The Celestial Sea

by Marina de Nadous

  Hau and Abby have given The Laird a Pohutukawa shrub as a house-warming/birthday present. We head out for an official planting ceremony when the washing-up is done. We ask Hau to climb to the top of the Pa site, {the ancient Maori fortification that lies at the very top of our lifestyle block}, to commune with the Ancestors——the spirits of the Mountain. Are we given permission to instigate these plans? Due reverence is expected in this ancient land; to this culture we dare call home. I watch Hau as he walks back down towards us. The night sky is advancing and for a moment his Maori features are highlighted by the last of the evening’s sun along with the dry grasses. Their golden stems part as he walks and I find myself asking: “Do we have the right——on these foreign shores——do we have the right to plough ahead as we have ever done?” Hau is pensive and sparing with his words.

  “Yes, it is all right to proceed; we can plant the shrub.” Is there hesitancy in his manner? I am unsure.

  We have yet to discover the detailed history of the area. The highest point on the hill above us is called ‘Mount Moan’. Initial investigation tells us the name comes from the depleted levels of borax in the soil. Soldiers home from the war were given small farms in the area but couldn’t keep their livestock healthy; volcanic activity was to blame. I would like to find out more about the land here, and especially the Maori name for our Mountain.

  The guitars come out as the day ends. Hau and Adrian know each other well and enjoy making music together. They open the songbook Adrian has given The Laird and their happy voices accompany the spectacular sunset over the Kuwharu Hills. I find myself gravitating towards my musical friend. Will it appear unseemly if I spend time by his side? As Adrian plays I sing a harmony——just something that comes naturally. He turns to me and says; “go on, that’s lovely, and vaguely familiar. I didn’t know you liked to sing?”

  We continue the party inside when the hill is dark. The majority of our guests leave early, except for Adrian who continues singing. He has a large repertoire and the Go-Getter taps his foot appreciatively to the lively tunes. After a while The Laird takes the little ones to bed and Adrian and I share holiday stories. “I went on a two-week Tiki Tour and ended up in Wellington,” he tells me. A ‘Tiki Tour’ is a Kiwi road trip. A ‘Tiki’ is a protective Maori figure——a rotund manikin with large eyes and a protruding tongue, often carved out of Greenstone and worn around the neck. A bus touring company uses the name for their well-known tours; hence the commonly used term; ‘Tiki Tour.’

  “Anyway,” he continues, “I ended up with some teachers from a similar school to ours. I stayed in Wellington for a couple of days. I met a lovely teacher called Jules. I think she might be the one for me. I am so excited. We got on really well. We are the same age and, like me, she is looking to settle down and raise a family. I don’t know for sure, but I think she liked me a lot. I left her a message yesterday. I’m hoping to hear back today or tomorrow.” I am pleased for Adrian——he has a boyish enthusiasm that is most appealing. We continue to chat about the ideas for the land, getting excited and inspired as we discover a similar vision for organic, rural lifestyle and artistic endeavour. We could have chatted all night.

  “Now, about the Workshop initiative you mentioned last term——I’m interested. I chatted to Krista about the idea and she thought her home-schooling group would be keen. Can we discuss it now? Sketch out a rough plan and talk to Cordelia next week?” Adrian and I are away——totally engaged in a sparky, brain-storming session. “Woodwork and treasure hunts on the land, nature trails and adventure, wholesome cooking and thought-provoking games. We could even do a few of the festivals couldn’t we?”

  The Laird comes downstairs and frowns at the books and scraps of paper strewn about the floor. “Well, I can see you are both on a roll. It’s getting late——bedtime don’t you think?” We say goodbye. It has been a magical evening. As we head upstairs The Laird remarks: “There’s something in Adrian I am unsure about.” “Really? I think he’s great. We get on like a house on fire,” I respond without hesitation. “Hmm”——he replies with raised eyebrows. “So I noticed.”

  * * * * * * *

  A couple of days later we take The Laird to the airport for his sad trip home. We wave him off; he doesn’t want to leave us behind. I am not sorry to see him go. His heavy presence has become depressing and much as I care for him a break is very welcome. I realize that his controlling stance is wearing me down. He treats us as he would a class of students, which is often good for the children but definitely not good for me. We spend the rest of the holiday quietly on The Mountain and at the seashore. I manage to contact Cordelia and tell her Adrian is keen to press ahead with The Mountain Workshop idea. We will meet at the beginning of term to set things in motion.

  Ten days passes quickly and The Laird returns for the beginning of the academic year. As Head of the Religious Studies Department he needs to be in his office during the last week of the holidays. I was hoping to see Adrian while he was away but he hasn’t been in touch. The sun shines and shines. This is the height of summer, although the dark mornings and early evenings leave us feeling short-changed. Of course, it is lighter than the winter, but not as light as an English summer. We begin the huge task of cutting back the gorse and enjoy lazy days on the hill; playing with the animals and watching the bantam mothers raise their successful broods of chicks. Cedric is particularly taken with the flock and takes it upon himself to water and feed them daily.

  Chickens in the grass,

  Rabbits on the land,

  Ducks in the water

  We’re part of Gods plan.

  The start of the school year sees a return to sandwich making and Rinky’s entry into Class 1. Her class of twenty was welcomed into the Main School during December’s Advent Festival. Each child was led along a rose-petal path by one of the leaving pupils. The six year-olds wore white clothes and silk cloaks. The ceremony marked the beginning of the afternoon and to the accompaniment of beautiful harp playing our babes entered the world of primary schooling. At the end of the petal path they each handed their new teacher a white lily and shook hands before sitting in a family group under the shade of the gum trees. Two months later, Rinky is both excited and nervous about starting in Class 1.

  The Go-Getter begins Class 4 with Adrian’s replacement, Martha. She is new to the school and a larger than life character, providing strict command and amusing jokes. A tall, strong person she waves her arms about a lot, making irreverent remarks in between discipline rigour. The children think she is great——just what the unruly class needs. Ideally, one teacher takes his or her class right through from 7 to fourteen. The specific teaching journey is as much a learning curve for the teacher as the pupil. However, this ideal doesn’t always pan out.

  The Go-Getter’s class is keeping the same room they had last year. Adrian is helping Sienna with the composite Class 2 & 3; he will take Class 3 for their Main Lesson and generally help run the busy group. The class isn’t large enough to split in two and afford a second, full-time teacher. He is pleased with his new timetable, which gives him free afternoons unless he is called upon to teacher relieve.

  “Can you help with the swimming transportation and supervision this month?” Adrian asks me on the first day of term. “We need several helpers and it would be good to have you on board.” I agree. The weather is glorious and we head to the outdoor pools in the middle of town on Thursday afternoon. There is something nicely old-fashioned about the pools in Monument Park, situated beside an extensive, grassy playground and a wide bay. We often visit as a family and watch the mini train trundling around at weekends. The cicadas sing noisily as we gather in front of the pools for the first session; a week into February. Bordering the road into town above the pool a bank of gum and native trees provide an exotic backdrop to this pleasant, coastal sanctuary.

  I enjoy watching Adrian with his vocational skill, holding the children’s attention and making the lesson such fun. I decide to join them in the
water this first week——helping the children with their co-ordination and kicking ability while they hold on to the pool’s edge. Before playful splashing time Adrian stands on the edge of the pool and flips coins for the children to retrieve. He plays a funny game called ‘Captain’s Coming’, which makes them all laugh. The session is a big success. He turns to smile at me from across the pool. We like working together.

  The next day, Friday, Cordelia invites us to lunch in her meadow garden close to school. She rents the property from the school bursar while her husband stays in Rotorua during the week. Although still a couple, she and her husband lead separate lives which suits Cordelia in her quest for solitude and private prayer. She walks for two hours every morning and every night——a meditation walk along the garden paths. The more I get to know her, the more impressed I am by her dedication to spiritual learning. Like us, the school has brought her to the town.

  We sit beneath a green sail shade in the afternoon heat; the honeysuckle scent and bubbling stream pleasant companions. The children play in the low branches of an old willow tree. We watch them as they leap off a big bough to the trampoline below. A new friend, Sammy, {whose daughter Sorrel is one of Rinky’s friends}, has joined us for our first ‘Mountain Workshop Meeting’. Her fourteen-year-old son Isaiah is with us. He suffers from exeama, poor lad. The local Intermediate school has caused him such stress that Sammy has decided to home-school him. They are full of enthusiasm for the Workshops and we toss ideas across the bowls of salad and hummus this glorious, summer’s day.

  Adrian joins us as at one o’clock. He saunters across the grass and welcomes each of us with a friendly hug. “Hi everyone——here’s some extra salad from my own garden; I’m so pleased with it. Try it right now.” He has an endearing way of gleefully rubbing his hands together when he is excited. By the end of the afternoon we have come up with a suitable agenda for our first Workshop session. I am bursting with anticipation; anticipation on many levels. Krista’s home-schooling group is set and next Wednesday fourteen children, four mothers, Adrian, Cordelia and I will begin our new venture.

  * * * * * * *

  Wednesday duly arrives. Thank goodness for the New Zealand sunshine; the weather is glorious. Krista and gang bring two other families we have not met before. Adrian will join us at twelve o’clock after his Main Lesson at School. The little children are wide-eyed at the new environment while the ten-year-old boys show off and pretend they are above being surprised by anything. After informal greetings we shake hands formally on the deck to mark the beginning of our session. We sit in a large circle on the ground. The candle is lit and we cross our hands over our chests while Cordelia and I recite the morning verse; exactly as we do at school. There is silence in the room.

  The skies are blue for me today,

  Chasing all the clouds away.

  Lovely colours just for me,

  The fresh, green grass, the deep, blue sea.

  The orange sun, the pink, pink rose,

  That in my pretty garden grows.

  So in my song, then let it be,

  Sunshine and colours, hopefully.

  This is a new impetus for those gathered. Giggles and shuffles interrupt the quiet, but generally the children respond well. Next we play a word game. Isaiah’s idea for a treasure hunt preceded by a word puzzle is popular and he leads the bigger children to the dense Bush lining the drive. One of the mothers takes the younger children upstairs where I have recreated a small kindergarten. Little chopping boards and a basket of apples sit, ready and waiting——apple puree is on today’s lunch menu.

  Apples in rows, chop as she goes,

  Fill the pan, fast as you can.

  The seasonal table reflects a scene from our Mountain domain. The accompanying story tells the tale of a group of children adventuring together in a magical land. I have recreated a cabin on a hill, a pond and an area of Bush. A mini ladder stands against a tree. The scene includes a little seesaw and some woodsman’s tools that Adrian made when we had lunch with Cordelia. I admire the skill in the miniature saw and woodsman’s axe that I have placed beside a tiny log pile.

  Isaiah’s group of older children return from the Bush with flushed faces and bright eyes——“someone has left their tools down there,” a breathless Keegan bursts into the cabin——“There is a hat too——can we borrow the big saw and the hammer we found? Who owns them?” Cordelia and I look at each other. Who indeed? “Are you sure there are tools——and a hat? How strange——can you show us?”

  “Quick, come this way.” Mark takes my hand and makes me run down the steep drive. “My goodness, you are right!” I look astonished. “Perhaps we should write a note, asking if we can borrow the tools. Has anyone got a pencil and paper?”

  Last week Cordelia, Adrian and I came up with the idea of a ‘Mystery Woodsman’ on our Mountain. The small clearing bordering the drive makes a perfect camp and early this morning I installed a selection of Adrian’s antique tools, some chopped logs, a yellow shirt and a straw hat that I hung from a branch. I happen to have a pencil and paper in my apron pocket, which the children are quick to find. They leave a scrawled note under one of the tools; “please may we borrow the big saw and the hammer”?

  “Time for morning tea”, I announce. “Let’s come back later. We might find a reply.” Two of the mothers have been busy in the house, preparing fruit and crackers. The children devour the food with enthusiasm. Some are unruly and don’t wait quietly, a different code of behaviour from school where manners are considered a top priority. Isaiah takes longer to come up from the Woodsman’s Den and winks at me as he steps inside.

  Morning tea is followed by the story. The children listen quietly, gathered in front of the seasonal display. Cordelia and I have our own children with us today; they are so excited about the new venture and have been allowed a day off school. I watch Rowena and Annalisa studying Adrian’s mini tools. They linger at the scene for longer than the others. The apple puree is bubbling, the fruity aroma mixing nicely with the scent of the cabin’s Macracapa pine walls. Mothers chat over the washing-up and we encourage the happy children back into shoes for another outside excursion.

  “Now, is everyone listening? We are heading down to the pond where I would like you to find three different plants. We’ll walk to the big tree at the beginning of the drive and draw what we have found. If you follow Isaiah you can check the Woodsman’s Den on the way.”

  What a hurly burly of stampeding children! They take off down the drive like a herd of wild horses and Cordelia and I follow as fast as we can to keep them in our sight. The mothers appear very relaxed and unconcerned by the high spirits. This organic, unheld manner must be the home-schooling way.

  The drawing session is a success. One of the wildest boys, Nathan, shows a natural talent. The shade from the giant pine tree is welcome; its top was blown down by a tornado the year before we arrived on The Mountain. The huge remains lie in the neighbouring paddock where a flock of bantams peck around the bug-rich wood. The previous landowners planted several Kauri saplings at this end of the drive. They are healthy and well established. The Kauri tree is New Zealand’s most famous and largest, native tree. A Kauri tree can live for over two thousand years.

  On the walk back up the drive we discover the Mystery Woodsman has answered our message. Written in twigs beside the log pile is the unmistakable word; ‘YES’——“Well, would you look at that!” The boys proudly carry their borrowed trophies back to the cabin. Cordelia produces her guitar and we wait for Adrian’s arrival with a summery song. Everyone is happy and Cordelia and I sing the verses again.

  A group of the boys, led by The Go-Getter of course, rush down the drive to wait for Adrian at twelve-thirty. They want his help with the big saw. Eventually we hear his car and watch as the group of thrilled youngsters spill out of his vehicle clutching freshly cut sticks from the Bush. I thought they were taking a while to arrive!

  Since my hunt for a large teapot proved fruitless, eve
n for the ever-resourceful Geofredo, Adrian has come up trumps with the donation of the largest pottery teapot I have ever seen. “This was the only household item I kept when I moved house. My partner didn’t want it. How perfect——must have known it would be needed.” Holding tea for thirty, the giant vessel takes a commanding position at the head of the table. The younger children watch the steam rising from its spout. The tables are laid for lunch——a couple of trestles attached to our own dining table provide enough seating. Wooden bowls and pottery mugs acquired during my Opp. Shop forays are ready and waiting——and we begin. We light a candle, requesting silence. Cordelia and I wear the pink aprons that played an important role in my English Kindergarten. The children listen quietly to the grace we sing; the organized ritual revealing a new world——and they love it.

  “Anyone for raspberry tea?” “Raspberry tea? Should I try some, Mum?” Trisha looks interested. The apple puree follows our salad and freshly baked bread. The addition of fresh cream brings second and even third takers. Adrian sits beside me at the top of the table. “Here my friend,” I turn to him. “Your very own Mountain Mug; it matches your colouring. Would you like to christen it?” He holds the unusual mug between his hands to look more closely at the design in pale greys and browns. “What a lovely shape; especially for me? Thank-you so much.”

  After lunch Coralie, Loraine and Krista clear up while Adrian leads the children to the bottom paddock. “Let’s light a fire down there,” he suggests. Cordelia, Sammy and I follow with matches and newspaper as well as the afternoon’s craft materials, singing as we go:

  Come follow, follow, follow, come follow, follow me,

  To the pine wood, to the pine wood,

  To the pine wood, follow me.

  Our voices carry us happily along the sun-dappled path to the bottom paddock. Fantail birds flit around our feet and perch on the giant ferns and then the gorse. They are so pretty; they spread out their tails in a fan shape as they dance about. They follow the movement of our feet when we disturb the bugs and knats they feed upon. Maori folklore warns that a fantail inside the house signals an imminent death. We sit on a sunny bank making ‘sunshine mobiles’ out of sliced oranges and lemons; hunting under the old pine trees for suitable sticks to carry the pretty ornaments. “You can take them home to dry in the sun,” I tell Sophia, Cordelia’s five-year-old daughter.