It was driven by this idea of garden perfection, by fantasies of a garden that matched those I saw in magazines. The whole thing was actually driving me mad.
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Unlike going for a walk, when walking the labyrinth there is no sense of trying to outpace the feelings, resolve them, shake them off or leave them behind.
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The bags went down, the hay went down, the potatoes went down and then got covered up. There may or may not be potatoes to harvest at the end of this.
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A beautiful video of a kereru doing a display dive.
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It’s not just the mental shift from gardening to guardianing (thanks to Mary Reynolds for that beautiful phrase), but a certain kind of loosening inside me.
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It starts each night with the tui. Singing from the taller cypress, gingko, and macrocarpa, they circle the garden from tree to tree, playing the rim of a singing bowl…
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The labyrinth of my imagination was a dreamscape of nodding buttercups and feathery seedheads visited by chaffinch and damselfly. I imagined draping my hand through the long soft grass as I walked…
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I wasn't planning on doing this but I enjoyed it so much that I feel inspired to ask—would you like to order a book from me directly?
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The experience of post-natal depression has made life now with my children more poignant, more alive, more layered. It has complicated our relationships, and humbled me.
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Lullaby for Mothers started with one quiet moment with my son, a few scrawled notes and a single poem.
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It is instinctively appealing. So much is possible with so little effort. It is also incredibly hopeful —the land really can regenerate itself. The land does the work, and time does the work.
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I read a question today—how much will you give to get what you want? Will you miss the beauty of the simple summer sky, the abundant perfume of roses clamouring for your attention, and the song of a nearby friend?
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Clearly I’m in love with The Bag. But, it’s actually everything that came before the bag that makes The Bag so awesome.
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The distinction between path and wall has become clearer, and yesterday my son suggested we walk the labyrinth with our eyes closed.
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“Do you feel all zen when you get to the middle?” my son asked, as we walked the labyrinth together this morning.
Let me clarify what it means when he and I walk the labyrinth together. Forget a meditative walk. This is a race.
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I’ve stopped thinking about our property solely as something to manage and maintain. I think less about how we might use the land and more about what would be useful for the land.
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As with learning most new things, the hardest part was at the start. It takes a while to learn the language of anything new.
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This is why the hawk is so beguiling. It is a wild in my domestic life. Amongst all the tidiness and comfort it reminds me that hunt and be hunted is part of who we are.
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