Notes From the farm, Notes from the plane AK>DUD

The author in contemplation, living her best life. Rock Island with Mom, Roberta and Katie. I think this is pre-Jessica. So probably 1989 or 1990.

I visited the farm earlier this year from March 20-31. I usually rummage through old pictures and journals and this trip was no exception. My mom gave me a huge box of random photos she had once planned to make into a scrapbook for me. She’d finally decided to just give me the box, which, to be honest, is even better than the scrapbook — a whole lot of super random images from across my life that my mom thought would be worth preserving. I looked through the box while we snacked or watched tv and we laughed a lot. I brought a handful home of pictures with me to write from or guide me as I write. The photo at the top of this post is one of the images that provoked laughter and memories of my mom’s dear and departed friend Roberta who was with us on this trip and who we have many fond memories of.

Overlooking the Akatore. I shot this on film during the trip. 2025.

Notes from the Farm / Gratuitous privacy and a place to go to smash stones

Friday 21st March, Equinox

Gratuitous privacy here at the farm, how isolated that was as a kid, how I've adjusted to the north island's more crowded beaches.

Swam nude at the akatore.

Smashed rocks. Need a smashing place. A place to go to smash stones.

The pounding waves on the seaside of the rocky headland. Deep pounding, serious waves. How I've missed that sound and not even realised I was missing it.

Freebleeding on the sand. Meditating in the nude.

Thought to ask my body sometime in meditation what this extra weight is for. Felt very Venusian. Grappling with this heavier version of myself, righting my relation with my body feels very Venusian. Kneeling naked in the cold turquoise waters felt very venusian.

Gratuitous privacy. Primacy?

Logan casting from the rocks, rock wrasse, bully, paddlecrab.

Two years since Rose. We went to the cave. I took a photograph of it. I don’t think I can write about it yet but I think I’ll be ready soon.

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Notes on the plane from AK to DUD / No actions without the body in agreement

I had a deep ambivalence about motherhood. When I met Logan I had grown tired of guarding that inner sanctum. Let it happen. Let me be destroyed, be given over. Now two miscarriages and this trouble with parasites, but at least no part of me will say I didn't try, didn't fill with hope and then lose twice.

Write about the ambivalence and the parasites. Write about the titles I’ve read, my literary research on Motherhood over this time. Responding to excerpts, quotes.

Thinking of what I wrote after working in the wild garden. Lilith in Scorpio, deep feminine rage, domestic rage, etc. All that stuff weaves in so well together. Love the ravines and tangles as continued metaphor for the feminine. Relegated, hidden, wild, dark, unnavigable.

For a post? I’ve been down in Dunedin, tending to the roots, the old growth, the new growth, to the blackberry vine arcing overhead, so very nourishing to the self at this time, if I missed you I'm sorry, my energy isn’t as robust at this time.

The Italian word from the title of Paul Thoreux's short story, Dietrologia, a hidden motivation or explanation behind something.

The Italian word from JF and ABs correspondence piece in Landfall Affidamento. ‘Affidamento: The making of a shared written room.’ Send to Anny. Could we make a room to exchange words on our differences? 2 children vs 2 miscarriages. No husband, a partner. Anny could write about lovers and the fragmented attention. I could write about my questions about motherhood. We could exchange wisdoms.

Incorporate solar and lunar eclipse into writing about the wild garden. Write about smashing rocks at the Akatore, having a smashing place.

Actions without self consciousness. The photograph of my sister and the pilot whale. At what age do we lose that innocence, start living with our guard up?

No actions without the body in agreement.

Jessie and pilot whale, 2000. This pilot whale washed up on the beach below our house. The QEII cruise ship reported whale-strike a day or so earlier and this was assumed to be the whale’s cause of death.

Jessie and pilot whale, 2000. This is the image I refer to in my note about ‘actions without self-consciousness’. There is so much freedom of self contained in this image of my sister.