may you be loved forever and always

a letter to my youngest daughter

Dearest Wild and Wonderful readers,

I am writing to you while the world rages with war and political elections and horrors to terrible to fathom. And yet, on my walk this morning the sun rose fat and golden and the birds flew from their roosts to sing with their neighbours.

This is how it is to live — you get up and carry on, as best you can. You attend to the small things. You holdfast your children. You try to make a better future.

In this edition of Wild and Wonderful, I am sharing a letter that I wrote to my youngest daughter in 2020. It was a way to record a precious moment in her life — the evening of her naming party.¹ It speaks of love and hope, wishes and dreams.

I hope you find something in this story — a spark, a memory, a feeling — that helps you through your day.

A special welcome to those who are new here. I’m thrilled that you have joined us. And to my paid subscribers, there are a few of you now, my heartfelt gratitude. As always, thank you for supporting Wild and Wonderful.

With love and kindness,

Kate x

P.S Scroll to the bottom for a little wild inspiration (a photo of one of my favourite wild places).

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with Sylvia at Lake Rhona, Tasmania, on her first overnight hike

Dearest Sylvia,

On the night we named you, I whispered against your ear — Sylvia Olive Ingrid, your name, forever and always.

You were five-weeks-old, when we made the announcement. Your family gathered in our kitchen to wish you, darling Sylvia, a beautiful life. I’d like to think you smiled when your name touched your skin, but instead you crinkled your nose and cried. Perhaps you were startled by the clinking of glasses, or just hungry. I’ll never know.

On the night we named you, your brothers wrestled in their best party shirts. And your sister retreated to the quiet of the garden. I don’t blame her. She told her father it was so noisy she would need twenty ears. Why do adults talk so much?, she asked. And you, dear Sylvia, slept though it all.

And how sweet you looked — ice-cream pants, ballet socks and a lemonade vest. Your sister dressed you. Oh how she adores you. One day you will explore the world together. Perhaps you will climb mountains, paint rainbows, or discover secrets of the universe. Whatever moves your heart, little Sylvia.

On the night we named you, we ate fourteen boxes of pizza and an octopus. Jiji and Baba rolled pieces in sticky batter to make Takoyaki - octopus balls. Memories of friends from far-away countries on their lips. One day we will take you there to meet them. And I heard your Uncle snicker, Octavia?.

When your family arrived the house prickled with suspense. Just tell us the name, they demanded. But a good name takes time, dear Sylvia, and yours was borne by three women, gracious and extraordinary —

Sylvia, a kind-hearted lady who lived next-door to your father when he was a boy;

Olive, your great-grandmother, who lived to ninety-seven on a secret of Tim Tams and bananas; and

Ingrid, your Auntie, your father’s twin, so long side by side.

On the night we named you, your Grandmother wrapped you in a beautiful lace-blanket. She knitted it for you, dear Sylvia, with merino wool and all the lullabies and laughter from her childhood, mine too. And your Auntie fussed over the dessert, a banana cake — crisp and deep-brown on top. Nothing in this world is perfect, dear Sylvia.

And as they left, your family wrote a wish for you. Welcome to crazy town, your Uncle signed. And nothing felt more honest. Then I laid you in your bassinet and we slept until three-fifteen. My party girl. My Sylvia.

On the night we named you, darling Sylvia, you were so loved. May you be loved forever and always.

xx

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A poem to enjoy

For my Daughter on a Bad Day
by Kate Baer

Life will rough you up. Throw you to the 
shore like a wave crashing-sand in your
hair, blood in your teeth. When grief sits
with you, hand dipped with rage, let it
linger. Hold its pulse in your hands. There
is no remedy for a bad haircut or ruined
love like time. Even when death is coming,
even when the filth rises in the back of
your throat-

this is not the worst of it. And if it is?
Listen for the catbird calling. No matter
the wreckage, they still sing for you.

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Things I have enjoyed reading on Substack —

• One Tiny Knot Lets Go, by

  Jeannine Ouellette
  . Small kindnesses at the co-op and untangling the knots in our bodies and the world — ‘with as much love as we can muster’.

• If I came to your house today, I would see the normal mess of family life, by

  Jodi Wilson
  . Jodi writes, Dear New Mum, a gorgeous newsletter for young mums.

• A love letter to my son, this one is for all the boy moms, by

  Sian Nelligan
  . Tears and joy, diggers and dirt.

• One Grain of Sand, by

  Summer Brennan
  . On finding hope after the election in America.

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A few other things

• At our dinner table, on the evening of the American election, my eight-year-old son announced, Oh yeah, Trumps going to win, it’s so obvious. And I wondered what I had missed.

• Last week I borrowed so many books from my local library that I needed a hiking pack to carry them. Ridiculous I know. But I do enjoy opening the books and reading snippets, finding sentences that sparkle. And the backpack of books has been useful for doing my physio exercises!

• I have my head deep in Rapture by Emily Maquire. It’s a wonderous tale about a medieval female pope. Here’s a review.

• I’ve also enjoyed reading this essay, recommended by

  Lucinda Bain
  over at Suburban Dreaming about the ‘defiant’ women in 1920s Australia who laced up their boots and headed into the bush to go walking.

• My seven-year-old son asked me — Is looking after kids hard? I replied, washing up gloves on my hands, creases on my forehead, crescent moons under my eyes — It’s the hardest thing in the world, but I wouldn’t change it at all, I love being your Mum.

• I learnt how to use a jack hammer last week, bashed up concrete and loved it. There is medicine in physical work. My husband delivered 1.3 tonnes of concrete to the tip (we are removing old footings under our boatshed).

• We’re building a sauna and I am excited that the design process involves plenty of sitting and sweating in a variety of local saunas.

• Tomato seedlings are in, we halloween-ed around our local neighbourhood in homemade costumes (kids had lollies for dinner), and welcomed 8 sugar ants into our family (the boys made an ant farm).

• Dreaming of an escape to the wild. This is one of my favourite places.

Frenchman’s Cap above Lake Tahune, Franklin-Gordon Wild Rivers National Park, Tasmania.

• In case you missed it, I wrote a story about hiking to Frenchman’s Cap with a baby —

  How to climb a mountain with a baby

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And you?

I’d love to hear what you have been up to.

Wishing you kindness and hope,

Kate x

1. A naming party is an occasion for family and friends to celebrate the birth of a child, celebrate the child’s name, and pledge their love and support for the child's future. Australia is a nation of diverse cultures and traditions. And as such, naming ceremonies vary greatly. There are, however, laws governing the date by which you must name your baby and restrictions about offensive, misleading, and impractical names.