Atawhai Whenua
Waiheke Island
Brittle Branches. Artist: Sophia Nouchi
The Slow Work
Writer: Leah Royden
Make a stand.
A stand of pūriri,
A copse of kahikatea,
A shambles of mānuka.
Dig deep.
Make a hole.
Make a hundred.
Make a day of it.
A lifetime.
Count the years
Measured between stretched fingertips
As you hug the kauri close.
Trace the scars of yesterday
Through sun-scattered undergrowth.
Catch a glimpse of tomorrow
Tucked warm under a kākā's wing
Check your watch.
Healing is the slow work
Seeds flung across time
Into tomorrow’s unknown.
This place, this moment,
Born screaming small
Across bare earth bitten raw.
Draw back your arm,
Plant your feet,
and make a stand.
Writer Leah Royden
As the hills of Waiheke swell to fill the ferry windows, fat green cheeks pressed against salt-glazed glass, I check the time.
I fidget restlessly as the crowd spills out onto the dock, draining away into long lines of waiting taxis. Up the hill they stream, towards Waiheke’s achingly stylish vineyards and beach houses. My own path, an awkward jog along the shore, leads me into a very different world.
Atawhai Whenua (kindness towards the land in te reo Māori) covers17.5ha of former farmland, wild meandering paths ringed with natives and chiming with birdsong.
Every so often, through thick pūriri leaves and wiry kānuka, I glimpse the wide, black road towards Oneroa. Cars rumble, kererū chuckle, and I check the time.
“People rush too much,” our Forest & Bird guide Ivan says thoughtfully. He cracks off deadwood as we walk, runs his hands over bark, and touches kōhia tendrils with the gentle seriousness of a doctor checking a dressing.
He shows us old photos of over-grazed fields, wounded by landslides like great bite marks, and shares legends of the restoration’slate leader Don Chapple. Soft-spoken, tenacious, the scourge ofdevelopers. The breeze rustles through his life’s work around us.
Ivan points out good spots to plant tōtara and introduces us to kaurigrown from seed. Eyes dancing with excitement, he tells us the kākāare starting to come back.
I lose track of time.
I let it lie wherever I dropped it, for the pīwakawaka to pick at.
Brittle Branches
Artist: Sophia Nouchi
Artist: Sophia Nouchi
The North Island kākā clings to a bare branch. Many of our bird species hang from fragile branches that could snap at any moment. Extinction looms and without dedicated individuals, bird populations could collapse. Many compassionate people have united to protect and raise awareness for offshore islands and they serve as safety rafts for recovering species. Atawhai Whenua Reserve is the result of many years of dedication from the people of Waiheke. Their planting and predator control has created a habitat abundant with native fruits and flowers. This has encouraged the return of birds and their songs now fill a space that was once farmland.
Medium: Coloured pencil
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