Something is bothering the sheep, across Lake Forsyth.

The magpies herald the artist's presence as she sets up to paint.

The remarkable power of nature.

Grandmother flies overhead posed as a heron in the artist's heart.
She feels her here.
Over the distance of death, removing 'the far gaze,' she sits and does what she loves without disagreements.
Down to the ground, out toward the sea, she sees with awe, mankind's silence.
There is no melancholy in submitting to the sacred parts that do not need her.
She craves them in her body of mostly water; her, the lake, the blue ocean.
Look, what's there?
Where?
What was that?
I don't know, let's look some more--and,
LISTEN,
HEAR that RHYTHM--that
hum the earth does where it meets
the waters like two lovers copulating without a single reservation in sight.
She hears drums!
Yes, they are the drums and she their tones, the past is gone.
Mixed with dusty stuff from crawling, walking, swimming, running, genuflecting, agitating, she hides in the wood without a muse because Dante owns her, too.
She's not sure where she came from, or,
what her worth might be in a system that measures her buttocks with their hands, or worse--in their minds and on the tip of their tongues: she is a witch.
Switching her consciousness to remain a pacifier, a bridge, a strong wind comes, and then, total calm--she remains.
Painting her sacred places.

Our New Home

The moving process (over two months now) for my family has been very different from anything I have ever known or previously experienced. This time we moved after being stuck in place for six years post earthquakes in Christchurch, New Zealand. While the stress of a move is rated as similar to a death in the family, the joys of coming unstuck from a place with so much internal and external mayhem, has been an adventure with bouts of euphoria. Below is the reality of the mayhem that was our garage after the earthquakes that remained in this state for the past six years until we could begin our move two months ago.

The grim past realities

Those are the pictures I rarely showed to my distant friends and family. I am happy (no, euphoric) to say, this mayhem is now only a recorded lapse in time and why I can share them with you now. Our new garage looks more like this below which has lowered the blood pressure considerably.

The new reality

Thanks be to good friends who came and plodded through our wreckage and stimulated our desire to do something/anything to move from one state of affairs to the other. Here is one such friend performing her smooth dance through our nightmare with a steady stride...

Keep Moving Gracefully

We rewarded Carol Kincaid with the first wood fire bath (because she deserved it!) upon arriving at the new homestead...

The first bath

The gentleman hosing her down, as the wood fire tub gets very hot, is another family friend who has helped our move enormously. Tony Westwood has pulled trailers full of stuff the 35 minute drive, unloaded and brought dessert at the most opportune time. Tony had our caravan "Miss Daisy May" moved from the section we began with here at Birdlings Flat to our home down the road without a hiccup. Honestly, I couldn't watch the move...it was a major accomplishment to which I am ever so grateful. "Miss Daisy May" looks like this now at our new abode.

Miss Daisy May's new position

Because our new home is a tiny one, the caravan is now primarily my daughter's', Kasey May, to whom "Miss Daisy May" was named after and vice versa. Kasey May might have been a Daisy May but I changed her name at the last minute to Kasey May and have since reclaimed the Daisy May for the caravan that has ironically become her home on wheels. Kasey has been a bedrock of strength and support to both Clark and I throughout this past six years of rocking and rolling of other types. Without her strengths this move would not have been possible. Here she is keeping the fire which is a physical act whose symbolic meaning for us is the same. She is a keeper!

Fire Keeper

Jennifer Williamson and Chris Emery have both been completely supportive through this journey of locating and moving homes. I would not like to know what this move would have looked like without their continuous support for all those things that popped up prior and during the move. Jennifer is my 'go to' for sanity making and Chris always gives me a 20 second hug. Jennifer Markman got in on the act very early and brought her trailer to Christchurch (via Ashburton) and filled it up and delivered it to Birdlings Flat which is currently a place that she is physically allergic to. Thank you, Jennifer Markman for being a very amazing adopted daughter and friend. 

Jennifer Williamson at her beloved Bruce River

Chris with a smile to match his hugs

My daughter/friend and all around cowgirl, Jennifer Markman

There are more amazing friends who have come to bless this place with their presence and encouragement. Kathy, Bruce, Judith, Aaron, Jeremiah, Lucy and Jan, thank you all for coming! There are locals who have all been most helpful such as Patrick, Rosco, Wuzza, Donna, Fiona, Tony, Ron, Lorna, Barb and Andre ... and then, there is Tuppy, always keeping watch.

Tuppy

Here are the initial stages of moving into this place that has taken our lives from one cycle to another. There are only four rooms: living/kitchen combined, small office, one bedroom and a bathroom. However, our plans are to build an outdoor kitchen and make the garage and carport more liveable spaces along with an external studio that will be useful for guests.

living room, attached to...

dining and kitchen

small office

only bedroom for now

Meanwhile, Kasey found time to build our first hen house that has "Grace and Frankie" two young chickens who will bless this place with their eggs under Tuppy's careful watch.

Kasey's first hand built hen house

Grace

Keeping Watch

However the real venue is the GREAT OUTDOORS wherein our section borders Lake Forsyth and the Pacific Ocean is within sight and the ever changing landscape is better than any movie or television set...don't need to adjust the colour, it adjusts itself...

We are home now and the past six years of traumatic rocking and rolling and living inundated with stuff is about to come to an end  with two garage sales on the horizon...there is still much to do as the stuff under my car port suggests...

But there is a lot more breathing room...

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, yes! 

And, little children to watch being entertained by nature...

Onyx and Ivy, Spring Break 2016

A life to die for

Anticipating how to create a life to die for. What must I believe and do to enact a good enough life? What does a good life look and feel like, arrive like after feeding on the technologies of the media, educational systems and external cultures? These considerations go some way toward reflecting the embodied questions one must ask in order to know how to create a life to die for.  

An Everyday Event

The kitchen sink is full as always. I am alone with it, it calls my name. I respond not but take note. It is a sink full of mismatched human technologies trying to clean themselves up (NOT) but who call out my name to what? To clean them. Someone has to do it, why not this maid? I wash a few spoons (take a photograph) and then I write in order to build an ethnography of what is going on around me.

While washing the spoons I contemplate the collection of 'things' upon the kitchen shelf. There are all kinds of things for different reasons whose material reality clog up the shelf, prohibiting the cleaning of the ledge upon where they precariously sit. Being severe earthquake country, these objects should be classified as hazardous objects, let's not classify them, however, let's finish cleaning our spoons and write to the heart of the matter. Which is? I am sick of some objects! There are too many of them and they are all different and usually dirtier than the pallet will allow.Someone has to clean them, move them about, make way for them, be their keepers and lie down with them. What objects are worth that amount of energy and intimacy, well let's see which objects are? The answer depends on who or whom you ask. To who am I addressing? The new sociologist in me that is moving house, the person who studies people for the benefit of people but foremost for understanding herself alongside so many different objects including people, some dirtier than others, some made of metal, some plastic and some for specialised uses....things and people are legion! How to make sense of so much? And, how to move it all efficiently without breaking the objects and/or other hearts attached to them. Do we get to decide who and what we interact with the most? Are all the objects on the shelf a matter of personal concern? You bet they are, they need cleaning, sorting and moving and somehow they all landed inside my house. This entire household is on the move now because we are changing address, place and lifestyle in a matter of weeks. Every thing here is demanding consideration to stay for the next occupant, go with us or purchase a one way ticket to somewhere else to be recycled and become someone else's matter of concern. I washed a few more spoons.

Clark came back from the market and brought more objects, but he was forgiven because they looked like proteas.

Then, I went out into the garage and got two boxes, one for things to go to our new home and one for things to be donated to the Salvation Army. What a name, Salvation Army, something desirable coupled with an act of war. The war on objects has started here, I intend to be ruthless, unsentimental, practical and efficient.This will be my first box packed. While I was in the act of the doing of it I scrubbed walls, washed and squeegeed windows and emptied out another cupboard besides what was on the kitchen shelf. Things that needed doing grew and the kitchen sink was cleaned, too. Sparking from my motivation, Clark got his own two boxes and sorted his gardening and cooking books in-between reading sessions.

All in all, three boxes were taped shut, demarcated as to what was inside of them and deposited under the living room table for now.One box full of castaway objects sits in the utility room floor awaiting a speedy exit. There are less objects on the kitchen ledge now and the kitchen sink is empty. I am sure this will be an everyday event for some weeks, no months to come.

O Kaitiaki

My linguist friend that is educated in the Māori language has advised me that a better name than Kaitiakitanga for our special place is O Kaitiaki. Already the input from others that I embrace has created a more appropriate name. I told her that being originally from Oklahoma, whose abbreviation is OK, makes this new name feel intermingled appropriate with my past life and present life that feels bestowed rather than obtained. So, O Kaitiaki it will be. The Māori dictionary states that the 'O' without the macron means:

1. (particle) of, belongs to, from, attached to - used with this meaning when the possessor has, or had, no control of the relationship or is subordinant, passive or inferior to what is possessed. This includes actions that are regarded as part of the nature of people or animals

The Māori dictionary states that 'Kaitiaki' means:

1. (noun) trustee, minder, guard, custodian, guardian, caregiver, keeper, steward.

The Māori dictionary states that 'Kaitiakitanga' means:

1. (noun) guardianship, stewardship, trusteeship, trustee.

I feel O Kaitiaki is a better reflection of the type of relationship I intend to hold with this place that will serve as a home for my immediate family but with the understanding that we possess it passively and inferior to the rights of the land and its historical significance for others before us and those yet to come. There are already others called to come and celebrate the joy that is found when we achieve something together rather than individually. O Kaitiaki is not MY place, O Kaitiaki is OUR place through an environmental stance of kaitiakitanga. And, in saying that I will try to remain open and aware to the needs others might have to enjoy this plot of land bordering Lake Forsyth (known to Māori as Te Roto o Wairewa) that currently needs all of us to be better stewards of the environment for the many generations that continue to come. Haere Mai! (Come Here!)

Kaitiaki Kathy

Clark and I found our next home (and a venue to share with many) on June 21, 2016, the longest night and our thirteenth wedding anniversary. The photo above is one of the views from the back of the section of our new home. A friend who saw the picture called me Kaitiaki Kathy Kise, Kaitiaki meaning a guardian or trustee of the earth. I am very pleased to be the guardian of this property which is a heritage site for indigenous Maori. The entire history I do not know yet, but feel deeply. I will learn about the history as I go through my life at Kaitiakitanga, the name of this old but new place for us to share with others who feel the need to come and be with nature. Those needs will be met here we are fairly certain of it.

The above picture taken from the back of the section is Lake Forsyth, or traditional for the Maori, Wairewa.

Wairewa means water lifted up. Te Roto o Wairewa was the last lake to be dug out by the legendary Rākaihautū. On completion, he thrust his famous kō (digging stick) into Horomaka (Banks Peninsula) forming Tuhiraki (Mt Bossu), this act constituted the lifting up. Traditionally, Māori have sole eel fishing rights on this lake. Up until whaling times the lake had a permanent outlet to the sea and waka could travel right into the forested inlet, which was then known as Māori Harbour.

Christchurch City Libraries http://my.christchurchcitylibraries.com/ti-kouka-whenua/wairewa/ There are no trees now, but the remnants of past hunting and gathering procedures of the Maori still mark the landscape. It is a very sacred place where food has been gathered for centuries, battles fought and Maori dead laid to rest. There are bones (though which tribe I am not apprised of yet) buried on our property we intend to turn into a Whānau Trust. It is a peaceful resting place and one that called to me a few weeks ago as I walked by and suddenly noticed a sign advertising it For Sale. I had never noticed the property before. It was as if, it suddenly just appeared.It is a very private place and perhaps it is invisible unless one needs to see it. I had walked past it many times over the past year, not a glimpse of it in my memory. There is so much to see in this place of Birdlings Flat, it is no wonder that I might miss a large part of it for some time. I am grateful that nature often puts on a display that feels designed just for me and lifting my spirit. One day I went down to the beach, fell on my knees and then suddenly this rainbow appeared.

Nature is playful that way if we engage with making meaning for ourselves in relationship to it. I can tell you I felt held on that beach as if I was not only allowed to play upon the rocks (many of which are agates) but entertained by the most amazing colours. Who amongst us can look at the colours in this ocean and sky and not be transformed by the awe of it? I sat in awe that day. Little did I know that less than two weeks later I would be coming out of a real estate office in Lincoln after signing a contract to purchase the property and without yet knowing whether we would be the winning purchaser (as it was a multiple offer), I noticed this vague full rainbow in the sky and snapped its picture right before it disappeared.

I felt like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz repeating silently, 'there's no place like home' as this land claimed Clark and me with all its mythical presence and quirky habits laid down by its past lovers. I feel I have found a good enough place to die and THAT is the beginning of wanting to live again after five and a half years too long stuck in a city I had become allergic to. I love the people of Christchurch but I no longer have any love for a landscape haunted by traffic noise, rebuilding pounding, thumping, ringed by limitless road cones that spring up each morning in new places like a virus. I have vowed to leave this tortured city to the younger at heart and help them heal from the outskirts. There is no one who feels the way this city has made me feel that I would turn away from the gate (or portal) of Kaitiakitanga. This is a place to heal through nature.

Perhaps this Granddaddy San Pedro holds the keys to heaven on earth for the Kaitiaki Kathy and Kaitiaki Clark currently entrusted to help them (and us) remain standing. Peace to you if you are reading this and if you feel the need to come to a place for increased wellbeing, Kaitiakitanga will be available for the public to come and overnight by December of 2016. Come one, come all, just not at the same time. Bookings necessary, deeply appreciated and may be reciprocated by work in lieu on the property or a modest donation.

WOW (ways of wellness)

I found this old space again, had virtually forgotten about this blog. Ironically, I was just an hour ago reading Can't Remember Shit by Shelley Klein and laughing out loud at its apt description of me. Then, like a magic act, this blog reappeared on my Facebook page providing me with a link so that I could find it. The technology knows, I know nothing!

I literally wander around looking out into the deep blue and wonder what happened to us all? But then, that would take more time than I have left to fully consider. What's happening now? Well, that too, is a mighty deep topic that I currently study when looking for how people and things produce subjective wellbeing. My way is to go directly toward nature, not the highway, but the rocky coastline along Birdlings Flat that does something for me that no other place on this planet ever has. It allows me to heal. Movement + South Pacific Blue by my feet = I don't give a shit what I can't remember, this is okay and when I reflect on the deep blue something inside me remembers to take more time to simply be a part of the tide...