Sail away, climb away

Does winter ever get you down? Do you get that shut-in feeling when the rain pelts down and the wind blows icy tendrils down your neck and into your ears?

Then it's time for a winter walk. The sun is shining between showers and my friend wants to show me a new route. Instead of carrying straight on when we reach the marina, she shows me what happens when we take a right.

The sigh of so many yachts, peacefully moored, sets me dreaming of escape. When I met my son's father, we were at university. He owned two things: a Lambretta motor scooter and an Idlealong sailing dinghy, which he kept at this very marina. That was in the old days of course, before it became a haven for luxury yachts.
I can still remember the feeling of freedom rushing through me as we hoisted the sails and harnessed the wind, letting it take us wherever we wished (and sometimes where the wind wished).

 The Auckland Council is building a walkway to the city. Walking over water is the next best thing to walking on water, as dreams of sailing waft through me like summer clouds.

I could linger here, just listening to the clunk of halyards in the wind. But my friend has a climb in mind. This means skirting around the water to a distant point in the very middle of this photo.

where we will walk on air and cross the sky. The walkway has been up for two years now, but I never knew it was there. At first I was not attracted. It looks ancient, as if constructed out of barbed wire. The brown colour is the result of an unfortunate choice,

 which probably seemed a good idea at the time. But these pretty lozenges in orange and green look old and rusty when viewed from the outside.

Time to climb. We make our way up a stairway before our walk on air, towards another stairway, which you can see across the motorway, on the left amid the trees.

 It was known as Jacob's Ladder in the past, for it was rickety and precarious, and clung to the cliff. Check it out in this link. (In naval terms, a Jacob's Ladder is portable, made of rope or metal, and used to board a ship.)

Now it shines. The name 'Jacob's Ladder' is originally biblical, referring to Jacobs vision of a ladder leading from earth to heaven. And so we climb away, into the sky, as I dream of flying into the heavens of new life.

Spring is still a wet cold month away, at least. But at least we can find little glimpses of cheeriness along the way, and in the free realm of the imagination, escape by sea or sky.

Happy New Year!

Today marks the beginning of the Maori new year here in Aotearoa New Zealand.

For this is the first new moon after the reappearance of Matariki, the little eyes (mata) of god (ariki).
Matariki is the bringer of food, and so the appearance of this jewel-like constellation is greeted with much joy. It is also the home of god and the ancestors, the resting place of dead souls after they left the earth.

Matariki is known to Europeans as the Pleiades, and the Pleiades new year, beginning in late autumn or early winter, was known throughout South-east Asia, ancient Egypt, Sumeria and Celtic Britain.

 In Europe, winter solstice marks the threshold of the new year also. Here in Aotearoa New Zealand, winter solstice falls very close to Matariki. This year it fell on June 21 and the two festivals are only seven days apart.

The return of the sun, the ripener of crops, was greeted with as much enthusiasm as the return of Matariki, also a food bringer.

The holly and the ivy

Now both are full well grown

Of all the trees that are in the wood,

The holly bears the crown.

In my book 'Celebrating the Southern Seasons' (1995 and 2005) I recommend that we celebrate our new year, not in January when everyone is rushing away for their summer holidays, but in the quiet of winter, according to the old traditions of both Maori and European. Winter Solstice and Matariki: the festivals of sun and stars, fire and food, uniting us in the land that we now share. This is the vision that I hold in my heart, like a seed tenderly nurtured in the winter darkness.

The turning of the sun

Today I had a conversation with a friend, one of those exchanges that searches into forgotten places.

It was about how we love the dark,

and the way it holds so many secrets.

 From the perspective of the darkness, the world outside changes shape.

 The winter hills are sleeping,

 as somewhere, in the stillness of winter solstice, the sun turns away from its trajectory of loss,

and a promise is seeded, of something new and glorious being birthed from the depths.

Happy solstice to you all, whether you are in the depths of winter, or in the brilliance of full summer.
Across the world, we are linked.

Feeding body and soul

 When I feed others, I too am nourished. Yesterday I led my first 'Pathways to Spirited Ageing' workshop, for counsellors and therapists. How satisfying it was to spend a day in the company of others who are willing to face into the ageing process with humour, curiosity and openness.

 Here are the five kete (a Maori kit bag) of resource  (all tied to the larger 'mother kete' that I shared with the group. In turn, they shared their stories with me.

 Off to the farmer's market this morning to fill my basket with organic produce: slim carrots, kohl rabi, capsicum, bok choy, pumpkin, parsnips, local honey, local almond/brazil/cashew nut butter, ginger chai syrup, rocket and pumpkin, all fresh from the earth this morning.

Together with the coconut chutney idli I bought from the Indian stall, they made up a fresh and lively lunch, which I ate in the winter sunshine.

 Other ingredients went into the shepherd's pie that I cooked for the family tonight.
I've been asked for the recipe, so here it is. [Warning: I am not a recipe person; but I do have a method]

Soak 1 cup of green/blond lentils overnight

Saute chopped seasonal vegetables in oil: eg 1 onion, bunch of carrots, half a capsicum, 2 parsnips, half a kohl rabi, clove of garlic, plus a few leaves of greens (silver beet, kale, or bok choy).

Drain and simmer the soaked lentils in vegetable stock with four or five chopped tomatoes and the sautéed vegetables. Cook for about 20 minutes, or until just tender.
While the lentils and vegetables are cooking, steam fiver six potatoes or three large kumaras.
Mash with butter when cooked.
Place lentil mixture into a casserole dish and spread the mashed potato or kumara over the top.
Make ridges with a fork, and add dots of butter. Sprinkle sesame seeds over the top.
Grill in the oven until top begins to brown (keep an eye on it!)

And oh dear, it was so scrumptious that we all devoured it eagerly and I forgot to take a photo of the finished pie! Here is a little jumble of leftovers, popped into a container for tomorrow's lunch.
I hope your weekend was nourishing too, for both body and soul.

Rocks that float

 This morning the weather was mild, and so the little one and I eagerly trotted down to the beach. She was here for a sleepover, such a treat for both of us. We never know what we are going to find at the beach.
 'Look, they are like rocks that float!'

 Their heads didn't come out of the water for long. We haven't seen the black swans for months, but this morning eight of them flew in to feed.

 'I forgot about the swing, because it's been so long.'

Heaven is the rhythm of swinging, under the pohutukawa trees, out over the sand and incoming tide, watching the floating rocks.

 And looking for treasure. I've been searching the internet for a kit set quilt to sew for the new baby, something I can make by hand. The little one is excited by the project: 'can I help?'
When I say that the kit set is rather expensive: 'I have a little bit of money saved in my box. I could give you some.'

 So sweet, but no. And then, another surprise. 'Granny, look what I found on the beach!' In her hand is a ten dollar note. 'What shall I do with it?'
'Let's put it towards the baby quilt.'

 Oh yes! What a happy solution.

 We never know what we are going to find at the beach.

But one thing is certain. There will always be treasure.

Do you ever wonder . . . ?

 Do you ever find yourself wondering, on a grey day without much sparkle,

 amidst the inward-moving energies of winter,

 about a particular person

 whose anniversary it is?

And you wonder, 'how old would they be now, had they lived?'

 I've stopped doing that with my parents, because it gets a bit ridiculous now that my calculations are going into the hundreds.

But with a little one, it's different. 

My first granddaughter. She died at 6 weeks old. She would have been 21 today. 

Lights of winter

 It's been a long time. At last a long weekend unfolded its fan of invitation before me, and of course I said yes!

 In winter, I seek out what will light the inner fire. So on the way to the bach I turned up a steep driveway to the organic growers, knowing that my favourite winter fruit (once the feijoas have finished) would be waiting for me. Persimmons, so sweet and bright,

and fiery. Winter flares in many places, expected and unexpected.

 At the bach, the door of the cabin is glowing in the sun, welcoming me in,

 while the first jonquils exhale their sweet scent.
 It's cold now, especially at night. The first frosts have blackened my sweet basil plants,

but I'm snug with my books and music, basking in the warmth of the log fire. Can you see the pine cones in there, that I gathered in autumn? While the fire burned down to golden embers, I listened to Mozart's violin concertos which I have on vinyl.

The lights of winter: they reveal patterns, shapes, and hidden beauty. I return to the city feeling revived and refreshed, and full of gratitude.
What are your favourite lights of the season?