A Seasonal Anthology Winter’s comfort - my Grandmother Mac’s

“Once upon a time we all walked on the golden road. It was a fair highway, through the land of lost delight; shadow and sunshine were blessedly mingled, and every turn and dip revealed a fresh charm and a new loveliness to eager hearts and unspoiled eyes -

L M Montgomery 

On my regular walking path there is a row of massive macrocarpa trees. Once, many years ago they were planted as a shelter belt on a ridge and they are continually battered by both of the region's prevailing winds, from the south-west and north-east; a double whammy so it seems.  As a result they stand quite straight, or perhaps it’s just in their DNA to be deeply and firmly rooted so as to not be pressured by the winds of change.

They are also evergreen, graced with long prickly dark green fingers. I call them my ‘Grandmother Macs.’ When I reach them I slow down and take a bow; a moment to  acknowledge their stature, age, wisdom and protection. In my mind's eye they watch me go past, lowering their long, bony fingers and stroking the tip of my head; they think I don’t notice but I hear them talking together:

‘Here she comes, she’s slowing down…let’s lean in a little and sing our wind song to her...do you see how she takes her hat off and runs her fingers through hair as she nears, enjoying our refreshing breath and shade from the sun. Look, she’s stopping on the road, peering up at us…craning her neck so as to get a bigger view’ 

’Kia ora ki nga tūpuna wahine ahau, kei te pehea koutou?..’ I call back to them. (I know, they know the language of the whenua)

‘Haere mai ki a mokopuna…!’ they reply.

If you love it enough, anything will talk to you 

George Washington Carver

My Grandmother Macs have weathered many storms yet they still stand, maybe a hundred years old. When I walk under and alongside them I sense their protection. Theirs is a wisdom to be embraced by the passer-by who slows down to notice. They know what it means to lean into and with, not to resist but to embrace, not to refuse but to allow, and they have stood the test of time.

Being winter now, sometimes I carry a small cloth bag in the pocket of my jacket  to carry any fallen cones these beautiful beings drop, as they make great kindling. Even though these giants retain their leaves, or pine needles as the case may be, the winds of seasonal change knock their seed cones to the ground below. This then is another of their gifts to me and as collect their offspring I sense them nodding and smiling as they watch me head toward home, until we meet again. 

Conversing with nature is not strange. What is though is not talking about it. It seems as natural to me as the breath that comes from my lungs. Perhaps if we embark on a journey of relationship with all beings and find the sacred within each, our World, Papatūānuku and all of the Cosmos might take on a whole new lease of life. It’s within our power to do this. 

Postscript

On my way past just recently, which is now almost the end of Winter, I decided to get up close and personal with one of my Grandmother Mac’s. Carefully I clambered through some long grass and low bushes and made my way to the trunk of the tallest (and most accessible) trees and reached out my human version of branch and twig. I touched, pulled myself close then embraced, and then hongi'd her marvellous bark body.

For a moment time stood still, and for that moment, we were one.

All has been consecrated. The creatures and the forest know this,

the earth does, the seas do, the clouds know, as does the heart full of love.

Catherine of Sienna - 14th Century Mystic