Out of the wilderness and into the kitchen

with a pocketful of paradise

Dear friends,

It’s been one of those weeks. My eldest child had a trip to the hospital and stitches. My youngest has become a koala, hanging from my neck because she wants to be near me, always. And the house is bursting under the weight of all the beautiful family mess. I am in a domestic wilderness you could say!

Thank you for your comments on my latest wild adventure story, I enjoyed reading them all. So much mountain love! If you missed it you can read it here. A warm welcome to all who have joined us. And thank you, as always, for your support.

With love and kindness,

Kate xx

P.S. Scroll to the bottom for a little video of wild.

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Last light in the Tasmanian Wilderness World Heritage Area

It is the most beautiful autumn day, and my hands are deep in the grey water of the sink, pushing a brush into the porridge pot. For hours, I have cooked and washed and packed away, while outside, the sun kisses the River and the sky smiles wide and blue, and I am grieving. Perhaps I miss the wild. Perhaps I miss the mountains. Perhaps I have forgotten just how much my four children can eat —

porridge and poached eggs, a dozen pressed toasties, vegetable sticks, homemade lemonade, waffles with ice cream, banana and blueberry smoothie, pasta Napolitana.

Lunchtime and now we are boiling purple cabbage in a pot for a science experiment, my eldest daughter and her friend are setting up a cafe, and a batch of paper-mâchè is on the go. The dishwasher hums loudly. I whisper, Don’t give-up, as I water the Hoyas hanging from a pot above. My youngest son arrives to take my drink order on his lime-green hover board¹. And our pet cockatoo circles the kitchen, dropping splinters of wood from her beak and scattering newspaper strips with the lift of her beautiful black wings.

*

Afternoon tea and I am back at the sink, gazing out the window. The neighbour is out patrolling his lawn, all hunched back and wicked scowl. He adjusts his ‘Private Property’ sign before turning up his concrete path. He used to be our neighbour, my youngest son said one day. That about sums him up. A young couple are in the middle of the roundabout taking a photo, of what, I do not know. And a group of teens on purple electric scooters are gathering outside the corner shop, buying ice creams, I’m guessing. But beyond our street, and away to the western sky, the Mountain beckons, her granite columns glistening in the sun. And now that familiar tug in my chest, that deep longing for the wilder places.

*

All day I have been thinking about how to hold onto the things that we love but cannot reach — mountains, wild places, old friends, childhood, Grandpa. I know it has something to do with remembering. And art, photographs too — little fragments of light and life captured forever. But this you know already.

What else can I give you? A story and a poem.

Evening and I’m mixing bread dough for school lunches — flour, water, yeast, salt and oil, nothing more. One of the oldest stories there is, making bread for your children.² And so my day begins and ends here, in the kitchen. Yours too, because of course we must eat to live.³

I close the blinds, printed with my favourite Hakea laurina⁴ in red eco dye, and the world beyond is forgotten. I pour boiling water over leaves of sleepy-time tea and while it steeps I sit at the kitchen table and read a poem⁵ —

And if I speak of Paradise,
then I’m speaking of my grandmother
who told me to carry it always
on my person, concealed, so
no one else would know but me.
That way they can’t steal it, she’d say.
And if life puts you under pressure,
trace its ridges in your pocket,
smell its piney scent on your handkerchief,
hum its anthem under your breath.
And if your stresses are sustained and daily,
get yourself to an empty room – be it hotel,
hostel or hovel – find a lamp
and empty your paradise onto a desk:
your white sands, green hills and fresh fish.
Shine the lamp on it like the fresh hope
of morning, and keep staring at it till you sleep.

And I know then where to find my wild place, my hand reaching into the wide front pocket of my blue apron, to all the things I have found and carried on my day — a chocolate wrapper, a bobble of red wool, two tiny Lego blocks, a blue-black feather my daughter found in the garden, a pen almost empty of ink, and a folded piece of paper with a list for Spaghetti Bolognese.

I can almost taste it — the crisp mountain air falling into the tomatoes, the faint tang of burning fuel, and the little lumps of not-quite-rehydrated mince. Time unraveling, a whirlpool of memory. And I am back in that wild place that held me not so long ago — the old knobbled trees and the sleepy lakes, the mountain silhouettes stretching into the clouds, and the moss⁶, all those soft green leaves so full of water.

And you?

What do you carry in your pocket?

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A kitchen poem to nourish your soul

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Things I’ve loved reading on Substack

• An altered state of consciousness, some notes on time in nature by

  Lucinda Bain
  , a writer with a wild heart and walking feet. I always enjoy her letters.

• What the Water Said On the day I followed it down by

  David Kirkby
  . A beautiful journey of words and images with water. Enjoy.

• Matriarchy, the hidden river rising by adventurer, writer, and all round Aussie wild one

  Gina Chick
  . Australian Matriarchy is a hidden river, rising to bring balance to a broken world.

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Other things

• I finished Still Life by Sarah Winman. I loved this novel — the city of Florence, the unforgettable characters, the food and art, the beautiful prose. And of course the blue parrot. Thanks Narelle for the suggestion. Now I’m reading The Octopus and I, by Tasmanian writer Erin Hortle. First chapter is first person octopus! What are you reading?

• I’ve signed up for this mountain running challenge. And this nature writing collaboration on Substack. Along with writers

  Julie Gabrielli
  ,
  Claudia Befu
  ,
  rebecca hooper
  ,
  Alia Parker
  and
  Alicia Arbe
  , I’ll be exploring how we can build a better future by re-imagining our relationship with nature. More to come. What challenges are you tackling?

• My daughter and I enjoyed this podcast on what it is like inside the minds of animals. Perhaps we share more than we imagine.

• And for the wild adventurers amoung us — this article on toileting in the bush and how to make your own poo tube.

• I’m making this cake today for my son’s birthday. The duck cake is back thanks to a beloved cartoon in Australia, Bluey — watch the episode here.

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First light in the Du Cane Range, Tasmanian Wilderness World Heritage Area

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I’ll be back next fortnight with more wild words and photos to inspire. Until then dear friends,

wishing you a little pocketful of paradise.

Kate xx

1. A hoverboard is a two-wheeled, self-balancing electric scooter.

2. with inspiration from the novel Still Life by Sarah Winman.

3. Perhaps the World Ends Here by By Joy Harjo

4. A small tree native to Western Australia with beautiful red and cream globular flowers.

5. A Portable Paradise by Roger Robinson

6. If you like moss you’ll love the substack FLOW: Letters from the moss by

Michela Griffith