The Celestial Sea

by Marina de Nadous

  What an enchanted afternoon. The children are thrilled with our piece of Mountain wilderness and soon discover the big swing and the seesaw. Twelve-year-old Rowena shows the older boys how to lay a campfire, while the Go-Getter strikes up a friendship with Scott and Christian; they are busy with Adrian who is teaching them to use the big saw. While they take turns with the two-man implement my new friend rolls up his sleeves and sets to, clearing a large space under the big swing. “What we need is a decent flat area; otherwise it is just too steep everywhere.”

  Goodness how Adrian works! The marked-out area takes shape quickly and he is soon joined by a group of enthused youngsters and impressed mothers.

  At a quarter to three we head for home, tackling the steep hill with tired children. The afternoon sun spills across my floor rug, encouraged inside by the open French windows. We pass around cups of water and gather the children for a final story and a song. We are radiant and tired. Adrian is the last to return, apologizing; “I wanted to complete the clearing.” The children are quiet and watch the circling hawk outside the main windows. The sheep-dotted fields and immense views from our Mountain eyrie hold us peacefully and we say goodbye before the singing begins. “Can you slip away quietly during the music?” We ask the mothers. “Keep the magic alive for as long as possible.”

  There is so much golden glory,

  In the world, magic rolling in, magic rolling out———

  “How was the day?” the Laird asks when he comes home. I tell him all——the excited children, the enchanted mothers, the energetic team made up of the three of us. “I can see you are in your element.” He is pleased for me, but I know he will begin to resent my fulfillment. He cannot be central to the creative fun and yes; it involves a lot of work and encroaches on our family life. Here we go again——same old story. Oh well——I am buoyed up by the success, especially when the telephone rings several times over the next couple of days. The families are excited. “Can we come again next week? What shall we make for lunch and can we bring a couple of friends?” There is a message from Adrian too, leaving a contact number The Laird requested——“Oh, and a wonderful day yesterday——what a success. Please give my love to your beautiful wife”——

  I like the sound of Adrian’s voice; his intonation finishes on a high note as he says ‘beautiful wife.’ I hear a question mark at the end. I keep the message on the phone.

  I retrieve the yellow shirt, the hat and the tools from the Woodsman’s Den the following morning. Do I imagine the magic in this place? Maybe there really is a Woodsman who needs recognition. I will ask Hau when I see him at School. I like spending time alone here. Dense foliage overhangs this section of the track. The remainder of the drive is open and winds its way up the edge of our Mountain. A towering, gorse-covered hill rears above the right-hand side while the other side drops away to the wetlands and bottom paddock. The astounding view unfurls before me as I tackle the long, winding path. I am excited and inspired. What a perfect way to connect with, and learn to love, our Mountain.

  * * * * * * *

  School life is busy. Every class takes part in the dramatic pageant of St. Michael and the Dragon this term. Similar schools across the world celebrate the autumn festival where St. Michael helps us conquer our own dark dragons in preparation for the coming winter; encouraging reliance on inner strengths rather than sun-soaked bounty. Most of our School Festivals are in line with the global, church calendar but the autumn relevance of this particular impulse means the school has moved it from September to April. It works well with the School’s Lenten preparations.

  The complications of a Northern/Southern Hemisphere Calendar are a new and different challenge. The natural sequence of the Northern Hemisphere’s seasonal and religious timetable has never been in doubt, whereas here in the Southern Hemisphere the rights and wrongs of staying within the global impulse versus working with the seasonal cycles are under constant discussion. Added to that, Maori ritual and spiritual tradition need consideration. As a result I am finding the Festival Group stimulating and exciting. In a short number of weeks we have St. Michael and the Dragon, Lent, Harvest Festival, Easter and Pentecost——I imagine it will take a number of years to feel at home with it all.

  “So, who is going to be St. Michael this year?” Adrian asks Lois. “I think Martini has chosen Damian from Class 7,” she replies. “How do you know who to choose?” I ask. Lois and Adrian smile and tell me; “Oh, that’s easy——the child with the most dragons to personally conquer is always chosen. Of course, they don’t realize why they have landed the lead role.” Class 3 will be the dragon; all of them hiding under a giant, green cloth. Adrian has already made the Dragon’s head, which The Class has been busy painting. They will stomp a dramatic entrance around the deck with the help of a scary drumbeat. Later in the term our mid-winter bonfire will devour the Dragon’s head to rid the community of any dark elements.

  The Go-Getter’s class will be the village group; the children help St Michael slay the dragon with a wooden sword each. Needless to say they are overjoyed at the prospect! This teaching philosophy is so clever, giving each age group the perfect role to suit their stage of development. “Do you think the Dragon skin is good enough?” Lois asks Cordelia. “I made it years ago out of some old blankets that I dyed green. I remember hanging it over the washing line to paint on the scales. It was all done in such haste. We really must make a new one next year.”

  Cordelia and I help the talented Lois allocate costumes and props. St. Michael will wear floaty silk robes in white and yellow and the whole community will witness the dramatic moment he raises his sword and brings the wounded Dragon to bay. The Kindergarten children are not invited to this festival; the entrance of the Dragon is too frightening. “Have you thought of giving St. Michael a real sword?” I ask. “I have seen some splendid swords for sale in T.M’s Emporium. They are reasonably priced. We have some money in the festival budget, don’t we?” The idea is met with great approval. “Let’s go shopping on Monday.”

  In Autumn Saint Michael with sword and with banner,

  Passes over field and orchard and manor,

  He’s on the path to war ‘gainst grimness and strife,

  He is the noble soldier, preserver of life.

  We are well into our family routine these days. The Laird’s car leaves The Mountain at eight o’clock and I leave half an hour later with my eager charges. I find myself looking out for Adrian’s happy welcome when I arrive at School——and he is always there——always walking past as I drive up. Every morning we chat through the open car window and if I bump into my handsome Friend around school I usually receive a big hug. “Well, hello there Good Sir, and how are you this morning?”

  “Hey, when is the next Workshop Meeting?” He asks eagerly. “We should set a regular, weekly time to prepare for the next session.”

  Adrian is full of vitality today——wearing linen trousers and a loosely tucked, cream shirt his fine-boned, chiseled features vie for attention with his gorgeous smile. I find him very attractive; he is brown and sparkling and brimming with fun. Sorting a pile of schoolbooks on the deck he lingers with me a while. We chat; waiting for the morning bell to ring. “Who’s that handsome man you are talking to?” Rinky’s teacher teases me as she heads into class. “I’d better stop hogging you,” I apologize. “There must be others needing to catch you before lessons start.” “Oh, I don’t know about that,” he replies with a twinkle in his eye, adding; “can I have some of the tissue flowers we made the other day?”

  Before class begins we agree on a regular meeting time——and so we find ourselves in Cordelia’s meadow garden every Friday lunchtime. The ideas for craft, woodwork and music flow effortlessly. Building on the first session we include the ‘Mystery Woodsman’ with the seasonal impulse. We decide to give the families a taste of festival life and agree to put on the St. Michael pageant. “I’ll help the children make their own swords,” Adrian suggests. Cordelia has a beautiful cr
aft idea——“I’d like to teach the group to make felted figures; perhaps Angels to begin with. Shall we order some wool?”

  The following day I slip an envelope into Adrian’s car with three tissue flowers we made at Cordelia’s house. They are so pretty; we might include them in the festival. I dab a small amount of my scent on the seal of the envelope, thinking; ‘It’s hardly there——he won’t notice——my secret.’

  * * * * * * *

  “Are you sure it’s this road Mummy?” Rinky is an anxious passenger. She often worries that I have lost my bearings. “Yes, I’m sure; Temple Road. Look, there’s the sign. We’re looking for number 4.” I approve of the Kiwi road signs. They are much clearer than our British equivalent. Coloured blue and positioned above eye-level opposite the turnings, they guide us effortlessly around town. We are collecting our new puppy today. Rinky and I are so excited. The boys appear unconcerned; “don’t you want to come too?” We asked this morning. “No——that’s okay, you two go.”

  The little bundle sits on Rinky’s knee as we drive slowly up the hill. She is a German Wire-Haired Pointer and we were amazed to find a litter in our hometown. In our search for a family dog we have been disappointed by the quality and variety of hound available. The so-called ‘Working Cocker Spaniel’ breeder near Rotorua hadn’t impressed us; “we don’t have the broad gene pool of your British dogs.”

  We have wanted a Pointer for some time——“but not until we own some land,” we have always stipulated. So here she is——a beautiful hound from a genuine, working background. The fact that we own a wooden cabin as opposed to a castle hasn’t deterred us! The rough hunting terrain of New Zealand suits the bigger dog and the Laird hopes to train her as he has always trained his smaller, shooting companions. She is adorable and rather alarmed by the change of home. Rinky and I cuddle her for the rest of the day and take her wherever we go. We give her an official name but that is quickly dropped for the usual, silly nicknames that we always give our animals, and each other. I hereby introduce ‘The Bog-Brush’——so called because of her wiry coat in peppered brown and grey and her comic beard and shaggy eyebrows. What a hoot! She is highly amusing, as well as elegant in her set and stride. Yes, I think she will suit us well.

  “Does she really have to sleep in our bed?” My long-suffering husband is unsure about our night time addition. “I thought we had got over the ‘babes in bed’ stage.” “Just for tonight,” I plead; “until she feels easier.” What an adorable little friend. She only spends one night in our bed; adapting to a fireside chair without any trouble. Needless to say, she becomes my constant daytime companion. She likes to lie across my lap as I drive.

  I love my dog and she loves me,

  Beside me, for me, constantly.

  Adrian arrives on The Mountain the following afternoon in preparation for the next Workshop. “Suitable sword sticks are what we need. Come on My Lady——let’s head into the Bush. Can you bring some loppers?” We are away, bounding down the drive together like a couple of puppies ourselves, finding a wealth of treasure in the Bush bordering the track. “Here——some Manuka wood; perfect. Feel its weight;” Adrian is enthused. “And you see this plant, the one with the heart-shaped leaves? That’s Kawakawa; a wonderful healer and widely used in Maori medicine. I have just attended a Maori Medicine course. See all the insect holes across the leaves? Well, that’s where the potent remedy lies——something to do with the reaction of the plant with the insect spittle. Let’s take some back for the Go-Getter’s cough. We can make a tea out of it.”

  We are having fun. I like to climb and jump down the steep banks, swinging on any strong branches. My Friend has the same inclination and we find ourselves staying out for longer than we expected. “What is this twisty, vine-like wood?” I ask my knowledgeable companion; “it’s hanging from all these trees; can I swing on it?” I handle the narrow, bendy wood, which dangles from the native canopy overhead. “Oh, that’s Supplejack. We can use it as twine for den building or fencing. Don’t stand too long under that tree.” I ask Adrian why, moving away from the tree in question. “You see the big plant growing in the crook of the branch? Well, it’s a parasite. The birds drop the seeds and they take root like that. However, when they get big they have a nasty habit of falling suddenly. They are heavy and from pioneer days have acquired the name ‘Widow-Maker’.” I look above me at the enormous, spider-like plant with a new respect.

  Adrian and I collect enough wood to start the sword-making project in two days’ time. We will send the children out to harvest more, now we know where it grows. “And let’s put a toothbrush, an old kettle and some whittling knives in the Woodsman’s Den this week. Oh——I’ve been meaning to ask; did your friend Jules get back to you?” “No, not yet,” Adrian sounds disappointed as we stroll back towards the house. “I expect she’ll be in touch when term is underway; I imagine she’s very busy. I am a little disappointed though. Can you tell me the time?” He reaches for my hand to look at my watch but thinks better of it and waits for me to tell him.

  This Wednesday’s Workshop is an even bigger success than last week. We stage a run-through of the Saint Michael Pageant with the children clutching their partially completed swords. Oh yes, and the toothbrush, kettle and knives add further mystery to our Mountain Realm, triggering an interesting discussion as we pour the raspberry tea and tuck into homemade soup. Unfortunately, Christian manages to knock the top off the teapot spout——an easy mishap as he refills his mug. I shall visit our friendly school potter tomorrow. Perhaps she can magic a repair.

  Rinky’s birthday is fast approaching and I wonder about a suitable present as I drive down the hill. The damaged teapot is sitting beside me, wrapped in a blanket. Sonya the potter; a pretty German woman with a shy smile and three children has recently joined our school from The Coromandel. The family has moved here specifically for the continuation of an artistic education. I pull up outside a rental property at the bottom of our hill. Sonya greets me from the garage where she is loading her kiln with an assortment of mugs and plates. I ask her about the teapot but she is unable to help. “The spout needs angle-grinding; it isn’t broken too far down. Do you know anyone with an angle-grinder?” I thank her and stop to admire the attractive pottery on the shelves. She sells from home as well as displaying items in a local craft shop. “Now that I have moved location I can’t sell under ‘The Coromandel Artists’ umbrella. I need to raise my work practice to a more business-orientated concern.” As I reverse the car she picks up the sweetest little tabby kitten.

  “You don’t want to give our Monty a home do you? He’s the last kitten to go and has the loveliest temperament.” I admire the little kitty out of the car window; he is lying on his back having his tummy tickled. The Bog-Brush is beside herself with barking excitement but the little creature seems unconcerned. “Well, now that you mention it, I am looking for a special birthday present for one little girl. Can I ring you tonight?”

  The College grounds-man has a large workshop with an angle-grinder. The teapot is as good as new in two minutes. “This is an important vessel;” I thank Craig gratefully before collecting Cedric from the main buildings.

  Chapter 2 Elevate

  It is April and the autumn brings on the Go-Getter’s chesty cough and touch of asthma. He has a terrible headache this evening——he doesn’t look at all well. “I think I’ll phone the surgery,” I say to The Laird. Half an hour later we are sitting in the doctor’s surgery with a very unwell child. The doctor sends us to the hospital straightaway with a suspected bout of pneumonia——poor little fellow. What with his various asthma attacks he is getting used to hospital admittance. Relaxed, friendly staff and a charming Irish doctor greet our worried entourage. He is quickly tucked up in the children’s ward and plugged into intravenous antibiotics. I stay the night while The Laird heads home. At times like this we thank conventional medicine.

  The School Principal; fondly known by Adrian as Big J, makes a surprise visit the followi
ng afternoon. She is accompanied by my Woodsman Companion and they come bearing puzzle books and coloured pencils. How kind. I sit on the edge of the hospital bed and meet Adrian’s eyes. Magic wrapped in a question mark catches us for a fleeting moment——something we both recognize. I must look a wreck. I have been wearing the same clothes for three days: beige combat trousers and a red, cotton jumper. I haven’t even brushed my hair. Thankfully the Go-Getter picks up quickly and is allowed home after seventy-two hours. What a relief to see him restored to his usual, bouncy self. “Thank-you efficient hospital and surgery.”

  * * * * * * *

  The weeks roll by and The Mountain Workshops gain in popularity. We have thirty on board at one stage, although some decide against continuing, namely a couple of Christian fundamentalist families with their large numbers of children. The breadth of our particular philosophy proves too much for their rigid codes of practice; something I have met several times since arriving in the country. The attitudes smack of a fear-driven, religious belief and an unusual small mindedness in this day and age. Never mind——who am I to judge? We are better off with our smaller, more relaxed group anyway. I have heard this area described as the ‘Bible Belt’ of New Zealand, and having met some of those involved, I can see why. Fundamentalist churchgoers often choose home-schooling to protect their children from a ‘sinful’ world. We frightened off a friendly English mother and her two children last week. A Jehovah’s Witness, she fled the cabin when we blessed the food! Our suggestion that her two children be part of the St. Michael and the Dragon pageant sent her running down the hill, never to return.