mother skin


motherhood is
two scars on my belly
like lightning bolts or wings perhaps
reminders of a body
that's been stretched:
an ancient tale
of one growing another -
it's the nuzzling face
of a newborn,
mouth and eyes rooting
for sweet nourishment -
it's the kisses on my neck
of a two year old
who just climbed into bed
and whispers something softly
about toast or trucks
it's the five year old in the back of the car
that asks:
what is mist made of?
how many sleeps until you die?
it's where I let go of self
and find her again,
with softer skin, a fuller heart
and hands that are always moving -
who cares less about the perfect,
surface of things
and bends into beauty
that's offered in the everyday
in faith, in messes -
to love deeply
and keep on.

(Jan, 2017)


Ode to Winter


Winter wanders
round the paddock -
with sticks and fallen logs and
curving branches we fashion
wigwams, secret places to crawl
into and whisper stories -

Winter wonders
are mundane things made magical:
frosted fenceposts, 
ice crystals on the lawn,
cut glass hanging in the window
catches the late afternoon sun
and makes rainbows dance on the ceiling,
baby blowing farewell kisses,

Winter warmers:
every single ray of sunshine, 
frothy milk with cocoa,
socks on our toes, five
layers against the chest,
conversation in bed
he curled around me
curled around a hot water bottle,
blankets pulled up to our necks -

Winter work
numb hands packing cold eggs,
building blocks and train tracks -
brooding baby chicks,
boxes of belongings opened
and sorted, bon fire blazing
(the broken crib, rocking chair)
earth tilled, turned, 
weeded, mulched, 

Winter woman
lets the season wash over her:
the difficulties and the beauty -
and the more she lets herself
slow down, lie dormant,
the better it feels, 
to be laid bare




Alex and I are fortunate enough to both own beautiful digital SLR cameras, and however hard we try we just cannot seem to set up a portrait of all five us. So early one morning this week our sweet neighbour Bek agreed to meet us down by the chickens to take some current family photos for us. She did marvellously! And I feel so thankful for how far we've come in this farming journey and how each one of our boys is perfectly at home among the earth and feathers! And of course the hens adore their chicken man, Alex - one even perched herself on his hat. I mean, how can you blame her... 


Ode to Umberdove


six months ago you died,
how we miss you.

this is the first sunflower of summer
a gift of remembrance.
I want to show you my garden
in all it's ramshackle glory -
the sun soaked, grass-hopper
nibbled nooks and crannies;
slice up fresh tomatoes for us to eat
cook you eggs any way you like them,
scoop a spoon of raw honey from our bees
for us to lick clean; I'd tell you about the granite
boulders on the hillside, 
point out the calls of native birds,
as we hear them - and I'm certain my
little boys would find you beetles and grass seeds
and tree sap "rubies" for your pockets,

and I catch myself thinking,
you didn’t know her that well -
and it’s true I didn’t know you
as other people did, I’d never met you face to face -
but some part of you I did know, 
and the kindred I felt was warm and embracing
through computer screen, cables, satellite, seas -

nine years ago in a cloudy world wide web
I met you and a handful of other vibrant women,
a sisterhood of penned words,
of blog posts, banter in comments, in email,
made objects, videos, photography -
I was never made to feel inferior, or “too young”,
in my art I felt encouraged, in my words I felt heard,
in my smallness I felt wanted, in my losses I felt held,
in my triumphs I felt celebrated, 
a kind of acceptance and comeranderie that this
introverted soul could bear gladly, reciprocate. 
the closest thing I'd felt to having peers.

six months and I hold old postcards from you,
a stone with birds you painted, circling,
a feather you collected and posted,
I re-read comments you left on my photographs,
the memory of your voice six years ago, on the telephone
when outside snow was falling - 
these are but tiny memories of you,
and I tuck them safely under my skin,

so many of your sage words ring fresh in my ears -

"To pause and see the small glories of everyday
are truly what makes a life overflow"
"I honestly believe this is the most
important and holiest work that can be done"
"Self care is always the right choice."
"I've said it before, but we are such walking miracles:
we are not perfect, we are not whole.  
We are lined with the wear of existence,
skin scarred, hearts cracked open.  
But if we are very lucky, we fill those cracks with gold
and go on living, ever more beautiful for having been broken"

I see you now, confessing to a life well lived,
dancing wildly in a green scarf, making beauty in ink,
reminding us of grace and new beginnings -
I dream of you, stroking Candace’s hair,
holding Brad’s hand on a walk, loving your body in spite of cancer,
picking strawberries with a feather behind your ear,
tickling the smelly tummy of a dog, savouring the seasons,
laying out crystals and bone on a wooden table,
kissing me on the forehead -

what stories we will tell about you, Umber -
we will tell our children;
her bones were branches than unfurled at her finger and toe tips
they gave her sweeping curves, a regal height -
her heart was part horse hair (for painting)
part silver sterling (for smithing), part star dust (for gazing)
her words kindled flames in the hearts of her readers,
yes, even the stones at the river bed
could answer her call to kneel before the altar
of joy and goodness and pain and beauty -
her laugh could split atoms,
and her art could make bitter hearts cry,
in the middle of her spine was a point
that when gently touched, two wings would appear,
we never saw it but we heard from the old pine trees,
and the hawks and the larks,
the jaybirds, the cuckoos, the owls,
the oaks, the redwoods too -
she could be seen flying, star-flanked,
just before day break on clear autumn mornings,

(you knew, my favourite kind of mornings)

six months ago you left this earthly tent,
and the word love doesn’t come close
to how I feel about knowing you
and being known by you,
or how we miss you -
or the gratitude we feel
for all the wisdom and beauty
you've left in your wake,

bless you now and forevermore
friend, Kelly, Umberdove. 


p.s. Kelly's blog - read it all and be full.


Picnic in the trees


On the weekend we celebrated Archie's first birthday with a picnic among the old oak trees at our local botanical gardens. It was a happy affair with a small group of friends and family joining us for simple finger food, chatter, bubble blowing... The big kids explored the beautiful new playground and babies crawled among leaves, twigs and grass. I made a gluten free ginger and yoghurt cake layered with whipped pure cream and a little honey to sweeten. It was a big success and tasted reminiscent of those old-fashioned spiced sponge cake and cream rolls you used to find... 

~ Ginger Yoghurt Cake with Honey Cream ~
(makes a large celebration cake)

for the cake:
250g rapadura or brown sugar (you may also use honey but add an extra 2 tablespoons flour)
5 large eggs
350g plain gluten free flour (I used 50:50 ratio rice flour + arrowroot starch)
4 tsp baking power, aluminium free
2 tsp ground ginger
1 tsp ground cinnamon
1/2 tsp ground cloves
1/2 tsp ground nutmeg
220g plain unsweetened yoghurt
180g butter, melted

Whisk sugar and eggs until pale. Stir in flour, spices, yoghurt and melted butter. Pour into two 23cm cake tins lined with baking paper and bake for 35-40 mins in a moderate oven 180'c or until golden and a skewer inserted in the middle comes out clean. Cool completely. You can sandwich them together with the cream below or carefully cut them in half using a large knife (to make 4 layers)

for the cream:
600ml pure cream
2 tablespoons runny honey
1 tsp vanilla bean paste
Whip cream until soft peaks form - continue to whip as you drizzle in honey and vanilla until firm. Spread out over cool cake to form layers and ice the top. 




A year ago, when the house was still slumbering,
you started your way out into the world,
in gentle lamp light,
the rushes of labour came slowly,
it was just you and I,
alone (together) in the warm water...

I remember stopping in those spaces
between contractions to savour the inutero you;
the taut roundness of my belly,
the kicks and wriggles from within.
How well I knew you, and yet
never yet peered face to face.

And now you have gone
one whole year around the sun -
our surprise baby boy, Archer Brenin,
a blessing to our family.

You, with long lashes and eyes
not quite blue or green or brown -
those chubby wrists and delicious ankles,
star fish hands that slowly wave hello and goodbye,
nose pawing, arms flapping with excitement,
nuzzles into the neck, chin chomping, bottom shuffling,
giggling at brothers, chickens, cat,
a lamb with wobbly legs -

Your pastimes; opening and closing doors,
eating (anything), breastfeeding,
putting things in dada's boots,
pegs by the clothesline, kitchen cupboards,
dustpan and brush-ing...

Now you can move (on your bottom) with ease,
roll and reach and balance on hands and knees -
you beeline for the things you want; eggs,
little scraps of fallen food, feathers, specs of dust,
but usually it's us you want  -
to a lay your silky head against our laps.

All your days stretch before you;
what promise, what unknowns to traverse,
but for now I am content to gather up
the mere twelve months of you, 
to kiss your soft cheeks and enjoy
you just as you are right now.

Happy birthday Archie babe,
we love you so, we love you so...