by Juliet Batten | 24, Feb, 2022 | Uncategorized
Pōhutukawa love to stretch and yawn, to lean their limbs out into space, even as their roots remain firmly anchored in cliffs and solid ground. In the park where I walk, one such ancient tree has stretched a mighty limb out over the path. The bushy end of the... 
by Juliet Batten | 21, Jan, 2021 | Seasons Newsletter
The land was on a grazed hillside, that was struggling to regenerate. When we first saw the bach, a coarse bramble arched across the doorway, and the interior smelt of dead ants. From the deck we saw tall bracken that had sprouted from the bare earth.... 
by Juliet Batten | 1, Sep, 2020 | Seasons Newsletter
The odd thing was that just a moment earlier I had driven into a quiet patch where the rain had stopped and the air was still. I flicked off my windscreen wipers and drove into a side street. The next moment, in a blast from the skies, my little car was... 
by Juliet Batten | 15, Aug, 2019 | Seasons Newsletter
The odd thing was that just a moment earlier I had driven into a quiet patch where the rain had stopped and the air was still. I flicked off my windscreen wipers and drove into a side street. The next moment, in a blast from the skies, my little car was being... 
by Juliet Batten | 7, Feb, 2019 | Seasons Newsletter
This was my karaka tree last year, in a great abundance of fruiting. The ripe berries fed many native birds who visited the high branches, shaking the surplus to the ground, where it peppered the pathways with rich orange plumpness. This year it’s a very...