by Krista | May 5, 2021 | Autumn
When my middle brother Evan killed himself in February, my life changed forever. The loss of a sibling is always devastating, but there’s a special kind of pain when that loss is due to suicide. There are no answers that can assuage such grief, no explanations, no reasons, it must simply be felt, honoured, and endured.
Some of the grief can be shared, but most of it can only be borne privately, quietly.
I went to the mountains with my grief, alone in a wonky tent as rain poured and winds howled. It felt like the sky itself was grieving with me. I hiked for hours each day, getting drenched to the skin as I trudged and slipped my way down muddy trails through the rainforest, letting the storms camouflage my grief from the occasional passing hiker as I sobbed and hiked and talked to Evan. I cried until I couldn’t cry anymore, and then I laughed, knowing how Evan would shake his head at me and chuckle and say, “Girl, you’re crazy, but I love you.”
I talked to him as I hiked along swollen streams, clambered gingerly over moss-slick logs and boulders, and emerged from dense rainforest to breathtaking views of the plains far below. I pointed out amazing mushrooms and gorgeous lizards and the tiniest of wildflowers and grinned to myself at how exasperated he would’ve been at me stopping every few feet to take pictures of red berries and dripping ferns and incredible fungi.
I linked arms with grief and didn’t let go, didn’t turn away, didn’t worry one bit what anyone thought of the red-eyed woman camping alone in a tent nearly flattened by storms. I wrote my grief, drew my loss, trekked my pain, and each night, slept like a rock. Each morning I woke up feeling stronger, braver, more connected to the world. And when my final day in the mountains dawned, I was ready to go home to my Bear, our animals, our farm, our life.
I don’t know why Evan killed himself. I never will. But, as I hiked mile after mile, I came to peace with that. I don’t need to know. I can trust, accept, and respect his choice in spite of the horrendous pain it inflicted on those who love him. For him, it was the best possible choice, and I will honour it.
I will also wake up every day and make my best possible choices. I will choose life and choose love. I will embrace all avenues of healing possible and strengthen relationships with people who see me, know me, and love me faithfully. I will keep creating, keep building, keep loving, and keep looking for ways to grow, learn, explore, and delight.
And I’ll keep going back to the mountains to restore my soul, body, and spirit. xo
by Krista | May 20, 2020 | Autumn
It was cloudy and dark today with the finest of sprinkles falling now and then, just enough to make a little puff in the dust and fill the air with that lovely scent of damp earth. We are hoping for rain, proper rain, a farmer’s rain, but we’ll give thanks for even the tiniest drop that cleans the air.
Bear and I are celebrating today for the last of my blood tests came through and my doctor excitedly announced that they are clear and I am officially in recovery. I am deeply grateful. I’ve been very ill since December, but the past 6 weeks have been particularly heinous. I’m feeling quite emotional tonight with the hope of being able to breathe easily on my own, to move without agony, and have the energy I need to do things I love with people who mean the world to me.
Recovery will be slow for my dear, battered body has been through hell, but it will happen through patience, love, and much gentleness.
Last week I could barely move without assistance, couldn’t breathe unless I was on all fours, couldn’t function without pain killers. This week I’m walking and bending unaided, able to work without mind-numbing migraines, and I finally have my voice back.
I must continue resting a lot so I don’t relapse, but I’ve been able to start going for short walks and I’m pottering in my beloved gardens again, watering unruly beds of lemongrass, burdock, motherwort, comfrey, and elderflower. I love being out there listening to the cold winds in the gum trees and watching our local fairy-wrens and double-bar finches flitting and swooping through the misty spray of the drip hoses.
When I get tired I sit with Bear and our dogs in the warm Autumn sunshine and rest. We watch the goats and sheep grazing in the paddock, listen to the geese as they splash in their pond, and check out the trees to see which wild birds we can spot. Our lives have become so quiet and peaceful since my illness, and we can feel the good of it in our very bones. Gentleness has been our guiding light, leading us into a tranquil cadence of living that we treasure.
Our routine is simple: sleep as much as possible, eat healthy things, drink lots of water, rest, and, when I have energy, make a little progress at something.
I’m normally a bit of a whirling dervish with eight projects on the go at once, my brain whirring constantly to stay on top of everything. This past year showed me that this isn’t a character trait but a coping mechanism, a detrimental habit developed in an old life that made me believe my worth was in working non-stop and accomplishing as much as possible.
I didn’t know how to break this habit until a chance conversation with Bear when I heard him say, “make a little progress.” Not finish a project or achieve a goal or cross something off the to-do list, but simply make a little progress.
His words meant nothing to him, he didn’t even remember saying them, but to me, they were a revelation, a light to guide me out of a lifetime of being a workaholic. The change in how I engage with life and work has been astounding to me. Instead of thinking, “I need to do All These Things today,” I ask myself, “How can I make a little progress today.” My ever-active brain has quieted and calmed, my anxiety has shrunk, and I’m actually able to really enjoy and focus on what I’m doing. What a gift. I’m so glad I’m never too old to learn new things and move into greater freedom and peace.
Now it’s time for bed. Time to wind the cuckoo clock, take my medicine, and climb under warm covers to read a bit before sleep. xo
by Krista | Oct 12, 2018 | Autumn
Earlier this year I was honoured to share my friend Katy’s story of the loss of her baby girl, Alma (read her story here). Today I’m equally honoured, and thrilled, to share her thoughts as she waits the final few days of pregnancy before the birth of her first child.
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I love Autumn. The encroaching darkness may be a little hard to accept after summer’s long, halcyon days, but there is something so comforting and cosy about the burnished colours of falling leaves, the warming aromas of spices and apples on the stove, the steam of hot cocoa on a crisp, chilly day.
Autumn – and October in particular – is a significant time for my husband and me. It’s the month we first met, three years ago. On our second date, we hiked up to a rugged swathe of moorland where stags were rutting. We unpacked a picnic and watched, breathless, as the stags locked antlers amid the russet-hued grasses and swirling mist. A downpour swiftly ensued, and as we laughed and stumbled our way back down the sodden hillsides, dripping wet and shivering, I knew I’d found my soulmate. The following October, we got engaged at Whitby Abbey, on the wild and windswept coast of North Yorkshire. Or, more accurately, we got engaged on the steps down from the abbey, after I apparently messed things up when he tried to propose at the top. Last October, we got married in our beloved Peak District. And this October, we’re expecting our first baby, due any day now.
Normally, the start of Autumn is the time when I love being out of the house, picking blackberries and going on long, blustery walks with my husband in the Peaks. We wrap up warm, pull on our hiking boots, fill up the thermos with hot coffee, and set out on rambles through the hills before ending up in a country pub with a roaring fire.
But this year, due to a pregnancy dominated by a pelvic condition which makes walking far difficult, I’ve had to make my peace with staying home. In these last days of pregnancy, I’ve been nesting: cleaning, upcycling furniture, decorating the nursery and batch cooking meals to store in the freezer ready for the early, crazy days of parenthood.
I’m now at the point in pregnancy considered full-term, the point at which the baby can come any time. Yet I still have up to three weeks before he will definitely arrive, one way or another. It’s the paradox of the ‘due date’ – somewhat arbitrary, given that only 5% of babies arrive on that date, but it’s been the measure of my life for almost 40 weeks, the arbiter of midwife appointments, scans and milestones; the day I’ve been counting down to. Yet I know that for first-time mothers, a 41 or 42-week pregnancy is actually pretty normal and an ‘on-time’ arrival not so common.
So this is a time which can be full of stress and anxiety: googling natural induction methods with highly questionable scientific bases, over-analysing every twinge and cramp, worrying about the possibilities of medical induction and forceps and c-sections. At home on your own, it’s easy to let your mind be filled with all of this while you drink raspberry-leaf tea, bounce on a gym ball, and mull over the benefits of evening primrose oil for helping the dilation process.
It’s a strange limbo, being on the precipice of something so fundamentally life-changing that I can’t quite imagine it yet, but I’m impatient for it to happen, already! After 9 months of weathering every pregnancy discomfort, from the early days of morning sickness to this late-stage elephantine condition, the desire for things to get a move on is overwhelming. One of my friends, a new mother, joked that these last few weeks are part of evolutionary design so that when labour does finally start, you don’t care about the prospect of intense pain anymore – you just want the baby out!
At the same time there is ongoing fear of the unknown. For me, it really isn’t a fear of labour: this is my rainbow baby, the first my body has brought to term after two miscarriages. Because of that, I know without a doubt that I can cope with the pain of labour, as long as he is ok. But everything from this point on is completely unknown territory.
In the midst of these whirling thoughts, I am trying my best to find an Autumnal calm – to savour these last days of solitude and little projects, reading books that have been sitting on my bookshelf gathering dust, binge-watching boxsets without guilt (something I am finding surprisingly hard!), enjoying brief forays into the October sunshine, going on brunch and dinner dates with my husband, meeting other pregnant and new-mum friends for lazy coffees and camaraderie.
My wardrobe is covered in colourful affirmative cards, given to me by a friend, which remind me daily that my baby will come when he is ready, that I am prepared for labour, and that I will be a good mother. If nothing else, sitting on the end of the bed for a few minutes each morning and reading a few of the cards offers a quiet bonding moment with the baby.
I’m hoping that he’ll come while the leaves are still turning, while there is still warmth in the sun, before the nights draw in further. But this really is one decision left to my baby and my body, that I really have no choice in. He is currently snuggled inside me, kicking his little legs and using my bladder as a pillow, apparently in no particular hurry to come out. I know that watching and feeling him move inside me right now is something I will look back on as a fleeting memory that passed too quickly, and is something to treasure.
This will be a life-changing Autumn, but for now, it is a season in which I’m learning patience and calm, waiting for the day when I can hold my baby in my arms.
by Krista | Aug 24, 2018 | Autumn
When I was looking for accommodation in Tasmania, I knew I wanted a beautiful place where my recovering friend could rest between hiking adventures and jaunts to gorgeous Tasmanian beaches.
A place that felt like a holiday even if we didn’t go anywhere.
I found it at Armytage House in the tiny town of Bagdad, Tasmania, just north of Hobart.
Armytage House is a sandstone barn from the 1800’s that has been fully restored and converted into the coziest, most welcoming homestay.
My friend and I love good food, so having such a beautiful kitchen to cook up the gorgeous fresh seafood, salmon, apples, and foraged berries we collected on our travels was sheer bliss.
Shirley had the ground level room with easy access to everything, and I squirreled away in the loft, feeling like a little girl again as I snuggled down under a feather doonah and watched the stars through the skylight.
I loved every bit of this place, from the rough brick walls and towering ceilings to the wood floors perfect for sliding across and the enormous bathtub that was the best place at the end of the day to sip wine and watch the sunset through the trees.
Armytage House is now surrounded by thriving fruit and nut trees, lush gardens, and even chickens who provide fresh eggs for guests. It was so nice to wake up to the sound of roosters crowing and hens toddling about looking for bugs.
The gardens are beautiful here, with little formality but great charm and diversity.
Even in Autumn, when we arrived, they were vibrant and healthy, providing an oasis of calm for our stay.
This bench was a lovely spot to sit, especially on early mornings and at end of the day when temperatures dropped and the sun-warmed sandstone kept us toasty.
One of my favourite parts of this place was its location, set in an orchard of walnuts and numerous varieties of apples. I loved being about to walk outside and pick crisp apples each morning to take on our drive and add to picnics.
Armytage House is the kind of place where you want to spend a whole week just so you have time to not only venture out for adventures, but also have a few days to simply stay home and enjoy the outdoor kitchen, wander through the woods, and sit by the pond and hope for a glimpse of the resident platypus.
Autumn is a lovely time to visit, for the property and surrounding hedgerows are loaded with deliciousness to forage. From blackberries, haws, and rose hips to apples, walnuts, and elderberries, there is endless scope for imagination when it comes to planning menus around seasonal produce.
We enjoyed every variety of apple we could find, loaded up on ripe berries that we piled on cereal and desserts, and used rose hips for hot tea.
And most of all, we relaxed.
We took naps and went for solitary walks, read books and sat in the sunshine, had leisurely meals of fresh eggs and locally smoked salmon, homemade bread and handmade preserves.
It was wonderful.
Where is the most relaxing place you’ve stayed? xo
by Krista | Aug 9, 2018 | Autumn
I did a lot of driving in Tasmania, and absolutely loved it.
With its spectacular scenery, charming villages you just have to stop and wander through, and excellent, seasonal, Tasmanian food, this is a place made for road trips.
From lavish estates and former convict settlements to glorious beaches and lush gardens, Tasmania offers innumerable reasons to stop along the road and get inspired, informed, and fed.
After a wonderful morning at the beach, we headed down the east coast of Tasmania towards our next home base outside of Hobart, stopping wherever took our fancy.
Our first stop was Kate’s Berry Farm, a lovely spot perched on the side of a hill looking out over the ocean to the jagged peaks of Freycinet National Park.
It was such a nice place for a break, to soak up sunshine and gorgeous views, wander through the shop filled with locally-made products, and treat ourselves to delectable goodies: homemade strawberry ice cream and crispy waffles piled high with poached berries and ice cream. Mmm.
Our next stop was Spiky Bridge, a delightfully odd edifice that is part of the old convict coach road that connected Little Swanport and Swansea.
In the 1840’s, all convicts in Tasmania were required to serve part of their sentence in a government work gang rather than be immediately assigned to work for private settlers. The Spiky Bridge was built in 1843 by convicts serving time at the Rocky Hills Probation Station, and is renowned for being made of field stones with neither mortar nor cement to hold them in place.
The origins of its unique spiky design remain a mystery, but locals and historians hold a couple of theories. One is that it prevented cows from falling off the bridge into the deep gully on either side. The other, and the one I like best, is that disgruntled convicts decided to get revenge on their supervisor by sticking rocks in all higgledy-piggledy. Based on the saucy nature of the Aussies I know, this is just the sort of thing they’d come up with.
We got back on the road again, taking our time to enjoy the wild, rocky shoreline.
Anytime we came to a side road or dirt track heading towards the ocean, we’d follow it to see what we could see.
We were never disappointed.
I stood on windswept rocky outcroppings, breathing deeply of sea air.
Sat on sun-baked boulders to watch waves crash onto white sand beaches.
Carefully walked down gravel-strewn pathways to find hidden coves of clear, turquoise water.
Now and then I’d spot a hiker scrambling over the cliffs, kids splashing in the water, and once, a solitary figure reading a book, all by themselves with only the wind and sea for company.
I loved this stretch of coastline, and promised myself I’d return one day to camp and hike and find a solitary cove to read in.
Do you have a beautiful place you’d love to return to one day? xo
by Krista | Aug 4, 2018 | Autumn
My favourite part of my holiday in Tasmania was being outside, nearly all day, every day. The Autumn weather was spectacular with unabashed sunlight, crisp, cool mornings and deliciously warm afternoons. Evenings were for bundling in sweaters and blankets, but during the day it was sandals and sundresses, with only a pashmina handy to wrap around my shoulders when the wind picked up.
I spent as much time outdoors as I could, basking in the stunning natural beauty to be found at nearly every turn.
My favourite place was the beach. It’s always the beach. From rocky and wild with sheer cliffs to vast stretches of soft white sand, the beaches in Tasmania are exquisite.
This one was just down the coast from Swansea and looked out across the bay to the soaring peaks of Freycinet National Park.
Apart from a lone walker south of us, we had the entire beach to ourselves.
We each ambled away at our leisure, Shirley heading one way, me another, grateful that we’re both just as happy on our own as in each other’s company.
I stood in the water a while, letting the cold, clear waves lap at my legs, wetting the hem of my sundress. The sand felt so good underfoot. Each step like a massage, easing away the stress and pressure of everyday life.
This beach held a treasure trove of shells, polished stones, and sea glass, and I loved sorting through the cracked and broken pieces, finding a few to take home with me.
I walked and walked, letting the wind toss my hair about, filling my lungs with salt-tinged air, feeling the sun burnishing my skin with what would surely be the last bit of colour before the onslaught of winter.
I clambered up into the dunes and sat among the sea grass, running my hands over it’s spiny edges, watching it dance in the wind off the water.
I’d seen this piece of driftwood from afar when we first arrived, but when I approached from a different angle I was astounded to see it transform from an old bit of wood into a gnarled stag or seahorse. Wonderful.
Of all the lovely things I’d experienced thus far in Tasmania, spending an afternoon on this beach was the most precious. My spirits revived here. My body awoke as if from a deep sleep. And I felt connected to the world again, ready to explore this beautiful island with renewed courage and excitement.
Soon our growling tummies reminded us that we’d better get back on the road and find some lunch. There were still gardens to explore, a berry farm to visit, and so many more beaches to stop and swoon over before we arrived at our new home near Hobart.
So up the dunes we went, turning often to sigh happily over all the gorgeousness, until the ocean disappeared and we were back on the road.
I’m so thankful for video and pictures that let me revisit this place whenever I need it.
Do you have a favourite beach you like to visit? xo
