It’s hard to believe a year has passed since last I wrote to you. But here we are, at the beginning of a New Zealand summer, and I note that fog is lifting in the estuary this morning as the tide falls and reflections shimmer. 

Little Terns splash and feed in the shallows, and the forecast promises sunshine and showers, then a clear sky as darkness descends. A starry night, serenity, and peacefulness will follow.

The year that changed the lives of many of us in NZ is coming to an end. The drama and panic of months of torrential rain and rushing flood waters have eclipsed every other thought and feeling, and our memories of this year will remain some of the strongest we will ever know – when one’s home is threatened, everything changes.

Yesterday, Nick and I unwrapped the slope nearest to our house where we have a slip. Over the next few days we will wrap it up again in new black synthetic matting. That’s our Christmas gift to our land, to protect it from the weather until more serious groundwork can be completed. The old black plastic has perished so we’re experimenting with a different fabric, UV stabilised. Every property damaged by the Auckland Anniversary Floods of January 27 2023 and Cyclone Gabrielle has to go through months, possibly years, of engineering reports, council approvals, and expensive earthworks. We’re learning a whole new level of patience…

Actually, 2023 has only been about caring for our land. The focus has taken everything we had, all our time, strength, determination and grit. It’s been an extraordinary journey of sleepless nights, endless worry, and unnerving vulnerability, but the harder we worked, the more confidence we hoped to have that the foundations of our house would hold, provided we did the right things. Each morning as we put on our old gardening clothes, freshly washed and dried each night, we gritted our teeth, stepped into gumboots, gathered tools, and headed to the bottom of the property, swinging off ropes and ladders, to clear fallen trees.

The land has responded to our efforts. We can gaze at the newly exposed sandstone wall that used to scare us silly, and we can admire its beautiful colours and upward thrust. We’ve transplanted hundreds of Mondo grass plants to stabilise two important areas of the property.

Mondo grass is a low maintenance groundcover, with strong root system, exactly what we need. We’ve researched native ferns, grasses, and wild flowers, hoping to plant something more exotic one day. And we’re grateful. We’re grateful for the year that caused us to dig deeper than we thought possible. Physically we’re stronger than we could have imagined, and that strength has been transferred to our minds and hearts.

And that’s my Christmas wish for you…that you feel alive and spirited, grateful for your own memories, enriched by the people in your world, loved and nurtured, and loving and giving in return, and I hope you feel the inspiration that a new year can bring.

The birds that used to nest in our garden lost their homes to the weather this year, but they have found other trees close by to build their nests, and this spring, for the first time, a fledgling Spotted Dove landed on our deck to be hand feed.

Usually the adults are timid and easily frightened, but this one little chick had the confidence or naivety to dare to approach. And the Barbary doves have returned too, bringing their young for easy feeding, announcing their arrival on the deck with a cheeky, though sometimes aggressive call that makes us laugh. They have us well trained, and we seem to scatter wild bird seed and dry oats at an increasingly faster rate week by week. These birds know our comings and goings well, watching from afar, demanding attention as soon as we appear in the dining room for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

Of course, as months of over exertion took their toll on our limbs, aches and pains announced their arrival, so we retreated to the boat for compulsory rest and relaxation on the weekend. Even in the rain, we found relief, floating in the harbour during winter! How life has changed us!

Anyway, this short letter to you sends hope of happy times and beautiful memories – I must stop and head to the garden to weed. You know the saying: one year seeding, seven years weeding! Black nightshade, thistles, and dandelions are having a party here, with full day sun, plenty of breeze and rain, scattering their seeds far and wide, plus there’s no competition from those big old pines, now reclining in the tide!

Imagine, one mature thistle head can produce 10,000 seeds! It’s 26degC outside already, 25degC inside, and some of my thistles are already 2 metres high, so I’d better jump into my shorts and tee-shirt and get weeding before it’s too hot!  

We miss the pohutukawa tree on the headland – it had to be cut down to mitigate further damage from it falling – but to our amazement, another tree on the other side of the property has decided to shower us with Christmas joy and beauty. This tree has never really flowered before.

Perhaps the absence of the pines or the wet weather or extra sunlight has stimulated its growth, but whatever the cause, we can but admire the wonder and resilience of Mother Nature.

Thanks for being part of my world.

Maria

December 20 2023

Thanks for reading up to here. My next newsletter will be coming to you sometime in the Southern Hemisphere winter.