An Angel In The Wild: February 2025

Sunday, 9 February 2025

From Hoha to Hikihiki

After I wrote the first part of our story and Felicia (Rob's mother) finally died as I finished it, we had no idea what to expect in the days after this long awaited event. We had hoped that we would feel relief and that the weight of control, shunning and betrayal would lift from our lives.

And although we should have anticipated it, the difficult stuff did continue for some time as familial patterns metamorphosed and formed new constellations. In fact in the few days before Felicia died Rob experienced a sudden onset bout of renal colic, that came to nothing more, but was perturbing for us both as it was severe & most unusual for him. It's interesting that our kidneys hold our life force, our mauri, our essence. Rob began to feel better again after a few days & as we were sitting here in our living room in a meeting with Fungii, Wattie's present EHS, Rob received a txt from his brother Colin to say that his mother was dead. The following week there was a tummy bug, the week after that, right out of the blue, I managed to succombe to a phishing scam on facebook thinking that I was helping a trusted friend. In the event we lost 8 solid days of our lives scrabbling to save- well almost everything. I have totally lost my 15 year Facebook journey, memories, stories, knowledge and caring- erased in a callous move by a heartless creep of a hacker, on one ordinary day of life.

Somewhere in the overwhelming panic and swirl of this mess I realised that I needed to surrender to the process and see where it took us, trusting that we were being lead to safety as we went along. I didn't get my account back but there's come a huge relief as I have shed the weight and complication of too many gathered "friends" and connections. The intention was to cause mayhem, the outcome has been quite the opposite- a shoring up and consolidation, building trust, believing in ourselves, collaborating, expanding, gaining confidence and knowledge. And finally knowing that we've done enough to make ourselves safe again.

It was during this process that it dawned on me that hackers and those with narcissistic traits have a great deal in common, not so much the intelligence and psychology aspects, but neither party care, nor respect the sanctity of another's life- soul even. They truly believe that they can do whatever they like without the slightest twinge of conscience. There's an amorality about their actions and intentions that bleeds into blasphemy- entitlement, and 'you can't stop me mentality'. It's a game. Stain.

But still we have this life together- our sunshine vintage world, our authentic life. Our best, truest way of showing up in the world.

"Now, about that word authentic. It is related to the word author—and you can think of it as being the author of your own self. When you’re living your own reality, you become the sovereign of your own life. You know who you are, you speak what you believe. There’s a natural pride that goes with that:

This is who I am—take me or leave me...

To me, real power is about presence. It’s the energy of knowing that you are who you are, and therefore speaking and acting from your authentic self. It doesn’t matter what your work is—if you’re a teacher or a nurse or whatever; it is your presence that’s the power. It’s not power over anybody else. It’s just the expression of who you are."

- Marion Woodman

We got to here despite our stories and only because we found each other.

Living authentically means there's no room for cognitive dissonance and bullshit.

Slowly, slowly we've been shedding anything that hasn't fitted, worked or lined up with our sunshine vintage values.

I wonder if some things will remain unhealed in our lives, maybe there will always be broken, vulnerable parts of us that never quite settle, but I do know that our best shot at looking back and saying- yes, that was a good life- is doing it this way- the sunshine vintage way; all wrapped in hikihiki.

So what the heck is hikihiki?

Hikihiki

1. (verb) (-tia) to carry in the arms. To wrap someone in a blanket of love.

I envy Maori their anchorage, their whakapapa that can never be dissolved. It's like a beetroot stain, it never goes away. You can wander off, get lost, mess up, crash...but your Turangawaewae will always be there, waiting for you. You will never ever be turned away. There is always a place and your people to come home to.

It has not been so with our ancestry. We know who we are, but where do we belong?

So when I stumbled upon "hikihiki" I knew we'd found the key to what was missing, lacking, needed.

The larger than life best expression of this concept is found in Ron (Maungarongo Te Kawa) from Woodville and his vibrantly colour story quilts. You can see them here. They are blankets of aroha (love) for a world that needs it.

And I think I have to put a photo of Ron in here as words just don't cut it.

Maungarongo (Ron) Te Kawa Photo: Seb Charles

"The only rule for his work is “that they have to be gorgeous.”

“To show up in life, to be present, loving, unapologetically Māori and happy is a political statement,” writes Te Kawa. “It pokes its tongue out at the expectations of others.”

“When I look at our carvings from the old people,” he continues, “I see cheekiness, humour, rhythm, defiance, partying, loudness, matakite, cleverness, love, and abundance…

"I take all my mamae (pain), anger, and disappointment, and I transform that energy to make the most faithful, funny, dynamic, musical, and modern images of us that I can, using the discarded, unwanted fabrics of society. "

Pain, anger and disappointment all belong to the human condition, no matter what our origins, but to be wrapped in a 'blanket of love' soothes all ills.

I know I wrote at great length back here in the post Tell Your Story. And it was all said, it was written, it was complete...until just this last few weeks when I began to ask questions about Rob's grandparents- the ones that we had heard so very little about. Rob's father once told us that he couldn't remember his mother's name, nor the names of most of his siblings and I was incredulous- how could such a thing happen? He also failed to ever mention that he had a sister called Catherine- also Catherine Reeves (well she was Cathy actually). And yet an urgency grew as a few photos surfaced and dates of birth and death and names of kin and a new voice asked to be heard- that of the Reeves ancestry. It's a strange thing the Mauri (essence) of a story rising, surfacing in to presence. It is said that a picture speaks a thousand words, but pictures also lie through their teeth. A picture does not inform you in any way of the true character of a person; the 'at home behind closed doors' nature of a family. However, the photos have helped to give hints of context to our story & fill in some gaps.

Where does a legacy begin? At what point can we say- well here's the couple that started it all?

If you think about it, ancestry is simply an ever widening cellular and energetic river- a flow of genes, quirks, preferences, gifts, DNA, crooked smiles, rogue genes, constitution, great love, not love, good fortune and utter random tragedy.

Rob's great, great grandfather John Reeves was born in 1825.

John Reeves and Julia (Davis, County Cork born in 1828) married- it's not known when.

John and Julia had a son Henry who was born in 1859. They had 6 children in all.

John died in 1881 at the age of 56 and Julia died at the age of 76.

Henry Reeves and Jane (Curtin, born in 1860) married on the 13th June 1881- the same year that John (above) died. Their marriage lasted 45 years. There is no record of Henry's death but Jane died in 1926 at the age of 66. This couple had 6 children, the second son being John Reeves born in 1885 (just to confuse us all).

John Reeves married Florence Umpleby on the 4th May in 1913.

The picture below has them all coming together The Reeves and the Umplebys.

Rob has colourised the photo through Ancestry to add a bit more life to the setting.

The Umpleby's (meaning from up in the village) are seated to the left and the Reeves to the right.

The following year war was declared and John (a labourer) aged 29, was called up to fight in the Great War- WW1. Florence gave birth to their first child Henry (Harry) on the 20th of February 1914 and she was then deserted by John for the sake of King and Country not knowing if her husband would ever return to her.

Although there had been a global embargo placed on the use of toxic gas back in 1885, both sides continued to use the dreadful stuff. John found himself gassed in the trenches and at some point returned home a damaged soul. Baby followed baby and life was pretty grim, lean and sorrowful for everyone, as their world was brutally, irrevocably changed forever. Trauma and overwhelm, too many mouths to feed (made worse through rationing) cptsd, permanent impairment of body and soul, the loss of children and of safety and dignity; was an appalling way to navigate married life. John filled to the brim with angst and other unassuaged emotions, it seems, turned to drink and violence. Three weeks after their 10th child (Rob's father) was born, John died at home from cardiac failure, and bronchitis and influenza on the 19th October at the age of 44. The same year Florence lost her father-Thomas (sweeper). Then came the Great Depression and then of course another world war.

John & his first son Harry probably 1915

Unpacking these stories has cultivated a deep compassion in our hearts for these people and all that they endured in such harsh times, with none of our modern comforts and social supports to call upon. Here in New Zealand ANZAC commemorations have become a part of our cultural recognition of these brutal times, where so many esteemed as heroes are honoured and remembered and thanked. Men like John Reeves did not die in the trenches or on the battlefield, they are not regarded as heroes, yet they too lost their lives in a more assiduous way, tortured by the ravages of war; marking their families and offspring profoundly as a consequence; yet also contributing to attaining our freedom, along with all others who signed up.

Rob's grandfather was quite possibly rendered unable to decently father his many children as he never recovered from these early life traumas. With his father's death overlapping his birth, Rob's father Roy found himself born in to a chaotic household infused with lardy grief and trauma and poverty.

So John and Florence had 10 children:

Henry (Harry) 1914-2005

John E 1916-1998

Florence 1919-1985

William (Bill) 1921-2005

Catherine 1922-1977

Donald 1924-1927

Joseph 1926-1927

Robert 1928 died the day he was born

Ronald 1928-1929

Roy 1929-2008

John Reeves died 19th October 1929, the eldest child was 15 and Rob's father, the youngest, was 3 weeks old at that time.

Florence took on Harry & his girlfriend Ivy's daughter June & brought her up as her own. Harry was 18 at the time. So Roy grew up with June. I wonder if he ever knew that she was his brother's child?

June 1932-2015

Lastly there was Joan, born late in life to Florence and the local butcher who she'd had a long term affair with.

Joan 1938-1987

John served in the British army from 1914~1920. I dare say the pay was better than the labouring work he had been doing.

What an horrific five years in their lives- losing 4 young children in such a short time and then going through yet another birth. I don't imagine anyone was too thrilled about Roy's arrival and he may not have been expected to live either, but he survived; albeit suffering particularly poor health throughout his life.

It's difficult to imagine coping with the death of 4 babies, your husband and your father, all in such a tight cluster, let alone facing the hormonal and physical turbulence of those 5 pregnancies.

John and Florence lived those 16 years together (apart from when John went to war) in London. After Roy was born and John had died the family eventually moved to 11 Windmill Lane, Ashurst Wood, East Grinstead.

We think that this may have been a family home (perhaps the Umplebys) as the same wall can be seen behind the bridal party.

Many years later here is Roy with June, Patsy (Felicia's mother, on the left) his own mother Florence, Roy and Rob- the boys sitting on the wall! There are very many brick walls in England so this may just be supposition on our part.

What was not made possible for John and Florence in their lifetime, is now a privilege offered to us - the choice and grace to live a "stirring-the-oatmeal love" kind of existence.

Let me explain here:

"Many years ago a wise friend gave me a name for human love. She called it "stirring-the-oatmeal" love. She was right: Within this phrase, if we will humble ourselves enough to look, is the very essence of what human love is, and it shows us the principal differences between human love and romance.

Stirring the oatmeal is a humble act-not exciting or thrilling. But it symbolizes a relatedness that brings love down to earth. It represents a willingness to share ordinary human life, to find meaning in the simple, unromantic tasks: earning a living, living within a budget, putting out the garbage, feeding the baby in the middle of the night. To "stir the oatmeal" means to find the relatedness, the value, even the beauty, in simple and ordinary things, not to eternally demand a cosmic drama, an entertainment, or an extraordinary intensity in everything.

Like the rice hulling of the Zen monks, the spinning wheel of Gandhi, the tent making of Saint Paul, it represents the discovery of the sacred in the midst of the humble and ordinary. Jung once said that feeling is a matter of the small. And in human love, we can see that it is true. The real relatedness between two people is experienced in the small tasks they do together: the quiet conversation when the day's upheavals are at rest, the soft word of understanding, the daily companionship, the encouragement offered in a difficult moment, the small gift when least expected, the spontaneous gesture of love.

When a couple are genuinely related to each other, they are willing to enter into the whole spectrum of human life together. They transform even the unexciting, difficult, and mundane things into a joyful and fulfilling component of life. By contrast, romantic love can only last so long as a couple are "high" on one another, so long as the money lasts and the entertainments are exciting. "Stirring the oatmeal" means that two people take their love off the airy level of exciting fantasy and convert it into earthy, practical immediacy. Love is content to do many things that ego is bored with. Love is willing to work with the other person's moods and unreasonableness. Love is willing to fix breakfast and balance the checkbook.

Love is willing to do these "oatmeal" things of life because it is related to a person, not a projection. Human love sees another person as an individual and makes an individualized relationship to him or her"

Robert Johnson

Illustration by Phoebe Wahl

www.teallach.com

That's all very well for us in this time in history to have been gifted a "stirring-the-oatmeal" love,

but it was clearly not that simple for those who came before us.

Life didn't get any easier in London after the war. What a mess! In the middle of all the turmoil Roy's three elder brothers, wondering what on earth to do with their lives, now that the toy factory that they had worked in was blown to smithereens, had an inspiration to head off to more promising shores, namely the prospect of a fresh start in South Africa; if only they could get there.

Once the idea ignited, Roy was invited to come along. He was 17 at the time and one day he decided yes, he'd go too.

Harry was in charge of the expedition that certainly took on grand proportions!

He later set about writing a book about their exploits that he entitled 'Sand in my Shoes'. Rob's brother Roy helped in the process of getting the book published. At that time we didn't want anything to do with the jolly book after all that we had been through with Rob's family and so never accepted a copy. However Rob's cousin Stuart passed on a pdf version that has remained unopened and unread a good long time. But now, the time had quietly arrived where we felt that we could open our hearts to this Reeves story. In fact last Wednesday we took a little picnic up in to the Old Napier Hill Cemetery and sat in the Lytch Gate house, drank elderflower fizzy and read aloud another chapter or two of the big adventure.

The boys didn't make it to South Africa but managed to stumble in to Kenya- alive. Roy found work with the railways. It was here in Nairobi while riding a bus that Roy met Felicia. They married in 1951. Both Rob and his brother Roy (Fred) were born in Nairobi. It's not surprising to learn that Roy's health was not at all robust (the child that no one expected to live) and he was to struggle with the ravages of degenerative spondylitis all his life. He spent a good deal of time seeking medical treatment back in London and also underwent tests to determine whether the disease could be passed on to his offspring, before they had any. Apparently not, however, his sons' teeth tell a familial story of deprivation and lack of nourishment. Weston A Price speaks about this generational nutritional lack and the impact of it here. It certainly didn't help when Roy, in a fit of rage hefted a wheelbarrow over his head and threw it out of the path of the car, on the last day of term when Rob was 6 years old. He broke his back and that was the end of the family holiday at Malindi.

It seems that there was an arrangement where the ex-pats would return to England for a holiday every three years. One of these visits saw the family visiting Florence when Rob was barely 2 years old as seen in the photo above. The stories tell that no one felt welcome back home, but as an outsider I'm not overly surprised, as all four boys had shot through on Florence all at once, she had endured so much grief and heartache, had found a little happiness for herself with the local butcher and then years later, with wives and children in tow the boys trickled home looking for support, connection, a welcome place to stay and open arms. I could understand why that didn't work out so well.

So Rob's family spent much of this 6 months on a farm and visiting bluebells in the woods!

It was never going to be a great plan after the war for hoards of Britons to swarm Kenya looking for free farms and new beginnings with all their smarty pants colonial attitudes. Felicia's mother Patsy married herself a free Frenchman by the name of Louie somewhere along the line and together with Patsy's three children they too set off to farm in Africa. We're not sure that this plan went too well as Patsy was no gardener and her children didn't like Louie who soon turned to drink. As the unrest grew at the time of the Mau mau uprising, the family packed up their belongings (Patsy included) and made their way to New Zealand; mainly by boat. They left without saying goodbye to Louie.

It's now four months today- the 9th November since Felicia died and we continue to see changes, small freedoms and shifts as the control of decades begins to lose it's grip on our lives. There are still nights, like this past Friday, when the nightmares and torment bear down on us and most days one or other or both of us feels sadness, melancholy, anger or a sense of dread and hopelessness in our bodies.

When I lost my facebook account and had to start again, one of the first things I came across in my new feed was a page called "Once upon an upset". Jessica's wisdom and insights have been a Godsend to us and just the medicine and guidance that we have needed at this time.

This excerpt from her book (Once upon an upset) was the first time that we felt truly heard and validated about what happened to us within our family context:

Oh and did I say what hoha is? Here's a good explanation:

"Be a koha not a hoha" means to be a "gift" or a positive contribution, rather than a "pain" or a burden; "koha" is a Maori word signifying a gift or donation, while "hoha" is not a standard Maori word but is used colloquially to mean something annoying or troublesome, essentially encouraging people to be helpful and considerate instead of causing problems."

Hence our journey in life from from hoha to hikihiki.

Rob has spent some time connecting with folk from East Grinstead in a facebook group, some of them even remembering a few Reeves family members from back in the day. He was made very welcome.

Once we got to here everything went quiet. The story is at peace.

And as you can see below Ashurst Wood- where the family lived in the photo earlier in the post with the brick wall, is still a well wooded & lovely place to this day.

Friday, 7 February 2025

The Last Church In Apiti And Other Wonders

Early December is a truly brilliant time to have a wedding anniversary- taking a break before Christmas to head off on an adventure together is a wonderful way to celebrate a marriage that has not only 'stood the test of time', but become such a rich and exceptional relationship. We are so fortunate to find ourselves now living in a time where so many people have stepped up and made truly fabulous accommodation available to others, in some amazing locations both near & far. When I saw the Last Church in Apiti and worked out that Apiti was only about 2 hours 40 minutes from home and also a place we'd never been to before, we decided to book to stay in celebration of our 44th wedding anniversary. We were well into the 30s that week here in in Hawke's Bay so it was a warm journey, that's for sure. We stopped at the Memorial park in Dannevirke to eat our picnic lunch and as we strolled around we were drawn to the old brick grandstand. There was also a band stand from days gone by so up we climbed and as we leaned out over the edge we realised that we were looking down in to a remarkable old Linden tree.

In fact there was a pair of Lindens- one either side of the grandstand. Only a few flowers were out but how lovely to visit with these beloved trees.

To get to Apiti you duck around the side of Ashurst and head up in to northern Manawatu. It's a cool feeling realising that you are now driving through territory that you have never seen before. The first thing that we noticed was the abundance of wild roses blooming in the hedgerows.

It's an intriguing practise this naming of 'places' that aren't really a place at all, not a village anyway- more a location. Many times there is a church but little else. Cheltenham is just such a spot: a church

and a Christmas display

All in fine rural style.

It's also a funny old thing this looking up on the internet and then seeing how things are in reality. Kimbolton is the next little settlement down the line. Hansen's is a family run cafe & store that do pizza, burgers & coffee. Wonderful old, spacious and light filled building. Good place to stop for coffee.

We love these old banks- that got plonked all over the countryside, back in the day. As it turns out, this particular bank is available to stay in. You can have a wee look here.

Interesting sculptures on the road side.

And then 15 minutes on from Kimbolton, here we were in Apiti.

And this really is the last church. Once there were five churches in Apiti, now this wee one is all that remains.

However, there is also a large dwelling at the back of the church that was once the sunday school.

It's very sad when we come across little rural churches & chapels that have fallen into disrepair & disuse, so it is wonderful to discover that this little chapel has found it's very own salvation.

"The Last Church in Āpiti’s latest chapter began in 2018 when Jemma and Alexander Robertson first laid eyes on the former Presbyterian church and Sunday school. The property was wildly overgrown and hadn’t been used or lived in for many years, but the attraction was immediate. They could feel the energy and potential, the buildings oozed character, the floors and walls told tales of the generations before and they knew they wanted to be the ones to give the property a new lease on life.

This used to be one of five churches in the thriving farming village and today, it is the only one remaining."

I have to say that the kitchen had a very Thames pioneer rustic vibe to it that I didn't love.

There's an eclectic mix of vintage, religious, quirky and mid century through out the space.

Lots of space.

And two bedrooms.

Such a delicious revamp of an old wardrobe.

A very roomy one at that. Lots of extra blankets, knee rugs and a heater are all stashed in here.

And the other bedroom.

Alex's brother sorted the engineering work to custom create the shower.

The set up for the outdoor bath was very inspired and clever.

These church organ pipes are most fitting.

Ah, and just over there, you'll find Apiti's pristine public conveniences.

Old copper cistern in a tree.

The main Sunday school room provides a perfect light filled space that works beautifully as accommodation.

Flowers from home and a rather delicious fruit cake that I made with a hawthorn and rosehip decoction. Such a marvellously simple recipe. Not too rich and with no added sugar. The recipe is just here.

Just around the corner from The Last Church is Apiti Tavern and Eatery.

We wandered around for dinner on the Saturday night and had a lovely time sitting amidst the locals. Rob managed to attend to a bike incident where a toenail was ripped right off and mum was too queasy and dad a tad trolleyed to deal with it. The girl involved was soon amazingly right as rain.

We were surprised to find, on our walk around the block, that Apiti has a very fine primary school.

That's been kept in great order. They even have their own school pool.

Directly across the road from the school we spotted a froth of hens & a useful message. So we txt the number & that afternoon a dozen eggs were delivered to the sunday school door.

Interesting to see the roses thriving in Northern Manawatu. New Dawn is always so sweet.

And this was a very vibrant & robust & srcambly hedgerow rose.

Around the very next corner we looked up to see a delightful tiny house.

In fact a lovely piece of land with a number of interesting buildings scattered around.

It was a challenge to be so inquisitive but not want to be nosey.

However, we were saved by the occupants spotting us & coming out to chat & invite us to have a look around.

This spot is the weeknd retreat, under development. Cole is very creative & has constructed this cool glass house. He also caretakes the grounds of the school...just across the road.

I love quirky things, don't you.

Clearly a lot more rainfall around Apiti than at home. Everything was so green & lush & the trees all thriving. We were ecstatic to see elder blooming wherever we went.

And with every woolshed, there was an elder tucked in close, sometimes a whole family of them all nestled in together.

And foxgloves! Fairy hats. I adore them. It's too hot & dry in Hawke's Bay for them to thrive in this way.

Our first venture was to head up to the Limestone Creek Glow Worm Caves where you can see see glow worms if you go at the right time & you are very quiet. Since we had read about others struggling to find the route to get to the caves (I think a bridge may have been washed away in a recent flood) we thought we'd visit during the day to start with.

The day was moody & exhilarating.

A bit of unsealed road but it only took 20 minutes to get there.

Lots of interesting old buildings peppered around the farm land.

And a lovely white foxglove enmeshed with Tataramoa also known as Bush Lawyer.

So good to see true Toetoe rather than the ubiquitous pampas grass that most of us mistake for the native version. However, there are four options in the endemic department & I suspect that this specimen we found may be Austroderia richardii.

"Toi Toi is a common spelling for this grass, though Toetoe is preferred by botanists. They are both Maori words, and both sound the same! There are four similar species Austroderia toetoe, Austroderia fulvida, Austroderia splendens and Austroderia richardii) found in different areas in New Zealand. They are all closely related to that undesirable introduced Pampas grass (Cortaderia selloana or Cortaderia jubata)."

So here we are, parking for one vehicle on the side of the road. And no there are not ropes at the bottom of the steep path down to the river. Never mind, you'll be alright, just turn right (not left) & be prepared to get wet feet as you wade through lots of water.

Still we came prepared with crocs & showerproof jackets & torches.

It's all pretty majestical. Not sure you'd want to be there if the river was up, muddy or if it was freezing cold as you could get very chilled.

And although it would be amazing to visit at night in order to witness the glow worms at work, it's probably just as amazing to witness the plethora of marvellous mosses that abound here.

Of course a photo can never capture the mystery & magic of such an experience, nor the marvels of moss.

There's no real path- you just have to meander your way around.

But always being alert to the unexpected- like this seedling of the native nettle Ongaonga (Urtica ferox) that has a truly vicious sting to it that would not be nice if it caught you unawares.

Hold on stop! Is that a potato?

Why look it is- a Urenika Maori potato at that!

So many interesting plants in these peculiar conditions.

This looks like Jovellana sinclarii in a juvenile form to me, but who knows.

I've found Jovellana twice before right by water.

There's something so endearing about old fading sheds & barns.

And decommissioned farm equipment.

Periodically that may include a once loved farm house or cottage.

There is no "away" of course. Perhaps country folk know this better than most of us, so the unwanted things simply just remain..

As kids we whacked things with what we called monkey puzzle tails, but I think they must have been from Norfolk pines as this tree below is a true Monkey puzzle tree- Araucaria araucana.

And to be honest, I don't think you'd want to grab a hold of one of these 'tails" in a hurry.

Fascinating design. I bet there's a bit of Fibonacci sequence going on here.

Such an abundance of wild foxgloves- all through the paddocks & hillsides.

Cole from the tiny house had said that it would be ok for us to walk in this paddock near the school- the one with the gate wide open. So we did.

And we found lots of blackberry in bloom. So interesting to see that the flowers are paler than our Hawke's Bay brambles.

And from the field we could see over the fence to this homemade tree house happily flaunting every health & safety consideration there ever was.

Interesting back yard of a creative.

Back 'home' the Sunday school room was filled with light & loveliness.

Perfect time for cider.

May as well use the whole table for dinner.

So much effort has gone in to creating this fabulous spot for an out door bath in the back yard.

So many quirky touches.

On our second day we headed up to Rangiwahia to the scenic bush reserve. Spotting the snow capped volcanic mountains: Ruapehu, Ngauruhoe and Tongariro which are at the heart of Tongariro National Park, along the way.

Coming down in to the gorge to cross the Oroua river we discovered the most astonishing display of yellow lupins along the river beaches.

Since we were on an adventure we wandered down amidst the wild blooms.

And found ourselves so suprised to be enveloped in the sweetest honey fragrance.

The lupins go for miles!

In many shades of lemon.

I wonder if they all get washed away when the river floods & have to start again?

Imagine how many lupin seeds there are down there.

As I was leaning out over the edge, a lone cyclist came by. Talk about keen!

Lots more Digitalis up this way. I think the elevation is very well suited to these darling fairy flowers.

So pretty.

And still more elders flowering in the hedgerows.

And then all of a sudden appeared a Cardiocrinum giganteum flower.

Stop!!!

The flowers are exquisitely scented.

"If any bulb were to be the king or queen of wow, it is this giant Himalayan lily in full bloom. That is because these flowers are on a hefty stem that is around three metres high. Add to that the fact that it takes somewhere around seven years to flower and each bulb only flowers once. It then sets large amounts of seed and forms offsets around the base of the original bulb, each of which will take another five to seven years to flower. That life cycle must offer a metaphor for something. In the interim years, it just forms a seasonal clump of large, luscious, heart-shaped leaves reminiscent of an arum lily. This is a plant for cool, open, woodland conditions with soils which never dry out and are rich in humus. It does not perform in warm regions and won’t take much wind because of that great height in flower. We grow the plants in a cold, south facing border." From here.

And then here we were in Rangiwahia- a small farming settlement.

With a little church.

And a pink toilet.

And a few rhododendrons still flowering up this way.

An old telephone exchange.

Men in jalopies passing through.

The podocarp forest was odd & tired & the path very step & awkward as this particular reserve is filled with ancient trees that cause the terrain to be endlessly obstructive to human wanderings- filled with knobbly roots. That's not what it said on the website! What no one ever mentions about these old forests is that once you're in them & even when the trees have been nicely named & signposted, all you really get to see are the ankles of the trees & a little bit of 'leg'. The foliage is so sky high you have no idea how to recognise that tree again once you're out again. However, it was lovely to see very old Rimus.

Quite special to see a native jasmine plant in bloom for the first time.

"Parsonsia heterophylla, commonly called New Zealand Jasmine or Kaihua, is a climbing plant endemic to New Zealand."

And once we reached the top we found ourselves in a magical native Beech grove. Both red & black Beeches together. We paused here to spend time with this gracious trees. Even their leaf litter is fine & tidy.

On the way out we had to walk through farmland, but that was so interesting as it took us along the margins & that's where we found Tataramoa (Rubus cissoides) also known as Bush Lawyer- for rather obvious reasons- my goodness the under leaf hooks! A valuable Rongoa, medicinal plant one-the-less. As you can imagine it's not at all compliant & takes quite a bit of persuading to hop in a bag.

More gracious spires. You can see why they're called faiy hats or gloves here can't you.

We also came across Horopito (New Zealand bush basil) in fine form. The leaves have both medicinally & culinary uses. Dried Horopito is great in our seedy crackers. It has a distinctive flavour with quite a bit of peppery heat.

Back 'home' again for coffee & more cake.

And then we decided to find the key & visit with the chapel.

It was so nice that we were allowed to play in here.

Just a sacred thing for us.

A sacred witness of our life- together

No need for renewing of vows (whatever for) we live their essence every day.

I didn't expect to burst in to tears the first ime around.

Yes, foxgloves (digitalis) are toxic, but we didn't make tea with them.

The gift of wild flowers.

And joy.

A spare ukulele. Actually. for many years this man was a fine musician: guitar, base & drums at various interludes. Being a musician defined & held him in life for a very long time.

These things sometimes come & go...but not me. He hung on to me.

Others come to get married here. A few weeks later there was a lovely concert too.

I'm so glad that there's been a preservation of this place, of history, of sacred space.

There are still sweet memories to be made here yet.

We packed up our things the next morning & headed back up the road on our way to Taihape.

We had decided to do the round trip to get home.

And here waving as we went by were more Cardiocrinums.

I loved this splash of colour but as it turns out it's Chilean flame creeper (Tropaeolum speciosum- which means it's of the nasturtium family) & not something to encourage.

More old dwellings.

And just before you make that turn out on to state highway one near Mangakino there's some preety amazing cliffs & a bridge.

We had lunch in Taihape at Brown Sugar cafe & a little wander around.

And then for the first time ever we traversed the Gentle Annie- the road home to Hastings.

More elders in bloom- a whole valley of them even!

By now it was raining but that just makes things interesting. We stopped just out of Taihape to visit with the old Springvale suspension bridge. You can read about it here.