sounds from NZ native bush on Sunday. Just about nothing fills my soul more than Tui calling.
Sunday reset with an incredible walk in the bush with my boys. The Kohekohe were flowering and the Tui were craaaaazy for it. Kohekohe is a native tree that flowers out of its trunk in early winter. Once it is pollinated it takes 15 months for its fruit to ripen, so it doesn’t flower every year. A wonderful way to end a stretching week.
I can imagine Dad beside me as I travel on this train. In years gone by, he might have looked to this sky and commented on those clouds. “They look like Constable’s clouds” he would say, and I would marvel at how Dad knew everything about clouds and everything about art history (spoiler alert: he really didn’t) I was pretty sure, for much of my childhood, that Dad knew it all. This afternoon, I’m off to see him, now bed ridden and dementia set. A four hour journey north, with clouds above my head the whole way. I wonder now, not if he’ll know it all anymore, but just if he will know me. I am Sarah, Dad. You taught me about clouds.
June Women’s Circle - a dark and rainy night that echoed many of our thoughts as we lit candles for those around us who are facing almost insurmountable challenges. And with meditation, companionship, listening ears and laughter, our souls were balmed. I walked out into the dark night lighter. The medicine from a circle of feminine energy.
Fred proudly showed me his collection of rockpool treasures from the morning - he’d been keeping them in his hood. One small dead fish, one crab, a gull feather, a piece of sea sponge and a myriad of non- descript stones (that were wonderful in his eyes). He’s so awesome. May we all feel the freedom to carry small dead fish in our hoods and love ordinary peebles! (Admittedly, that’s not your usual self-help style mantra, that you see about the place, but sometimes life calls for something altogether more cavalier).

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