Mary's at Home

New Zealand Journal of Agriculture, Volume 72, Issue 1, 15 January 1946, Page 107

Mary's at Home

ICAN appreciate “Homespun’s” being unused to the personal touch which exists among New Zealanders, as I, too, lived in a big town before I came to New Zealand. Recently I read of a city bride who went to live in the backblocks in Australia. She was startled when a strange woman rode up and said, “You’ll have to put up with me whether you like me or not —l’m your nearest neighbour for 25 miles.” She proved to be a wonderful neighbour to the bride, ever ready to help in any way possible.

I like the way “Spring” says the chats by readers give us a human interest in our fellow-beings. In every one I find something of interest. The “Journal” is a great publication and always contains something constructive and uplifting. It cheers me greatly, especially when I am alone, which I am so often now.— “Vee,” Kati Kati.

MAY I endeavour to be a “Good Neighbour”? I think your circle is such a happy one and prevents me from . feeling. lonely or out of things because we have no ’phone or radio. But a number of people seem to be more isolated even than we are and do not have the joy of a daily mail delivery. “ Joan of all Trades,” Putaruru. z

T NOTICED recently that one of your i South Island readers said Spirits Bay was the place from which the souls of the Maoris departed for Hawaiki. That is not quite the case, although they pass along Spirits Bay bn their way to the point of departure, Cape Reinga.

A gnarled old pohutukawa stands on the rocky side of the cape, and the spirits are said to leap from this tree down into the surging waters below when they start their last journey to their old homeland. The Maori name for Spirits Bay is Kapo Wairua, said to mean “Catch my spirit.” The story is that at one time a Maori belonging to this district was dying far from home. He sent word to his people to catch his spirit as it passed by Spirits Bay: hence the name. There are no Maoris living at the bay now, though some of them .still make their kumara gardens out there,— Te Hapua.

MAY I join your circle? I always look forward to reading the “At Home” pages. ; I have just come upon some proverbs in an old book. Here are several from the Chinese: “If you do not scale the mountain you cannot see . the' plain”; “Who sits in a well to observe the sky does not see very much”; “Bow low when the eaves are low.” The eaves of a house of trouble are always low and the chances are that you will break your head on the lintel if you enter the house too proudly. The only way is to keep your heart humble when trouble comes upon. — “La-de-da,” Taumarunui. -

SON and I are general rouseabouts at the moment, as the head of the house is spending a few days’ wellearned leisure at his beloved 'trout fishing. What tales we’ll listen to soon! . Here is a quotation on that all - important topic, sleep, from a health book I enjoyed reading recently. This is

Shakespeare’s definition: Sleep that knits up the ravell’d sleave of care: The death of each day’s life, sore labour’s bath, - Balm of hurt minds, great Nature’s second course, ' Chief nourisher in life’s feast. —“Roundabout,” K.C.

BEING a mother of three and having no electricity or modern conveniences my days are very busy. I find that dish washing and other more or less humdrum jobs are far less tedious if one has pleasant things to think about. The competition subjects you set each month help my days to pass happily—once having thought the matter out it does not take long to transfer those ideas to paper.— “Fruffy,” Te Awamutu.

FAR from minding “Sue” completing the “Song of Degrees” in the September issue, I was delighted to have the last lines and will always treasure them. It is good to read all the friendly paragraphs, also the competition essays. We send our “’Jour-

nals” away to folk in different parts of the world so that others may share in their helpful contents. I have kept some to make “Mary’s” pages into a book to send to a special friend. , I have come to realise that interest and sympathy are tangible things to give each other ’ whenever we can. There are many writers I would like to reply to here, if space permitted, but especially to “Homespun”l hope she gets on well with her spinning and weaving and that she will still find time to' write to the Journal,”— “Caradon,” Waikato.

RECENTLY I spent a weekend on a farm in the country. The farmhouse was built right under the. hills and away from the road. There was no electric light and the cows were all milked by hand.. The farm was very well kept and instead of fences the owner had adopted the English idea of having tall, thick hedges separating the paddocks. ' Seen from the top of the hill. behind the house the farm had the appearance of a patchwork quilt. Willows, poplars, and macrocarpas. have been planted over the , years and they, too, help to beautify the countryside. I loved to watch the wind whipping through the long grass, flattening it against the ground so that the fields looked as though they were filled with silvergreen water. I found many birds’

nests also, and the garden was full of fragrant crimson roses. Altogether it was a very pleasant weekend. — Otaki. YEARS ago when.the children were, small, money wasn’t very plentiful on our farm. One Christmas my two wee ' boys were. having a day in town with me and I gave them each

half-a-crown to spend. I had to make some ] purchases in a -hardware store and while I was busy the lads each me a ""present before they spent a

penny on themselves. I still • treasure those gifts—two . little green woodpeckers to hold pepper and salt, and a very pretty plate. “ Curly,” Southland. THE country is looking beautiful 1 at present. Today I walked through the plantation and admired the fresh greens of larch and silver 111111111 i 111111111111 i UIIIIIIIIIIIHIIIIIIII i 111111111111 i 111111111 ■ 1111111

birch. The spruces and Oregon pines have the quaintest tufts of tender new leaves at the tips of their branches,

just like soft little tassels. I pulled some, sprays’ of the different trees and as I write I can look at them in a bowl and seek inspiration from their beauty. “ Cloudy,” Ashburton. 1 OFTEN wonder if we praise other people as much as we should do. We often admire a neighbour’s capabilities, but we don’t think to tell her so. Yet how much we all appreciate a wo: d of praise. Many a time I have been feeling a bit “down,” worrying over being a bad manager, or wondering whether I have dealt rightly with the children, and someone has popped in and praised something I have done, and straight away my inferiority complex has vanished. “ Martha,” North Canterbury. WE have purchased, a dozen perching pullets . this year. If they lay as well as they eat, we will never be short of eggs!— “M.,” Feilding. MY son, a bomber pilot who recently returned from overseas, is a subscriber to your “Journal,” and we have copies dating back the last three years. I have found the “Good Neighbour” pages most interesting, and I feel that we farm women have a tremendous lot in common. — “Cheerio,” Te Rore Bridge. HOW I enjoyed the kind and loving thoughts expressed in the competition, “The Art of Being a Good Neighbour,” and also your own article on friendship. What would this world be like . without our friendshow warm and cheering is the comfort of feeling sure with a person! It was good to see “Khorasbad” back among the contributors. In January, 1942, she won a prize for her essay, “The Most Inspiring Word Today,’’ and she chose “England.” I’m sure all who read it were inspired by her vivid word pic-

ture. This winter and spring have been exceptionally cold and dreary almost everywhere. I think, and “Good Neighbours’ ” letters reveal how many

have had to deal with mud and snow. Anybody who knows what this means will sympathise deeply. “Tiggetty Boo,” Kati Kati.

THE article on the East was very interesting and I loved the Maori legend. “Isabel Emm” well deserved the prize for the essay “Kumara Moon.” Unless we plant more trees and take care of those we have this country will become a barren waste. I know of land that has been left untouched for the last 10 years and now small native trees are growing there. I do hope they will not be destroyed by fire. Three times last summer my husband had to fight fires started by careless people.— “Scotty,” Bay of Islands.

TREES, like music, bring back memories to us. From my kitchen window I can see two silver birches, so beautiful just now in their summer attire. They always remind me of a lovely old tree growing by the gate of a town garden, for these are seedlings from that tree. It seems only

a short time since they were planted and now the birds are singing -in their leafy branches. “Tiare,” North Otago.

BEING a new reader of the “Good Neighbour” section of the “Journal of Agriculture,” I should like you to know how much I enjoy it. I was especially interested in your competition on “The Art of Being a Good Neighbour” and congratulate all the writers who contributed I wonder if they have ever thought how much a good book is like a good neighbour. A book can be so friendly and companionable, so * entertaining and helpful in many ways, assisting you to rest awhile and forget your worries. At present I am reading Rita F. Snow-

den’s delightful book, “A Thousand Sunrises,” and I’m finding in it such quantities of food for thought. I feel as if I am travelling with the writer through our beautiful country and. am thoroughly enjoying every mile of the road. “ Tiff,” Hawke’s Bay. I HAVE been the recipient of many lovely calendars. One of them was a tiny print of a landscape in Kent—a field of ripe corn studded with scarlet poppies, and a glimpse of blue sea and white cliffs through the coppery trunks of pine trees beyond, all just as I remembered it . while walking in the Pilgrim’s Way to Canterbury one autumn before the war. — “ Sara E.,” Otago Central. THE gorges are lovely here, but the very hard winters have' hurt us rather badly lately and one grows to fear the months of snow. Just now it is unbelievably beautiful. . The growth is so fast that folk don’t believe us when we talk “our garden.”— “8.D.,” Tekapo. HOW true about the quieter sisters .and. friendship; courage is sometimes needed even to say, “Hullo’” When you are sensitive and a victim of' shyness you. are often inclined to

become aloof and abrupt. Your advice is very encouraging. I find that instead of worrying whether you did the right thing or not, if you develop a sense of humour it helps you to do better next time and you become much happier in consequence.— Jane,” Rakaia. i

SUSIE has begun to think things out. She said to me today, Why does Mr. C’s horse wear, heel-plates, Mummie?” I love to hear, children’s sayings", don't you?—“Bee,” Timaru.

IHAVE read your pages' for some time now, but in my busy life I have not found time to write to you before. The competition subject ‘Tn What Way Would You Improve Rural Living?” was irresistible, and I would have liked to spread my ideas over a few more “Ednamay,” South Otago.

T THOUGHT the “Art of Being a i Good Neighbour” splendid. I have had many good neighbours and trust that I have been one, too. I used to

live 11 miles from the nearest township, and 2 .to 3 miles from a tele-' phone, mail delivery, and neighbours, so you can realise what good neighbours meant to me. At present we are within a mile of neighbours and 3 miles across ’ country from . the same township, but I will never forget that splendid friendship formed 20 years ago in the tussock — “Pussy,” Fairlie.

1 THINK rural women should have a chance to learn the art of using a few carpentry tools. There ' are heaps of handy things a country woman could make for the house "if she only knew how to handle tools the proper way. Lots of times I’ve wished I had learnt to use a saw and hammer. — “New Chum,” Otautau.

YEARS ago I heard one of Handel’s oratorios in the Sydney Town Hall. The soloists were all celebrated singers and the choir comprised 200 voices. It was a first night and the Governor-General and his lady were present and the hall was crowded. The beautiful costumes of the great artists, the lovely voices, the whole brilliant scene—these were something to remember all my life.

Your letter, “Trees,” delighted me and brought back many childhood

memories. While staying in Victoria some friends and I went to see a football match and we all sat on the bough of a fallen gum tree. One of the girls started' to bounce up and down, and to save myself om falling I held on with both hands, but lost my balance, turned a somersault, and landed on a jumper ant bed. These

ants literally bite and soon 1 was covered with them,' and had to be rushed off home to change my clothes. So your exploits where trees are concerned were more fun than mine. New Zealanders have been very short-sighted in allowing the beautiful bush to be cut down so ruthlessly.' I have some lovely bush here which forms a sanctuary for pigeons, tuis, bellbirds, and other native birds. — “Vee,” Kati Kati.

THIS is the day of the month I look 1 forward to—the “Journal” has arrived and I turn eagerly to “Mary’s” pages. I thoroughly enjoyed the article on trees, and the lines, “It gives me keenest pleasure To walk through the bush in the sunshine when winter’s gloom has fled,” found an echo in my heart. Ten thousand acres f our land are covered in birch trees-both the red and black varieties some of my most memorable rides on horseback have been through these — “Huntsman’s Horn,” Southland.

ONE GARDENER TO ANOTHER

I READ with interest “Vista’s” paragraph on Beverly Nicholls’s books. His gardening books are what I term my bedtime reading and they live beside my bed. Has “Vista” read any of F. Fraser Darling’s books? I am half way through one called “Island Farm,” and will be extremely sorry when it is finished. The volume 'is illustrated with beautiful photographic plates and is the story of the author’s struggles to wrest a livelihood from an island off the west coast of Scotland. My v pioneering great-grand-parents hailed from that part of Scotland, so the book has a particular appeal to me.

My own struggles in the garden come dangerously near to disaster at timesl find myself contending with a wicked - cow, x an over-affectionate magpie, and an erring husband who will drive the car over a speciallytreasured flower bed!— “Maghie,” Marton. “

WE’VE. had at least a month of gales so that my new garden, which was beginning to look bright, has almost been blown out over our heads. I did a silly thing, too. I bought a pretty pink lychnis to flower-in the spring and then gave it an overdose of s t i m u lant and it expired. My heart was sad for it was one of my “prize money” collection. But I’ll know better next time! I am getting' such a thrill out of making a garden where there’s never been one before. I have a little niece and nephew not yet school age and they visit me quite often. They still pull up their flowers to, see if the roots are growing. I have to answer their questions by the hour—their interest in my new home never — “Tiggetty Boo,” Kati Kati. ,

MAY I join your circle? I feel I have much in common with all your pen-friends. How I look forward to the “Journal” each month. Eagerly I turn over the pages till I come to the “Good Neighbour” section. The competitions are so interesting, also the poems, extracts from letters, and the recipes. At present we are busy planning our vegetable and flower gardens. These beautiful warm days lure brie into the garden, don’t they? —“Emmy Em,” Otorohanga.

MY dahlias are shooting again. I hope they prove as good as last year’s. The apple trees promise a good crop should our frosts be scarce. The sun has been really beautiful todayindeed, I feel as .though I may be a trifle sunburnt. “Roundabout,” K.C.

Samples from mp g>crap=boofc JUDGING by some of the lovely J thoughts of your Good Neighbours, Mary, I think they must enjoy beauti!ul things, and I wonder just how many of them keep a scrap-book for a hobby. I do, and in it I , enter poems chosen from your pages in the “Journal of Agriculture” and any scraps and odds and ends that interest me, or that I think are beautiful and worth remembering. Here are just a few samples:— . “People often have to grow potatoes who would rather grow roses.” (How true! And yet, there is a certain satisfaction about growing potatoes, isn’t there?) ' “Merely to be alive is adventure enough in a world like this, so erratic and disjointed; so lovely and so odd, and mysterious and profound. It is, at any rate, a pity to remain in it half — Walter de la Mare. “I am an old man, and have had many troubles, but most of them never happened” ( Carved over an old mantelpiece). “God gives every bird its food, but does not throw it into the nest” An ancient proverb. “My walls outside must have some flowers: My walls within must have some books.” W. H. Davies.r “I am so glad of the colour of things! Night, of course, is blue, . And morning, red and yellow, like a tulip. Adventure is golden, Because of the sun on brass helmets. Love is white, glowing. I know what I’ll do! I’ll gather them all together and make a stained glass window of them Inscribing it thus: To the glory of God In loving memory of My days on earth.” (This is from one of Rita Snowden’s books which I always enjoy). I do hope some of your readers will enjoy these scraps. I get endless pleasure from my scrap-book, and when I am reading I am always on the alert to find new pieces to add.— “Snowy.”

THE NEW YEAR AT the incoming of a New Year I always think of Charles Lamb’s wonderful essay in which he says he hates Time for hastening on. “I would fain lay my ineffectual finger upon the spokes of that great wheel. I am in love with this green earth; the face of town and country; me unspeaKaoie rural solitudes; I am content to stand still at the age to which I am arrived; I and my friends; to be no younger, no richer, no handsomer.”

How many of us are like that? I know I am. And one of my New Year resolutions always is to make the most of time, to stretch it out to the uttermost, to get all of beauty and love that is humanly possible, and to make life as happy as I can for those I love. Of course, like other resolutions, it wears thin as' the year moves on. I become crabby with those of whom I am fond; I lose beauty, and I fall far short of my ideals. , But to love the game beyond the prize isn’t that something? To love life is worthwhile, and it is also worthwhile to go on making the same resolution year in and year out for “Ever at my back I hear . Time’s winged chariot hasting near.” — “Ellen Ephe,” Clinton.

plea Where all the beauty of this world must pass .... Music, and scented flowers, and sheathing grass; Laughter of children; little furry things That twist and hide; sunlight on soaring wings .... When all these go, then one thing I would keep: The memory of you in quiet sleep. —Betty Maitland.

FRIENDSHIP

O friend, my bosom said, Through thee alone the sky is arched, Through thee the rose is red; All things through thee take nobler form And look beyond the earth, The mill-round of our fate appears A sun-path in thy worth. Me too thy nobleness has taught To master my despair; The fountains of my hidden life Are through thy friendship fair. —Emerson.

Hence it is that old men do plant young trees, the fruit whereof another age shall take.—Sir J. Davies. '

Beauty v HAS it ever struck you how many Il people pass beauty by unseeingly? Once I went to call on a friend, a busy woman with a large family. As I turned the corner of the house I saw a cluster of waxy-pink climbing roses against the drab grey wall. . There were five roses in . I he bunch, each perfect in form and texture. -When I pointed them out to my friend - she said, “Do you know I’ve been ; in and out all day and haven’t even noticed them.’’ I see beauty all round me: That clump of pines 'clear-cut against the skyline; a um lilies ghostly in the moonlight; small, green growing things pushing up through the bare earth; the scarlet and gold of nasturtiums tumbling down a railway cutting. I am teaching my children to be seekers of ' beauty, too. As we walk along the country roads we note the glint of autumn leaves in the hedges; we study the wild flowers and grasses, and sometimes peep at a bird’s nest. One never-to-be-forgotten day we found a hedgehog fast asleep in a nest of dried grass. Let us all spare a few minutes each day to admire the beautiful things around us.

—“Honeysuckle Rose,” Ohaupo.

Thanks to the human heart by which we live, Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, , and fears, To me the meanest flower that blows can give Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. — Wordsworth.

JANUARY

WHEN I was a child at school I used a slate to which a damp sponge was attached by a piece of string. I can still ' remember the feeling of intense satisfaction I enjoyed when, covered in errors and corrections, that slate was wiped clean of all its mistakes, and its dark surface was ready for a fresh beginning. . - ■ To me the month of January is a miracle, and the one I love the best. The past year, with all its errors and corrections, has been wiped out, and, like the lessons on my childhood’s slate, all that is left is the promise, of a fresh start, and the memory of mistakes to be avoided.

My heart is full of the joy of Christmas, and the message of “Peace on earth, goodwill toward men.” My soul is refreshed, and strengthened, and, with the approach of the new year, I have re-created a stronger desire to make it a happy one.

And January is the beginning of the year. January, . and summer weather; golden days, full of sunshine, and children’s happy laughter; gardens gay with flowers and perfume. . There is time, now, to drink in all the beauty of the season; to lie under shady trees and watch the blue lace -of the sky through the branches; to gather the ,ripe fruits and vegetables from the garden, and appreciate the freshness of their flavour; time too, to plan ahead, and profit by those past mistakes, knowing that the whole year lies ahead, unblemished and untouched. It is a time of maturity, when the summer sun ripens the seed and the harvest. O! golden month of dreams, if . you could but linger. So swiftly the days pass, carrying you into the long year. There is autumn ahead, and winter. Spring, too, and summer, but January is the peak of fulfilment, and the high light of the year.

There are no marks on the slate.' No errors committed. So much depends on me to keep that record clean. My heart is filled with peace and humility, beauty and resolution. — . “Faraway,” Gisborne.