Shells

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We have shells scattered around our garden.

And drift wood and sea glass.

Treasures from the beach.

Some from distant beaches.

Physical memories carried home.

The beach? To me, an Aussie girl, golden sand, more crab balls than you could ever count, wet sandy toes, sand castles & forts, boogie boards, rock pools, shells galore, smooth pebbles, piles of seaweed, sometimes smelly, sunscreen, burning sun, Nan’s cheeky smile, family.

My Nan lived in a coastal town on the north coast of NSW, Australia.

She was an incredible lady, beautiful like a movie star and so loved. A constant stream of visitors, friends and family from near and far.

All my memories of Nan are stored safe, not deep or under lock and key, but close to the surface, neatly filed, in view, for easy access.

I remember her house, Market Street, when I was little, the street a small strip of bitumen with wide sandy verges and a lovely green front garden. I remember the grape vine that climbed from the fence, over the car port and above the ramp toward the back door of the house. I remember the orange vinyl chairs around the table in the small dining room, but mostly I remember Nan and her smile. Also Great Uncle Horrie and his clever dog, Dog. On request Dog would fetch Uncle Horrie’s cigarettes! Their cheeky smiles and laughter sparkled eyes.

In the later years of her life, every time I left her, driving down the highway back to Sydney I’d cry, cheeks soaked with tears of sadness and fear, afraid of the day I’d lose her.

It was a sad sad day when we did.

But we haven’t lost her, she’s in our hearts, forever.

From here I’m going to skip ahead a couple of years, to a family reunion. Nan’s house hadn’t sold, it had been rented out and was now sitting empty. Legend has it that Nan came to my brother in a dream and suggested he buy her house and turn it into a holiday house for the family.

He did.

Since then, most Easters from when my little girl was a toddler, we’ve gathered at her house.

Just like we did when we had Nan and Uncle Horrie, we sit on the porch in the morning sun, with our cups of tea and local newspapers. They are with us in the warmth of the sun, the smell of the salt air and the sound of the waves, calling us to the beach, from just a few short blocks away.

And we see them in the faces, gait and smiles of our aunts, uncles and cousins as they walk toward us down the path to the house.

Family. Home.

The beach.

Have a wonderful day!

Rain

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It’s raining.

The top of NZ is flooding.

Not where we are, thank goodness, no swollen rivers, or scary currents with unknown debris lurking under dirty churned up water, no roads hidden under brown water with unseen obstacles.

Here we have gentle comforting rain, a cool freshness.

I know first hand the fierceness of flood water, indiscriminate, powerful, unforgiving.

On the mountain we had two creeks to cross to get home, the big creek and the little creek, often they would flood.

One evening, when we were young children, we returned home, on the cusp of darkness, to find the big creek swollen and raging.

Our family car was an ex army long wheel base Landrover. Perfect for contending with the pot holed gravel roads, rocky uneven creek crossings, rough, often soggy, tracks, climbing the long slippery steep inclines to our house…and forging creeks turned into turbulent powerful churning rivers?

The back of the Landrover made cosy for the children. The cold, standard issue, army metal seats covered with a panel of wood and a foam mattress topped with cosy sheepskins, blankets and pillows.

Our step father put his foot on the brake, we did too when the headlights revealed our big creek, no longer recognisable, swollen up to the trees, dirty brown, branches and other debris speeding by, the powerful current flattening everything in its path.

Home on the other side.

If we didn’t need to cross it, this post would read differently, to me there is something fascinating and hypnotising about flood water, wild and fierce! Captivating.

I recall times when we were flooded in I’d don a rain jacket and gumboots and wander down the track to the creeks. Safely observing. I love. But crossing?

Let me take you back to that night.

Hushed tones in the front seats undiscernable over the roar of the charging water.

Us children, the four of us, peered from amongst the blankets and sheepskins. It’s too high, it will go over the bonnet. Eyes bright.

Our step father, wd40 and hessian bag in hand, opened the bonnet, his head disappeared behind it, as did the fierce churning water, momentary relief like in a scary part of a movie when you cover your eyes, bang, the bonnet back in place, the raging river still there. Higher? Angrier?

Wd40 applied and hessian bag in place our step father slid back into the drivers seat.

An exchanged look in the front seat.

Not a whisper of air released from a single lung in that car.

Rev, rev, forward into the raging river, steady and firm, the water pushed against us and rushed over the bonnet. Eyes wide. Ploughing through, moving forward, the water wanting to push us sideways but strong arms keep us directed toward the distant track on the other side.

Suddenly the vehicle stopped, the engine dead.

Nobody spoke. We could feel the vehicle being pushed sideways. We were in the middle, the fiercest, strongest part, the water seemed angrier at having this new obstacle In its way, determined to go through us, thudding angrily at the drivers side window.

Nobody moved, nobody breathed.

Our step father pushed the ignition button. It started!!! Can you believe it? A miracle? Careful on the accelerator, we moved forward out of the main current, the water happy to see us get out of the way, roared past. An eternity later (seconds) we reached the track on the other side.

Six people, one collective breath, like the car was a giant animal, safe now from a predator.

Do I remember my bed being especially cosy, safe and warm that night?

Have a wonderful day!

 

Fresh leaves

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The wind is back. It’s swirling violently out there but today our little cottage feels protected. A force field? Safe in a solid bubble, firm feet on the ground.

The temperature has dropped as well.

We have the fire going.

There is a little rain, I can hear it spitting at the windows.

It’s still dark outside, the light will bring us news of how our garden has fared.

Let me show you what we found in our garden on the weekend.

Doesn’t she look like a swan?

Miniature fresh leaves.

Isn’t there something adorable about little things?

Fresh, bright, perfect, beautiful…

Weathering comes with age.

A childhood lived, where we, as parents, aim to provide security and plant the seed of love and acceptance. Nurture and guide. With the goal of sending happy, healthy, strong, confident, brave people into the world.

A childhood enjoyed, to be a kid, no cares or worries, safe, empowered within safe boundaries, surrounded by people who love and want the best for them, their champions. Where self worth founds and grows.

It’s a privilege to be a parent.

I’m grateful to have been entrusted with the responsibility.

The wind has gone quiet.

Just a momentary lull, I can hear the wave of a new swinging gust approaching. There is a comfort in the way the wind is swirling around us today.

Have a wonderful day!

Monday’s harvest 🌱

Favourite quote from my daughter this morning, “I’m going to put some earrings on to give me a little bit of sparkle!”.

Sparkle, we love sparkle, reminds me of a time when my daughter was really little and we were driving toward the Wellington harbour on an crystal blue day with the sun brilliant on the water. I said “look at the sparkling water”, my daughter replied “someone dropped their glitter”.

Isn’t it wonderful that laughter that lives in our memories can put a sparkle in your eye today.

Survivors

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Do you remember the nasty storm that flattened our tomatoes?

We have some survivors.

Thriving survivors.

The best revenge for being flattened? To come back. To succeed.

I worked on a film in 1995 called The Island of Dr Moreau.

It was a difficult job.

The stories that could be told.

Our director, John Frankenheimer, was old school Hollywood, and we had the challenge of Marlon Brando and Val Kilmer being our stars.

There was a line of dialogue in the script “you don’t have to obey the bastards, they’re not Gods”.

Our camera team had t shirts made, on the front left breast was what looked like the Panavision logo but if you looked closely you could see it actually said Painavision and on the back the quote from the script “you don’t have to obey the bastards, they’re not Gods”. Never before, nor since, have I gotten more pleasure out of wearing a t shirt 😃.

We survived the film shoot and, stronger, we headed off to the next one.

Yesterday’s harvest 🌱

Have a wonderful day!

Meyer Lemon

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This is our third Meyer Lemon tree and our first crop.

I’m grateful for what our first two trees taught us.

Wisdom shared.

This is a poem written by my Great Great Grandmother, Jemima Erskine Rush. Written during the Great War, 1914-1918, in which she lost three sons.

LOOK AT THE BRIGHT SIDE

Better to walk on the Sunny side

Than to stand in the dark and cold, 

Better to brighten another life

And leave your sorrow untold.

Better to make the best of things

Whatever your lot may be

Better to float in a world like this

Than sink in sorrow's deep sea,

Better to hope for brighter days

Though the clouds around hang low, 

Better to carry a cheerful heart

And you in grace will grow.

We have a couple of her poems, published in a little book called Jemima, written by her grand daughter Connie.

I wish we had more. More poems, more stories.

Best moment yesterday, bedtime, reading Stig of the Dump. The Snargets running for their lives from Stig, screaming out for help, ‘Aaaaaaoooower! It’s a kye, it’s a kye, it’s a kye, it’s a kye, it’s a KYVE man!’. Made us laugh til we cried.

Yesterday’s harvest 🌱

Have a wonderful day!

 

Toddler peas

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Our baby peas are growing up.

Finding their feet.

Reaching out, looking for something to hold.

I still have so much to learn about investing, but that’s one of the things I’ve learnt, (buy undervalued and) hold.

Look for good companies, with a strong track record of growth and good management, that have a market price that isn’t reflective of its intrinsic value.

But the key is time. Hold.

Favourite moments yesterday, snuggled in the morning sun on the couch with my daughter listening to Disney tunes.

Nowhere to be, nothing that needed to be done.

Our Saturday mornings, traditionally nonstop from an early start, are now blissfully extracurricular free.

And Saturday evening full of laughs with friends.

Have a wonderful day!

Autumn

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It was 1999, on the east coast of America, in Connecticut, that I first fell in love with Autumn.

The trees, the forests, the light through the leaves, their colour and transparency, the dappled sunlight on the leaf covered forest floor. The seasons, Autumn. The changing colours, I can see them now, in my minds eye, reflected on the pristine water of the lakes, the roadside forests, gardens, everywhere! It’s a wonder I didn’t fall into a lake or have a car accident, my eyes drawn to the trees, the colours.

When I returned to this side of the hemisphere nursing the afore mentioned broken heart, I yearned for autumn colours, the American trees and forests, the seasons…

When you leave I discovered your loss is not just about losing a person/friend? It’s so much more. The loss of a place, a reality, dreams, surrounds, smells, belongings, experiences (both had and yet to have)…

You won’t be surprised that in quick succession I added deciduous trees to this little garden.

But I soon learnt that the climate has a lot to do with autumn displays and the weather here is not conducive to the colours I hoped for. The harsh winds and fluctuating temperatures year after year have meant, at Autumn time, our leaves are often brown and crumpled. Sometimes burnt black. No breathtaking displays of golds, lime greens, pinks, oranges, reds, burgundy…

But look what I’ve found yesterday! One of our new cherries…

Our other deciduous trees still try and this year, a bit more gold than crumpled brown than previous years?

The beauty of Connecticut is vivid in my memory.

Yesterday’s harvest 🌱

Have a wonderful day!

Lawn

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Our front garden is tiny too. It used to be crowded and bushy with large weedy trees and ratty flax. In the middle, a shell garden, ouchy to walk on but beautiful and beachy.

We loved it for many years. Lovingly regularly pulling weeds from the shell garden, though never as often as needed.

But lawn was calling me, lush and green.

I craved lying on my back on soft grass watching the clouds pass by and I was keen to give my daughter a place to do her (untrained) incredibly neat cartwheels.

With the help of our friends we removed trees, shrubs, ancient flax, stumps and our shells.

And lay down turf.

Now clouds drift by witnessed.

And neat cartwheels get neater.

We still lovingly remove weeds.

A beautiful rainbow today reminding us there is treasure yet to be discovered.

And a golden sunset.

Today I am grateful for all the help we received.

May help be at hand for you today if needed.

 

Golden Elm

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It wasn’t an easy decision to add a Golden Elm to our garden. We have an issue of space. Our garden is tiny and Golden Elms grow big!

I remember when my daughter spotted the tree at the garden centre and set her heart on it. In truth, I had, for a long time, wished that we had space to plant one but had conceded, sadly, that we didn’t.

But my heart was reignited by my daughters pleas.

Could we?

We walked around our garden trying to find a spot. Growing the tree in our imaginations to check if it could work.

There is a street in Wellington city that has huge alternating Golden Elms and Pohutukawa trees. The two canopies beautiful side by side, contrasting and complimenting. I love.

The spot we settled on was in our front garden near our Pohutukawa.

There may be a time when it gets too big and we might have to cut it back or remove it but that will be many years from now. In the meantime we will very much enjoy it’s company.

It makes me think about decisions and my thoughts tentatively tiptoe in the direction of some hard decisions I’ve made and wonder, what if, what if I’d chosen differently?

I believe life has a way of putting us where we’re supposed to be and the only way we find ourselves here is by taking the paths we chose.

And the here and now I love and am grateful for.

Not regret, it’s pride I feel for myself for making those tough decisions that have contributed to leading me here.

Wishing you a wonderful day!