home sweet home

it's good to be home for a bit

sleeping in my own bed

window open, Martha-cat draped across my arm

mingled scent of lemon flowers and roses

drifting in across my pillow

while the dreaming ducks mutter outside

that last image is what happens when you mix them up

using the Diana app

wandering locally

marvelling at indigenous flora

reading tracks in the sand

as well as some very kind words

written about me 

here

and of course

minding the baby

dyeing a few things

and catching up on some sewing

re-polishing the rose-tinted spectacles

Moana unbundling...

Aotearoa may be considered [by some]

to be at the ends of the earth

but

i suspect that's actually an attraction

last week we had folk from the Cook Islands and from Australia

this week

we have more West Islanders [see the 'A' word above]

from both extremes of east [QLD] and west [WA]

as well as participants from Scotland, the east coast of America

and from all over New Zealand 

when it came to the crunch

we had more applicants that we could comfortably accommodate.

it's been a wonderful journey.

full of intriguing signs and waymarkers

and serendipitous moments, such as

on one of the days at Titirangi

when i murmured something about needing to choose a poem for our morning reading

and Heidi [our gracious and graceful host] slipped a page into my hand

which turned out to be exactly the 'randomly selected'  poem i had read for myself at dawn.

[and then read it to us exquisitely]

 

here in the green heart of the Lud Valley

we revel in simple pleasures

balmy breezes, songs of beeses

exquisitely prepared and indescribably wonderful food   

[mostly grown here]

 + + +

once again our pots are heated by fire

and while we work at coaxing local colour

into cloth and paper the days pass far too quickly

this evening i too was permitted to play at the kitchen stove

and to harvest the ingredients from the garden

[for those of us of Latvian descent there are few greater pleasures

than being allowed to seek for potatoes in soft earth with our hands] 

joshua creek

after a little more stitching

i arrived in Canada

where the air is crisp

and the space we are working in is very beautiful

there are bees

more kitties than i have seen in one pile for a long time

and

i have some very adventurous students

who have decided to weave components for their

landskins

i'm enjoying this new class

but

can't help recalling the pavement in New Orleans

wear/where will it all end?

while i'm trotting about the countryside on my high horse
i thought i'd share what i found in the Ecouterre newsletter today

so-called "Pollinator Frocks". i'm sorry, but this is taking idiocy to the extreme. the frocks are indeed pretty [printed with leaf pix and macro-images of pollen] but what they are planning to do
that is
feed bees with sugar
is precisely the opposite of what bees need



why not plant a backyard meadow
instead of [as they suggest] hanging a sugar-impregnated garment on the washing line for bees to have a snack at?

sooner or later some clot is going to wear one of these frocks
and wonder why s/he is covered in bees
or flies
they like sugar too

what is the point? bees need pollen, not refined sugar. lovely as it is, sugar weakens bees. use it to make salt caramel or rum and grow bee-friendly plants instead

it's almost as good as the suggestion somebody made back in 2003
about creating artificial trees to "reduce the carbon levels"

so far as i can tell they look like giant tennis racquets with venetian blinds attached. mmm, attractive. i'll go sit under that one for a picnic for sure

wouldn't it use more non-renewable resources to construct such things?

what's wrong with planting a tree?
and - flash of lightning thought - it might even do something useful for the bees!!!!

here in Oz, it's simple...plant a eucalyptus [think of it as a vertical meadow]. they all have lovely flowers and
might drop the odd windfall for your dyepot as well....

to bee, or not to bee

the passing and commemoration of Aotearoa's best-loved beekeeper is in many minds today. family members reminiscing about Sir Ed remind us of his humility and his extraordinary insistence on the state of ordinariness. his response to an interviewer pointing out his modesty regarding his achievements makes me smile..."well, there's a lot to be modest about." we wish him well on his next adventure...which, according to Peter Pan, is an "awfully big one".












with beekeeper in mind and a fondness for bees, when friends suggest we break our evening bread together at the Busy Bee (in Raumati) given our first choice Lembas is closed on Tuesdays and there is a hurricane blowing i am favourably disposed to be pleased by the establishment.

having experienced aromatic deliciousness, warm smiling speedy service, unparalleled cleanliness, soothing surroundings and general bliss at the Mussel Boys in Paraparaumu some nights ago i could even describe my attitude as comfortably optimistic. the waitress at the Mussel Boys understood her wine list, was clearly delighted by the food she was able to offer and indicated by her very demeanour that she had been waiting all day, just for us to walk in the door. this is how i like to be welcomed, particularly when i am far from home and especially when hard earned shekels are to be exchanged for edible commodities.

sadly the Busy Bee now joins the list of places to be avoided at all costs when visiting Wingnutcentral; among a range of dining experiences which are rapidly beginning to resemble local terrain - peaks of achievement separated by deep valleys of despair. if only those metaphoric valleys had rivers to flush out the dining debris. high points have included the Wellington Trawling Seamarket, that nice place on Cuba Street called Satay Palace or something very similar, the aforementioned Mollusc Fraternity and of course the octogenarian favourite, the Green Parrot.
lows have included an appalling cafe in Kaikoura, whose chowder brought to mind Lord Blackadder's pungent and graphic description of one of Baldrick's cream-coloured culinary offerings. the chowder presented by the Bee's ample waitress isn't quite in that league and redeemed by recognisable morsels of sea-creatures; however finding a small black hair at the bottom of the dish was more than a little disconcerting.
the crowning glory of my present evening is provided by the appearance of four diminutive and decidedly deceased objects erroneously described on the menu as king prawns. it is obvious from their dessicated appearance that some time has elapsed since the Reaper popped by for cocktails and canapes at the prawn family residence and despite the promising description of the dish on the menu it is a dull affair.
in contrast my friends are pleased with their meals. the scallops are certainly plumper than their crustacean cousins...however once immediate hunger is assuaged and we begin to more closely observe our surroundings it is clear all is not well at the Bee. the waitress keeps flicking her hair everywhere. the state of said hair conjuring lines from an early Dire Straits song, that bit about the conductress on the number nineteen. the hair slides over a plate of muffins she carries to another table. uggh. too tired and too stunned to protest, we cough up the cash and depart.

grub may well be a simile meaning food, but grubby is not a descriptor one likes to associate with dining.
and $16.50 for four shrivelled shrimps is scandalous. no wonder i have a bee in my bonnet.


ps, actually posted on tuesday, non-usa time...