a gift of basalt waited for a year
under his tree
after his passing

now formed into a beautiful vessel
a place for water to swirl
or to contain fire as Lou himself would have done

para planted in the gully to the west
kahikatea planted in the gully to the east

kōwhai in a row
one for each of us
signifying home

pūriri timber
rescued from the firewood pile
shaped & sanded into a landform

remembering a time past
layers below where we now walk
​
sawdust
a strong & pungent signature of the tree
unexpectedly a soft yellow
​strangely unlike it's own flowers
or leaves
or bark

mixed with water & gently heated
immersing a few fibres
exploring the possibility of colour

a fortuitous find of an historic article
with scant reference to altering the pH
by rolling in ash

hesitantly adding the ash water
& immediately falling in love

celebrating a new found knowledge
heart heavy with the absence of our friend
unable to share in person the joy & the triumph

forever grateful
despite the brevity
for a truely magical friendship

waiata of farewell
floating languidly on the wind

I don't want to live in a place where a baby dies & is found to have alcohol in her bloodstream
I don't want to live in a place where people have to be told to remember to handle their babies gently 

I want to live in a place where you can get so close to a Bumblebee that you can see it's fluffy body
And a child grows up knowing that she's part of a world where it's best if everything is handled gently

I’ve been boiling up tiny pieces of bark, small amount of leaves & abscissed branchlets from the only Tānekaha tree we have. 

The tree’s name is Nui - she’s named after our friend’s mum. In fact, we’re growing Nui for our friend who entrusted us with Nui as she doesn’t have ideal growing conditions at her own place for a forest tree.

We planted Nui as a long, skinny, fragile seedling who was so young her bark was greenish yellow. She's now about 6 years old & although her bark has changed & she's much larger than she was, she’s still not very big & she won’t be mature for many years yet. 

Tānekaha are not particularly common trees around our area so it’s been fun discovering things about Nui as we watch her grow. 

Tānekaha (Phyllocladus trichomanoides) is one of our native trees traditionally used for dyeing.
A tannin rich dye is able to be extracted from the bark & red/brown colours are obtained. Traditionally the fibres dyed were muka & after being removed from the dye bath the colour modified by rolling in wood ash.

My story isn’t about the dyeing process tho - it’s about the possibilities that opened up when we discovered that Tānekaha, & their close relative Toatoa, are in the habit of abscissing their leaves. 

When I started reading about this habit was when I realised the meaning of the Latin name of the tree which is when the story gets really interesting.

The leaves aren’t just your average photosynthesising leaves.
In fact the 'leaves' are not leaves at all - they are stem modifications. 
which got me wondering . . . 

Would it be possible to obtain colour from the abscissed leaves, which are dropped freely & frequently by the tree, rather than cutting off her bark ?!

The answer is yes. Yes it is.

Perhaps this is not the colour some would expect or want.
Perhaps it lacks the depth of colour that might be obtained from the bark.
Perhaps it will fade in time.
I don't care.

I had only the question - is it possible ? 
I am overjoyed to know that indeed it is possible. 
I will never strip bark from these trees - I don't need to.
I will celebrate the reciprocity I have with Nui.
I will cherish her & thank her often for encouraging me to be open to learning simply by dropping her leaves at my feet.
​
He taonga tuku iho
 
xxx