Savour the Season // Issue 13 // February 2022 👣

ISSUE 13 // FEBRUARY 2022 . WALKING . I have loved walking for as long as I can remember. My teenage and young adult years are full of memories walking the streets, parks, hills and steps of the urban scape that was my childhood home. I came to know the contours of my neighborhood like the lines on my palms. Trees grew as I grew taller, new pavement became foot worn, graffiti faded and a spilt tin of blue paint spread out on the bitumen like an octopus. I watched houses crumble in ruin and others get lovingly restored, or demolished altogether, factories became silent and busy apartments rose into the sky. I knew where the mulberry trees that weeped over the fence into the park could be enjoyed at the right season. I named the birds in the creek, my favourite being Pegasus the white duck with a speckled beak. I got a sense of who lived where, but only faintly; the fig and olive trees groaning with fruit in the front gardens of my Lebanese neighbours, the stray cats and the dogs that barked shockingly loud through gaps in the gate. My suburb was beautiful in all the ways you wouldn't expect, and yet it was where I belonged and became myself. I think of Rebecca Solnit's words in her book "Wanderlust: A history of walking" : " When you give yourself to places, they give you yourself back; the more one comes to know them, the more one seeds them with the invisible crop of memories and associations that will be waiting for when you come back, while new places offer up new thoughts, new possibilities. Exploring the world is one the best ways of exploring the mind, and walking travels both terrains.” How can you know a place without walking it? Without giving your steps and senses to it? We have lived here on this farm for over two years, and I have only scratched the surface of it's walkable terrain. I have three or four routes I choose between each day depending on how much time is available to me. In summer I walk after dinner while it's still light, and in winter I walk at midday when the sun is high and full. During our recent pandemic enforced lockdowns, I noticed how these short solitary walks brought me respite more than anything else - relief from the news reel and the infinite scroll, relief from the difficultly of schooling my children, from juggling domestic and farm chores, from the clamour, from responsibility and keeping the peace. A walk is my daily re-set button. As soon as I begin down down the hill from our house, I see the landscape expand before me: the river winding, the willows wavering, the grasses in various shades and textures and lengths. The faraway or nearby call of cows, of magpies and crows, the fast scurry of rabbits, the crunch of stones under my feet. Just a few deep breaths, and I feel lightness in my chest, my jaw and neck softening, fullness in my heart. I let go of thoughts and concerns as my senses drift to the life teeming around me. I have always felt closest to God while walking. My physical movements feel less like exercise, and more like a chance, however fleeting to converse with the Divine and delight in marvellous, ever changing, generous creation. The poet Luci Shaw so accurately muses: “our idea of God, while it will always be incomplete because of our finite human nature, is greatly enhanced and fleshed out in the wilderness where we move beyond books and sermons and church buildings, which can only reveal certain selected aspects of deity” . Medieval mystic, Julian of Norwich echos this sentiment when she writes that God “wishes us to consider carefully and admire the splendour of all that he has done in making all things”. Walking is the time in which prayer and discernment, as well as creative ideas can wrap around you, gently whispering in your ears, waiting to be explored and mulled over. A time for feelings to unbuckle from your heart and deep peace to fill your lungs. To give yourself to a place, to a person, to a moment in time. " For we walk by faith, not by sight" So much scripture speaks of walking: walking by faith, of following the wise steps of those before you, engaging your whole body in the work of love, the urgency of creation, the gift of prayer. I hope you can take a walk by yourself this week - even if only a circle around your back garden with bare feet, or along a busy road between chores instead of driving. Notice how your body feels; what fills your senses, the mundane and joyful and uncomfortable things. Let your steps be a prayer as you breathe out the tension of what has passed, and breathe in the spaciousness of what's yet to come. monthly gathering Would you like to join me for a contemplative circle each month? I have decided to hold a Savour the Seasons ZOOM "room" open on the 4th Sunday of each month at 20:00 /8PM Australian EST. You are welcome to join from anywhere in the world if the time allows. My hope is that this monthly circle will an opportunity to take the conversation further ~ a gentle space where we can reflect on the seasons of life we are experiencing, contemplate the themes of the newsletter, explore a prayerful and compassionate approach to faith, and share stories together. I will end each meeting with a simple blessing + benediction for the month ahead. You don't need any special tools or experiences to participate, just a willingness to share, a curiosity to imagine, and a kindness to listen. For more details and the zoom link email me: [email protected] The first circle will be on Sunday, February 27th @ 8pm . To CoNTEMPLATE . Read the poem " A Late Walk" by Robert Frost Walk outside and scan your senses. What can you see? What can you taste? What can you smell? What can you hear? What can you feel? Speak the things you are most grateful for right now and what you found the most challenging and disheartening. Let your steps be a prayer as you breathe out the tension of what has passed, breathe in the spaciousness of what's yet to come. Contemplate the words of Genesis 13:17 and 2 Corinthians 5:7: "Arise, walk about the land through its length and breadth; for I will give it to you.” ~ "For we walk by faith, not by sight" Consider the words of Rebecca Solnit from her book "Wanderlust: A History of Walking": “Many people nowadays live in a series of interiors...disconnected from each other. On foot everything stays connected, for while walking one occupies the spaces between those interiors in the same way one occupies those interiors. One lives in the whole world rather than in interiors built up against it.” . from the recipe book . Tomato + Watermelon Salad This has become a favourite salad of mine lately. It is the most beautiful combination of sweet and tart, fragrant and salty. A perfect accompaniment to baked fish or lamb or simply on its own. 1/4 wedge of a whole large watermelon (approx 2kg) 3 large, ripe tomatoes 100g fresh goats cheese or soft feta cheese handful fresh mint generous pinch of sea salt + cracked black pepper juice of one lemon 2 tablespoons EV olive oil Cut watermelon and tomatoes into similar sized cubes. Crumble goats cheese + roughly chopped fresh mint leaves on top. Drizzle olive oil and lemon juice over the salt with generous pinches of sea salt and cracked black pepper. Gently toss salad to combine and eat straight away... Summertime Pavlova Everyone has their preferences when it comes to topping a pavlova and mine changes with the seasons. In summertime I really don't think there is a better combination than silky, ripe mango and juicy tart raspberries. I also love that in the rare case there are any leftovers, the flavour and texture of the fruit changes pleasantly after a day or two in the fridge - something that can't be said about brown bananas and rubbery grapes! 6 free-range egg whites at room temperature pinch sea salt 1 cup or 180g white caster sugar 1 teaspoon white vinegar 1 teaspoon vanilla bean paste 2 tablespoons arrowroot/tapioca flour or GF cornflower ____ 2 cups pure cream (for whipping) fruit of your choosing (I went for 1 large ripe mango + punnet of fresh raspberries) ** A scatter of dried cornflowers brings a delightful pop of edible colour ** Preheat oven to 180'c. In a clean bowl beat egg whites with a pinch of salt using a handheld or electric mixer until soft peaks form. Gradually beat in sugar one tablespoon at a time and continue to beat until sugar is dissolved and stiff peaks form. Gently fold in vinegar, tapioca flour and vanilla. Carefully spoon out mixture onto an oven tray lined with baking paper. I like to heap my mixture into a circle about 22cm in diameter. Immediately turn the oven down to 150'c and bake for 1 hour. Turn off the oven and let the pavlova cool with the door slightly open (I wedge a wooden spoon between the door and the oven). Whip cream and spread over the top of the cool pavlova. Adorn with summer fruit and devour with friends! . On the blog . twelve Twelve years growing a marriage and most of those spent... Read More Coming Home, space making, Waiting and other lessons from quitting instagram “The screen is the empty mirror where the simulated shadows of... Read More January January is hot and humid. The... Read More making 2021 2021 was another year of frequent making; sewing, stitching and... Read More Spring Reading (and top reads in 2021) Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte (1847)Read for my bookclub. It was... Read More in summer I can walk in the evening light when little people have gone to bed when dishes have been washed and dried each step a kind of devotion a prayer for being alive in summer I can walk in sandals and feel the breeze under my skirt coolness and dust and grass seeds anoint my summer skin: tanned hands and dry feet. in summer I can walk at a slower pace, follow tracks of who came before me: rabbit, horseshoe, tractor tred I wait for kangaroos hopping down the hill and lean in to hear the frogs croak, and crane my neck for the goshawks, I can never tell if they

ISSUE 13 // FEBRUARY 2022

. WALKING .

I have loved walking for as long as I can remember.

My teenage and young adult years are full of memories walking the streets, parks, hills and steps of the urban scape that was my childhood home. I came to know the contours of my neighborhood like the lines on my palms. Trees grew as I grew taller, new pavement became foot worn, graffiti faded and a spilt tin of blue paint spread out on the bitumen like an octopus. I watched houses crumble in ruin and others get lovingly restored, or demolished altogether, factories became silent and busy apartments rose into the sky. I knew where the mulberry trees that weeped over the fence into the park could be enjoyed at the right season. I named the birds in the creek, my favourite being Pegasus the white duck with a speckled beak. I got a sense of who lived where, but only faintly; the fig and olive trees groaning with fruit in the front gardens of my Lebanese neighbours, the stray cats and the dogs that barked shockingly loud through gaps in the gate. My suburb was beautiful in all the ways you wouldn't expect, and yet it was where I belonged and became myself.

I think of Rebecca Solnit's words in her book "Wanderlust: A history of walking":

" When you give yourself to places, they give you yourself back; the more one comes to know them, the more one seeds them with the invisible crop of memories and associations that will be waiting for when you come back, while new places offer up new thoughts, new possibilities. Exploring the world is one the best ways of exploring the mind, and walking travels both terrains.”

How can you know a place without walking it? Without giving your steps and senses to it?

We have lived here on this farm for over two years, and I have only scratched the surface of it's walkable terrain. I have three or four routes I choose between each day depending on how much time is available to me. In summer I walk after dinner while it's still light, and in winter I walk at midday when the sun is high and full. During our recent pandemic enforced lockdowns, I noticed how these short solitary walks brought me respite more than anything else - relief from the news reel and the infinite scroll, relief from the difficultly of schooling my children, from juggling domestic and farm chores, from the clamour, from responsibility and keeping the peace.

A walk is my daily re-set button. As soon as I begin down down the hill from our house, I see the landscape expand before me: the river winding, the willows wavering, the grasses in various shades and textures and lengths. The faraway or nearby call of cows, of magpies and crows, the fast scurry of rabbits, the crunch of stones under my feet. Just a few deep breaths, and I feel lightness in my chest, my jaw and neck softening, fullness in my heart. I let go of thoughts and concerns as my senses drift to the life teeming around me.

I have always felt closest to God while walking. My physical movements feel less like exercise, and more like a chance, however fleeting to converse with the Divine and delight in marvellous, ever changing, generous creation. The poet Luci Shaw so accurately muses:

“our idea of God, while it will always be incomplete because of our finite human nature, is greatly enhanced and fleshed out in the wilderness where we move beyond books and sermons and church buildings, which can only reveal certain selected aspects of deity”.

Medieval mystic, Julian of Norwich echos this sentiment when she writes that God “wishes us to consider carefully and admire the splendour of all that he has done in making all things”. Walking is the time in which prayer and discernment, as well as creative ideas can wrap around you, gently whispering in your ears, waiting to be explored and mulled over. A time for feelings to unbuckle from your heart and deep peace to fill your lungs. To give yourself to a place, to a person, to a moment in time.

"For we walk by faith, not by sight"

So much scripture speaks of walking: walking by faith, of following the wise steps of those before you, engaging your whole body in the work of love, the urgency of creation, the gift of prayer. I hope you can take a walk by yourself this week - even if only a circle around your back garden with bare feet, or along a busy road between chores instead of driving. Notice how your body feels; what fills your senses, the mundane and joyful and uncomfortable things. Let your steps be a prayer as you breathe out the tension of what has passed, and breathe in the spaciousness of what's yet to come.

monthly gathering

Would you like to join me for a contemplative circle each month?

I have decided to hold a Savour the Seasons ZOOM "room" open on the 4th Sunday of each month at 20:00 /8PM Australian EST. You are welcome to join from anywhere in the world if the time allows.

My hope is that this monthly circle will an opportunity to take the conversation further ~ a gentle space where we can reflect on the seasons of life we are experiencing, contemplate the themes of the newsletter, explore a prayerful and compassionate approach to faith, and share stories together. I will end each meeting with a simple blessing + benediction for the month ahead.

You don't need any special tools or experiences to participate, just a willingness to share, a curiosity to imagine, and a kindness to listen.

For more details and the zoom link email me: [email protected]

The first circle will be on Sunday, February 27th @ 8pm

. To CoNTEMPLATE .

Read the poem "A Late Walk" by Robert Frost

Walk outside and scan your senses. What can you see? What can you taste? What can you smell? What can you hear? What can you feel? Speak the things you are most grateful for right now and what you found the most challenging and disheartening. Let your steps be a prayer as you breathe out the tension of what has passed, breathe in the spaciousness of what's yet to come.

Contemplate the words of Genesis 13:17 and 2 Corinthians 5:7:

"Arise, walk about the land through its length and breadth; for I will give it to you.”
~
"For we walk by faith, not by sight"

Consider the words of Rebecca Solnit from her book "Wanderlust: A History of Walking":
“Many people nowadays live in a series of interiors...disconnected from each other. On foot everything stays connected, for while walking one occupies the spaces between those interiors in the same way one occupies those interiors. One lives in the whole world rather than in interiors built up against it.”

. from the recipe book .

Tomato + Watermelon Salad

This has become a favourite salad of mine lately. It is the most beautiful combination of sweet and tart, fragrant and salty. A perfect accompaniment to baked fish or lamb or simply on its own.

1/4 wedge of a whole large watermelon (approx 2kg)
3 large, ripe tomatoes
100g fresh goats cheese or soft feta cheese
handful fresh mint
generous pinch of sea salt + cracked black pepper
juice of one lemon
2 tablespoons EV olive oil

Cut watermelon and tomatoes into similar sized cubes. Crumble goats cheese + roughly chopped fresh mint leaves on top. Drizzle olive oil and lemon juice over the salt with generous pinches of sea salt and cracked black pepper. Gently toss salad to combine and eat straight away...

Summertime Pavlova

Everyone has their preferences when it comes to topping a pavlova and mine changes with the seasons. In summertime I really don't think there is a better combination than silky, ripe mango and juicy tart raspberries. I also love that in the rare case there are any leftovers, the flavour and texture of the fruit changes pleasantly after a day or two in the fridge - something that can't be said about brown bananas and rubbery grapes!

6 free-range egg whites at room temperature
pinch sea salt
1 cup or 180g white caster sugar
1 teaspoon white vinegar
1 teaspoon vanilla bean paste
2 tablespoons arrowroot/tapioca flour or GF cornflower
____
2 cups pure cream (for whipping)
fruit of your choosing (I went for 1 large ripe mango + punnet of fresh raspberries)
** A scatter of dried cornflowers brings a delightful pop of edible colour **

Preheat oven to 180'c. In a clean bowl beat egg whites with a pinch of salt using a handheld or electric mixer until soft peaks form. Gradually beat in sugar one tablespoon at a time and continue to beat until sugar is dissolved and stiff peaks form. Gently fold in vinegar, tapioca flour and vanilla.

Carefully spoon out mixture onto an oven tray lined with baking paper. I like to heap my mixture into a circle about 22cm in diameter. Immediately turn the oven down to 150'c and bake for 1 hour. Turn off the oven and let the pavlova cool with the door slightly open (I wedge a wooden spoon between the door and the oven).

Whip cream and spread over the top of the cool pavlova. Adorn with summer fruit and devour with friends!