Fog clearing

This morning, after three days lying low & feeling unwell, I ventured down to the jetty. Through the mist I saw what looked like a shag and maybe a very large duck, sitting patiently, waiting for fog clearance perhaps.

Me too, I thought, still feeling foggy in my brain. The brownish sea-bird moved closer to the shag, then looked the other way as if pretending to be quite independent.

Then they had a little confab. I realised that the brownish bird was probably a young adult, the daughter perhaps of the patient mother. 'Shall we take the plunge?' they seemed to be saying. 'Have we got the all-clear yet?'

The answer was clearly yes, because in plunged the young one with a rather clumsy flapping of wings and a big splash, while the mother glided in after.

Other birds were attracted by their activity, or maybe by the fog lifting a little, and mother bird went back to her post.

Yes, the fog was lifting. I could see the ghostly shapes of boats out at sea.

The original pair went swimming again, and others came to sit and watch. And then the shoreline was suddenly there, like a ghost ship floating in the mist.

And here I am too, back on the blog, my head clearing little by little. I'm feeling more patient now after sitting and watching the shags. Some things just take time.

Strange flowering

I saw this strange 'flower' on the branches of a bare fruit tree as I walked around the land at Earthtalk. What could it be? It reminded me of kauri gum.
When I inquired later, I discovered that this is a Golden Queen peach tree, and it seems that the tree has some wounds, out of which these secretions have bled and solidified.

I'm remembering the talk I attended last week by Lynne, whose family had been holidaying on a beach in Samoa when the terrible tsunami struck two years ago. She spoke so movingly about the trauma— she who is a trauma therapist and knows the effects so well, yet went through it all herself. Out of the trauma came some extraordinary transformations. I felt moved after hearing her speak of the healing process and the kindnesses that helped her family after they ran for their lives, leaving everything behind.
Seeing these strange shapes on the Golden Queen reminded me of the unexpected beauty that may sometimes flower from deep wounding.

Women on the land

I didn't expect to be putting up a post in celebration of growth at this time of the year, but after my weekend at Earthtalk, I've returned with many images of amazing productivity from a block of well-loved and well-tilled land. Everything has been done with such care, and it's all organically grown. Here is the heritage flax collection, planted for the muka, the silky fibre inside that is used by Maori for weaving. The silver green leaves set off the autumn leaves beautifully.

I stayed in 'Banana Bungalow', which was situated in the citrus orchard, and ate many of these delicious mandarins while I was there.

The grapefruit are ripening nicely.

I saw pomegranates growing, for the first time.

And pawpaws.

And bananas! This bunch was growing upside down because its branch had sagged, but it's now been tied up again.
Two women have worked hard since 1992 to transform bare paddocks on a sand dune into a fertile block of land, filled with diverse species of native and exotic plants. What they have achieved is remarkable. I am filled with admiration,  and the immense pleasure that comes from seeing the good earth happy and productive.

Awhitu birds

I've just had a relaxing weekend on the Awhitu Peninsula, staying on the organic small holding of my friends Tanya and Charmaine. There, the skies are big, the peace immense, and the bird life plentiful. On their land they made a small pond, which attracts many water birds. In the field surrounding the pond, Californian quail move around in a small, camera-shy band. They are as big as hens, and their plummage is almost blue in the winter light.

Easier to photograph are the two 'widows', who enjoy a good life scratching around in the orchard: a duck, and a very fat hen.

And when I walked down the end of the road, to the coast, there in the distance I watched a blue heron, peacefully feeding.

So much space, peace, and beauty. I feel soothed and expanded from the weekend. Bird watching is a marvellous way to empty the mind.

Singing bird tree

The flame tree takes me by the hand and leads me into winter, saying 'It's OK. I'll be there to warm you through the coldest of days. I'll be flaring brightly, no matter what.'
The flame tree makes the transition so comforting. Its scarlet flowers are opening fast, before the leaves have dropped. At no stage does the tree stand bare and cold. And in addition, the flowers with their sweet nectar have enticed the tuis back across the water. I see their gleaming black bodies flying in and out of the tree, and hopping amidst the branches as they happily feed.
With the tuis comes their song. And so the tree gives me continuity, fiery pleasure, as well as singing to me from morning till night. I am reminded of the Chinese proverb:

Keep a green tree in your heart, and perhaps the singing bird will come.

Sails in the sunlight

On the threshold of winter, we have been blessed with sun-warmed days. As I came home from my walk in the sun yesterday, suddenly the boats glided across the strip of sea in front of me, their sails caught by the light.

Even when the clouds moved across the sky, still some of the sails remained lit up. They were having a race, but in the world of small boats on a mild day, 'race' really means a pleasant glide.
I used to sail a lot when I was first married and we had an 'idlealong', a 13 foot kauri sailing dinghy. We sailed up and down the harbour, just like the boats in these pictures. Sometimes the wind blew fiercely, but mostly we were searching for a good breeze, and on one occasion when we stayed out too long, the wind dropped entirely and we had to paddle back to the marina with our rubber jandals. Ah, such memories, evoked by the boats I saw yesterday.
What a beautiful sight to bring a perfect day to a close.

Shedding

Everywhere I look, plants are shedding. Ivy on a wall is now bare of leaves, but sticks out these little red clusters that may be seeds, or empty pods perhaps.

In the afternoon sun, they are like assertions of life, even as the rest of the plant turns brown.

Nikau pods, having dropped the last of their red berries, are beautiful and strange, rather like coral.

And wistaria pods have their own twisting presence where they have fallen on the earth beneath.

While spent leaves hold their own ephemeral beauty.

I love the winter light, and the way it reveals what is not usually seen.