This sea of red greeted me through the Monday morning fog.  One kid dropped off to school, one hanging out with Mum, and one Mum home from travels.  It was a nice landing back into the minutiae of home-life and the onset of Winter.

When I saw the lady with leaf blower, I rushed home for the camera to capture it all.  Looking at the photos now makes me think of "The Red Tree" by  Shaun Tan.  A somewhat melancholic tale with a hopeful note.  I even found a golden tree glowing in the distance.

This summer we have embraced our local baths.  They are the only solution to hot summer afternoons and that moment when you swear you  are about to melt.

I love the colours and lines of the place as well as the relative quiet of an outdoor pool.  I feel I could just hug whoever it was that decided that all WWII memorials should be a living part of the community, rather than a stone relic. They obviously knew about our summers.





This week we snuck to the pool, during school time.  We shared the place with three retirees diligently swimming laps.  Half an hour after schools out and it is a different matter entirely - kids every where, the occasional parent and the best afternoon in the sun you could wish for.

Some times the large hill behind my parents' house just demands climbing.  With sturdy shoes, sunblock and cameras, in hand we took off.  The view from the top is just breathtaking with Palliser Bay streatching out below us.  On a clear day you see all the way to Mt Tapuaenuku, in the South Island's Kaikoura range.

Rocks and hills dominate the landscape here.  The rock formations to the north are the beginnings of a sedimentary pinnacle formation.  We can sometimes spot goats scrambling amongst them.

The girls did a fantastic job, climbing to the top with only minimal carrying.  While it looks as if we are about to walk into nothing, the farm track in fact takes a few steep curves before delivering us back home.

 While the sun was shining, we bundled the kids into the car and headed to the beach to see Grandma and Granddad.  With buckets in hand we were off on a beach walk.  Sticks were collected for magic wands and growing gardens.  We saw tiny washed up jelly fish. 

When armed with a camera, E takes a little more time to see what is going on around her.  It was also a enlightening to see what she had seen when we got back home.

I am totally enamored with a two year old called Abraham.  He's a rose.  My husband gave me this rose for my birthday last year.  It's called Abraham Darby and finally has enough flowers for me to cut swathes and bring them inside. 

As I get to grips with gardening, I am discovering why standard roses are desirable - easy to weed around.  Perhaps this should have been planted closer to the wall - again, easier to weed around.  Though, I am loving the sneaky iris stems that make their way through the rose bush and the aquilegias that pop up everywhere.  It looks like I have a lot to learn.

Floral arrangement is not one of my talents.  I live by the simple Martha Stewart ethos - 50 of anything will look stunning.  One day we might even have enough roses to get 50 of something, for now I'm just pleased to have enough to bring inside.

For the second time this winter, it is snowing. This is close to miraculous.

My children are keen on reminding me it's a miracle every half hour. They are checking the snow regularly and every time exclaiming anew "It's snowing!" as if I didn't hear them the last time. It's akin to a happy form of dementia.


Grandma returned from her holiday to find the only way home was a train. After a hairy trip to the station and a break in the clouds, the kids were able to attempt a snowman. If we hadn't had that little spot of blue sky I'm sure they would still be clambering at the door.


This doesn't happen often. The last time it snowed here, I was 16. I remember walking out of an exam to drifting flakes and amazed exchange students who had never seen snow in July. I've managed to capture the moment, just in case it snows again. Little E will be able to chime in with me by adding " I remember the last time it snowed. I was 4"

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We've spent our Sunday afternoon digging. Spring is a long time away, but in the hopes of being prepared we are getting the garden beds ready.

There were little hands and little helpers, all of which needed essential marshmallow and fizzy juice type fuels to keep going*. You can see the cast aside spade in the background.

The beds were in a sorry state. When we built them, I was concerned about stale water sitting in the base, so the beds were lined with newspaper . I thought I was being incredibly sustainable and respectful of the soil as a living organism. I forgot to consider that plants grow both up and down. The surrounding trees discovered the cornucopia we had built for them, sending up masses of roots, and stripping the soil. Three years later, after wrestling with root bound beds, our afternoon was spent digging out a bed, laying down some weed mat and then filling it up again.

Our compost heap has been decimated and carefully layered into the refilled bed. Next on the list is to gather together some luscious organic sheep cr*p and dags to give the soil a bit of a help along. At the rate of one bed a weekend, we might just get there in time for September planting.

*I was having doubts about sharing our adventures as it's not a typically wholesome adventure and probably wouldn't get into the pages of a high class parenting magazine anytime soon. Little E even ran off with the camera in order to capture the wonder of her purple and pink toes nails. I might be tempted to say that we drank home made lemonade and ate oatmeal cookies, but I finished the lemonade myself the night before and prefer my oatmeal served as porridge.

It's funny that I should be second guessing the sharing of our adventures on the basis that they are not fashionably eco enough. Yes, I paint my daughter's toes (fantastic sugar free coaxing) yes, we drink fizzy on special occasions and yes, the kids had a great time, outside in the ever so brief winter sun. All round it was a great time and quite honestly, next sunny weekend, we'll be lining up to do it again.

The autumnal glut of ripe apples means that there are many other bird attractions around town. Our feeder has become a case of trying to catch a cow with a piece of grass. The neighbours' dogs are quicker off the mark when we throw out our crusts, leaving the trough empty.

Still, we watch, wait and refill the feeder. Winter is closing in and I know the birds will come to visit us soon.

While long weekends don't mean an extra day off for everybody, in our house they mean and extra day with us all together. I've put my mind to some simple things to do with a long weekend in a small town, like Greytown.

We have had a few basic geography lessons in our house. This all came about when Little E volunteered that it was going to snow at Christmas. There was some explaining about countries and that it doesn’t snow in New Zealand at Christmas. It does snow in England where Thomas the Tank Engine lives. While there are no snowmen or sleighs, summer Christmases have their own advantages. Sometimes it just takes a little thought.

I find a Christmas without fresh berry fruit hard to imagine. How can you have the family photos after lunch, without the obligatory cherries draped over your ears? Actually how can you have family photos without going outside either?

Then there are the evenings. The combined scents of Christmas cake, coffee and chocolate are nothing with a long hot dusk and a cool porch.

I don’t much fancy the extremes of a Christmas day barbeque, a tree decorated with jandals. I would love to get to experience a white Christmas just once. Sometimes I can be a bit traditional, but I still embrace our summery Christmases with relish.

* Picture from a very summery Christmas Parade. Note the T shirts, beautiful singing reindeer and lack of snow.

In the middle of the muddle the smallest things become treasures. My crafting space is a mess and my garden is even more so. However, I never thought I would get so much pleasure out of some failed cabbages and a few stolen hours.


The garden has become an collection of when the sun shines..when the baby is asleep..when I have time. It is nearing summer and I have only the midwinter vegetables planted. The strawberry patch is a neglected space waiting for me to replace the hose that broke last summer. The cabbages were bitter after a long winter, so I let them go to seed and the smallest cabbage turned out to not be a cabbage after all.


The shape of the leaves gave it away and so I just left it there in the hopes that is wasn’t a cabbage. It is slowly being joined by some other stowaways from the same punnet of seedlings. I think I will leave them there.

For someone who claims to be a quilter, there doesn’t appear to be much of that going on either. The last quilt I finished was months ago. I’m certainly not one of those people who can churn out a new project every week, pour over the newest fabrics while buying up large or even stop still for long enough to write about it. I used to dream of having days on end to myself to simply sew, but now I’m happy for just two hours. They have become very precious to me.

Every Tuesday night I sneak out of the house and join the local quilting classes. With my machine and bag in the car I am off. Two hours of not worrying about who is a sleep and who isn’t. Two hours of just me, my machine and some great friends. With such small bites, it has taken me a while to get even one top finished, but would you believe that there are two? I think I will have to call these my Tuesday Sanity quilts.

The baby is awake again. I must dash back to the muddle, and the little treasure in my life, who is getting bigger all the time. I will save the quilts for another time but for now here is a peek.

Maybe I'm getting a little hopeful but the signs of spring are around me this week. This is what greeted me at the kitchen window on Friday morning.

I love borrowed gardens. The neighbor's plum tree hangs over the fence at our kitchen window. From here I can see the other plums trees and a lone feijoa.

I've also been watching our magnolia closely. I'm sure it was flowering earlier last year. Aa it was our first winter in the house, we had no idea what colour it was going to be. I have fond memories of sitting in bed, nursing little e, and watching the spidery purple blossoms. I spent so much time inside, that at times, the flowers on this tree were my only real reminder that the seasons were changing.

Someone asked me if it was snowing on the hills yet, and I honestly can't answer. I'm not at home in the daylight to look.

I've been back at work for two months now, travelling to the city three days a week. I leave the house in the dark and get home in the dark. Somewhere in between I'm on a train, hurtling through tunnels, under the hills, on my way to work.

The first few evenings were the hardest. Getting home to a cold house, grumpy husband and tearful child. We've been getting better.

If dinner is not fast, it's just not happening at the moment. So on my days off, I manage to get some meals in the freezer. During the week there is at least one slow cooker meal. Then of course, there is the flurry of getting baby food ready too. All this saw me preparing 3 meals and week's worth of baby vegetables on Monday.

My dearest said he felt the disheswent on for ever – that's not the half of it.

Work itself is going well. I'm getting into the swing of things. It's getting to be less of “I'm not sure, haven't done this for so long” and more of the “oh, I remember” and “hey I can do this”.

My days at home are getting the benefit of work too. I'm not no blasé about them. There's only 4 each week, unlike the infinite string that was laid ahead previously. Little e is pleased to see me I'm sure happy to be there.

As the weeks go by, the evenings are getting lighter and I may even get a peek at the hills on my way home.

It's New Year here. We are about to cross the shortest day, in a few days, Matariki is beginning to rise in the sky at the dawn and it is time to plant.

Matariki is the Maori name for Pleiades, or known as “The Seven Sisters” in Greek mythology. There are slight regional variations as to when the exact new year is (what phase of the moon etc.) but is generally recognized as a time to begin the agricultural year. I'm impressed that this constellation has such a universal significance. It appears most star gazing culture have name for it be it Subaru in Japan (yes, the car, look closely at the logo) or Kilimia in Eastern Africa.

It seems only fitting to show the seventh star block in the seeing stars quilt.

To celebrate the new year, some Kiwiana Fabric will be winging it's way to SweetP , 20 Cent Mixture and Ikkinlala soon.