Spring is in the air. Bremner Bay. Wānaka, 19th August. 9.39 a.m.

Good Morning Lovelies. Thank you for being here.

Do you mind me calling you lovelies? I’m not sure why that description comes to mind but it does and you are lovely so there we go.
But who knows, it may be as painful to you as the greeting the young British shop assistant gives me at the local petrol station.
Hello Madam, How’s your day going Madam? That will be $5073 for your 41 litres of petrol today Madam. Thank you Madam. Have a great day Madam.

Ok, so firstly, I know he’s trying his best. And I know I sound like a grumpy old person. But it grates. It really grates. Is it because Madam shines a mirror on my senior years? Is it because the dear boy says Madam at least 4 times in a 30 second interaction? Is it because Madam suggests I am some prim and proper outstanding citizen. Which I’m definitely not. Is it because it is delivered with an automated stiff smile? Is it because the term suggests a kind of hierarchy? I hate that hierarchy shit. We’re all here equal, together. Despite some trying to convince us otherwise. If I am madam should he therefore be sir? Well yes.
We’re all made of the same stardust as they say.
Hey, maybe we should call each other Stardust?! Certainly preferable to Madam.

I think I’m going to bring this up with him, next time I’m in. Don’t worry, I will be kind. Of course. I’ll just make a few suggestions and come up with some alternatives. We’ll work it out together.

I do know that I won’t be suggesting “mate” which Kiwi shop assistants have been known to address their customers with. That one really bugs me too. God, I really am getting old and grumpy aren’t I? But I’m not their mate am I?!

Maybe I should just get over myself and stop analysing every word people use. But I do think words are important don’t you?

I was having a conversation with a dear friend the other day about terms of endearment. I remembered that my ex partner and I used to call each other fucker. This was not when we were arguing. This was just your every day, you know, like, can you please pass the milk Fucker.

Apple blossoms. Bremner Bay. 19th August 9.58a.m.

It felt Really good to say that to each other. We always gave extra emphasis to the word. Teeth making imprints on lips for the FFFF, the CKKKaaaaa coming out with force and sometimes a side of spittle. We’d even use this caring word with each other when out with friends. Canapé? they’d ask bringing around a platter of edible delights. Smoked salmon and dill dear Fucker he’d ask offering to pass me one. Of course it would always shock people, especially our fancy friends who referred to their partners as babe, darling, love, sweety pants, or fluffy bum. I do recall though that we started our relationship with a lot of babes and honeys. Additionally, I have never called any of my other partners fucker so it may well have pointed to some deeper issues at stake.

Either way, do let me know if you are ok with being called Lovely. It won’t be every week, I promise. I will never call you Fucker that’s for sure.
But I may call you my Substack Stardust.

Well, that’s my very raw and unfiltered musing for this fortnight. Written here in my little cedar clad cabin, mid morning, which is late for me! The early hours, under aforementioned stars, were taken up with another writing project today. And then I had to freshen up with a run through raindrop sparkling Kanuka.

So thanks for hanging in there. I know you’ve been waiting. It’s just a touch. Just a taste really. Just to say hi.

Have a great Sunday.
Love
Jo xx🌟

Air NZ Flight NZ631 Auckland to Queenstown. 6th August, 7.43a.m

Hello my beautiful ones. Thank you for being here.
It’s been a week.
Family I haven’t seen for years, too long.
Knowing embraces, realisations,
Others taking care of things.
Allowing myself to be caught, just for a moment. Remembering what that feels like.
My brother. Over from Melbourne. Meals of eggs and crayfish.
Laughing tai chi moves on childhood beach front walls.
The meaning of Life right there.
Ocean cafes, unfamiliar yet so familiar, falling right back into the city the beach the busyness. Being a stranger is a relief sometimes, being me, bringing me, who I am now,
back to this place.

Breathing in breathing in
Sea air sea air, oh my favourite, sea air
my lungs expanding my heart expanding
Breathing out, breathing out

Lake Wakatipu. Flight descends into Queenstown. 6th August, 7.48a.m

It’s been a week of Love.

It’s been a week.
A funeral.
An uncle. A classic car and motorbike collection, one of New Zealand’s largest, held in a museum on his property, purpose built, temperature controlled, a full time mechanic to polish and maintain. What gives us meaning? A display? A museum of a life not lived or lived too hard? Making money so much money, consuming this, consuming that.
So much pain.
Until you die of it all.
His next door neighbour told me he would mow his neighbours’ berms, on his ride on, twice a day.
What gives us meaning when all else is lost?

No inheritance for me, just in case you’re wondering. Not even a spare tyre.
It’s ok. I wasn’t expecting it.
It costs a lot to pay nurses to support someone through a drug addiction.
It costs a lot.

It’s been a week
where I have been twice gifted a flat white, large, single shot, thank you
by almost strangers. Although I guess we all kind of know each other in this small town of ours. People seeing me. Thanking me for who I am.
I can tell you that those gestures are everything.
The meaning of Life is a gifted coffee. Heart swelling. Connections. So simple.

It’s been a week
of stand up performances. Two. Of invitations. Pushing my limits. Of laughter. And tears. Because you can’t have one without the other.

“You’re quite funny” someone said. Surprised.
I had no idea said a work colleague
Are you a writer asked another….again.

Realisations.
Doing what you love. Creating meaning. Connection with an audience. Connection with your community.

It’s raining now as I write.
Lots of people will “head up the hill” as we say in Wānaka, and go for a ski in the fresh snow that has fallen on the mountains.

But I will go now and drive for 15 minutes to lay a kiss upon my waking son’s cheek. That 6ft 3, big biceped, little boy of mine, where he sleeps at his father’s while home for the weekend,
until I have my home again.
I will take a fresh sourdough from the local artisan bakery for his breakfast. I will thoroughly enjoy purchasing the bread of life from good people who make good things and I will thoroughly enjoy watching my good son cut into that loaf of fresh good bread.
And that my dears is the Meaning of Life.

Have a great week everyone.
Jo xx

Air NZ Flight NZ631 descending into Queenstown. 6th August 7.55a.m

Sunrise over cabin. 8.01a.m, July 18th, 2026

Good Morning, thank you for being here with me at 5.15 a.m. I write with a nearly full moon shining it’s departing night light over my face and typing fingers, just before she slips down behind Mt Roy over there. I write, my toes slowly starting to warm in woollen socks after some early morning ice skating in frosty jandals, lethal in their glittery shine, as I move between kettle and writer’s cabin. I write, in my purple woolley hat, 3 layers of merino, and my favourite woollen jumper, a treasured find in a Melbourne back street op shop just down the road from where drug deals are done, on the corner, between the hopeless and the promisers of hope, a colourful embroidered butterfly expands over my heart as my body warms after a cold shower - unintentional on this minus 5 degree morning. Even the toilet has frozen. So thank you for braving it and being here with me. I feel your warmth. ❤️

Please Note: my writing is powered by my heart, my soul and coffee. No AI used.

Heart in Frost. View to the Buchanans over Lake Wānaka. 17th July, 10.21a.m

Are you a writer? someone asked me last Sunday.
Rather than a question,
their intonation presented to me my daily conundrum as
a statement, an expectation, a confirmation.

Are you a writer?
Yes I am.

I stated this truth with only a one second pause between her words and mine.
A pause, not from hesitancy, but from certainty.
A pause, to allow, just for one delicious second, the owning of that.

Why do we find it so hard?
To claim ownership of that which is closest to our hearts?

People asked me for years if I was a runner.
When I turned 52, after 34 years of running, I finally started saying
Yes I am.

Has my hesitancy been because I am wary of Titles?
Is it because I think a Real Runner needs to run at a fast speed, to be part of official running groups and to plan and record their training schedule? That a Real Runner takes this running business Seriously. They certainly don’t stop to take photos and smell the pine trees!?
Is it because I think a Real Writer must have many of her writings published in famous magazines and in between glossy hard back covers. That a Real Writer “makes a living” from their writings?

I seem to be able to say, I am a Mother. And mothering is also a life love. I would never hesitate on that one, although I have to say, in recent times I have questioned my ability to do even that. I am sure all parents do at times. When your kids choose to come to see you though, in their very precious time, in your public work place, and embrace you, hold you, right there, for a period which may have extended into the many seconds, towering over you these days, well in those moments I know that I must have done an ok job on that front.

Eely Point looking to Black Peak. Lake Wānaka. 25th July 5.59p.m.

So yes. I am a writer. I am a runner. I am a mother. And there are many more
“I ams” but these are the ones that “make my living” right now. They get me out of bed in the morning, they allow me to take step after step, even after a fall, they keep my face to the light even when the moon disappears behind the hill.

There is no such thing as a real writer or a real runner. You are where you choose to put your time and energy.
It takes dedication. A devotion. A commitment. A passion. It’s where your heart and soul are aligned. It’s where you feel the flow. It’s a practice. It’s a prayer. It’s hope. It’s what you do, no matter how hard it is sometimes, but something keeps drawing you back. And afterwards you feel a sense of fullness. Of vitality. Of the beauty of creating something in all it’s messy imperfections.
Because that is Life. And that is Living.

Photo: Bremner Bay, Lake Wānaka. 3rd July 8.04 a.m

Good Morning from the colour of winter. Thank you for being here. This community means a lot. All on the journey together: both Writing and Life.

Photo: Hāwea River. 28th June 8.52a.m

I am on my back. Looking at the stars.

Definitely not full of despair, resentment and self pity,
after all, you should see all the self improvement books on my bed side table,
and as someone reminded me the other day,
Hey! Every cloud has a silver lining!
which brought out the very non self improved in me and made me
want to punch the person and their platitudes in the face
as they sat on their couch in their Home with all their Things around,
all in Order and
their BeLoved Family at the dining table.
of course though
I would never revert to my limbic system’s instincts
knowing the wisdom between
reaction and response
and that my prefrontal cortex is highly developed and ……
all the other stuff one learns from self improvement books on one’s bed side table.



But as I was saying
I am on my back. Looking at the stars.

I hear voices.
Hast thou forsaken us? They ask?
Is it my soul speaking? my children? my cat? my pot plants? no, today it’s something else.

From suburban home hallway cupboard, to a shed connected to a tiny house where they sat in covered boxes on splintered plywood shelves covered in newspaper, to various disorganised positions in a container a rainy walk away over mud and rabbit poo, I hear a distant call from
my white sheets,
500 thread count.
They say, Jo, this is unfamiliar.
Yes I’m sorry. It’s not a permanent solution. I promise.
They ask me. How long is this for?
I don’t know I have no answers right now I’m sorry.
We miss your old linen cupboard. Top sheet says to me.
I know honey, so do I. I am trying my best here to make us all a home again.
Remember how organised she was, says fitted sheet from the charcoal range to fitted sheet from the white range. Yes I do! Jo had stickers on the shelves
marking our place in the world
:King sheets, Queen, old sheets, hand towels, bath towels, duvets underneath
yeah and it smelt really good in there eh! says turquoise bath mat 100% Indian Cotton to French Flax linen flat sheet. I had lavender in my folds adds waffle duvet cover. We had incense boxes scenting our intimate places boast the Kings,
and now it smells like mud and damp complain the Queens…

Oh but look there goes a shooting star….I reach up and it reaches down and stardust sprinkles over me and just for a moment, a brief one, I say to hell with fucking French flax. Stars are where it’s at.

Mt Iron looking out to Little Mt Iron and Mt Maude. 23rd June 10.26a.m

We have a tree in Wānaka.

The Wānaka Tree. 27th June 2026. 8.28a.m. Morning run. Minus 5 degrees.

We actually have lots of trees. All are beautiful in their own unique way. But one has become a bit famous even though no one ever asked her/him for permission. I do sense this tree has masculine energy.

A group of tourists looking lost, once stopped me to ask where the tree was. I was in an indignant mood that day and directed them to the white blossomed kānuka grove right in front of them. Look around you! I wanted to scream. It’s all here. Don’t spend your entire time walking to and from The Tree looking down at your phone. Don’t just Get the photo. Don’t just Take the shot. Don’t just tick that off your List when you get back on the bus.

My frustration no doubt came from a sense of ownership. Even though she/he is not mine to own. For years the Tree was free from fame. We could admire her each time we passed, as we do all the trees. He/she was not surrounded by tourists lining up to get their photo. My frustration arises from sadness and sentimentality that this formerly quiet little neighbourhood track now houses busy carparks which had to be built to hold the large tourist buses that pile in each day. I feel protective of the tree’s solitude, and my own. I feel pissed off that so many people operate on such surface and superficial levels as they go about their lives on this blimmin’ beautiful planet we have been given to inhabit.
But who am I to tell people how to live. Who am I to tell indeed.
And I am sensing this may be about more than the tree …

There is no doubt that he/she is beautiful. This Wānaka willow started her life over 70 years ago as a fence post. Yet he outgrew that role, changing shape and his destiny as the lake changed around him. There used to be a branch out to the right but some asshole decided it would be funny to cut it off. Assholes always have bad senses of humour.

Occasionally residents here in Wānaka ( usually the ones who don’t live here permanently) have been known to poison trees that block their view. Like the ones down at Penrith Bay. How my heart broke for those trees as I watched their slow decline, before the council had to cut them down for safety reasons. Their cut stumps remain. When the kids were little we would pack picnic hampers, towels and the inflatable dolphin and spend whole days enjoying that little piece of paradise. They’d explore those mossy outcrops, and play hide and seek in the tall dappling trees, the trees someone killed because they were in their way.
But nature is amazing and growth has begun again. Green shoots sprout out of the stumps showing us all the wonder of regeneration and nature’s quiet determination.

Millennium Track. 27th June 2026. 9.01a.m. Run continues. Temp rises -2 degrees.

Thank you for taking the time to read. This is just a very small part of a bigger project I’m working on. It’s about Home. Yeah you guessed it.

Go hug a tree. I’m about to. Everything is covered in a hoar frost this morning and it’s absolutely magical. My tree hug will be a cold one but will warm my heart nonetheless.

Have a beautiful week lovely ones.

Jo xx

Mt Iron Summit, Wānaka. Above the cloud and inversion. 11th June 8.49a.m

Good Morning from my seat
my throne
my wishing chair
Here
in Wānaka, New Zealand.
Thank you for joining me. I appreciate you. ❤️

Mt Isthmus Summit. View to Lake Hāwea. 6th June 1.43 p.m

Today I have a series of photos from the last fortnight to share.
Taken as I/we continue to rise above
gaining height and a fresh perspective.

Mt Isthmus Summit. View to Lake Wānaka. 6th June 1.01pm

Rising above the cloud
the incessant thoughts

Mt Isthmus Summit. View to Lake Wānaka. 6th June 1pm

finding the Gold, finding the Good, finding God?
Ahh yes that loaded word.
God = Expansiveness. Space. Spirit. Heart. My definition. My terms. No one else’s dogma.
My relationship with
What IS.
We climb out of the fog
clearing the way
for something fresh
to arise,
a remembering
of what really matters.

Mt Isthmus. View to Lake Hāwea. 6th June 1.15pm

Mark Nepo tells the story of a little girl taking her first steps. Her father encouraging her to keep her eyes on him, and only when she didn’t, did she stumble. Only when she lost her focus, when she became too conscious of the steps she was taking, did she fall.
“She made me realise that when I stop looking for a sense of truth , I stumble. When I lose my focus on what really matters, I fall.”

“Aren’t we forever taking first steps, again and again?” Mark asks. “Don’t we uncover a mystery of strength by looking out before us and bringing into focus a deeper sense of truth? Isn’t balance, in reality, the ability to step quite naturally, like this little girl, without too much thought into everything larger than our fear?” From The Little Book of Awakening. Mark Nepo

These words settle deeply in my heart. They are so relavant right now. I wonder if perhaps they may also provide guidance for you.
Bringing you back to what really matters.

Climbing up through the cloud. Mt Iron. 11th June 9.01a.m

That’s it for me this week. Short and Sweet.
Thank you for Be -ing here. Rising above, holding hands, underneath the same stars.
All of us in this together.

Love

Jo xx

After the inversion lifts. Millenium Track, Wānaka. 21st May, 3.52 p.m.

Good Morning Lovely Ones,

Thank you for being here. How’s your last fortnight been?
Where does time go!?
If I was a physicist I would be able to answer that question. But I’m not.
Although I do talk of Dark matters, of Light matters, of Energy, and the Universe.
Perhaps we are all physicists. Trying to work out this thing called Life as we walk the path. Sometimes graceful. Sometimes stumbling and falling.
And all of that, All of that is ok. ❤️

Eely Point, Wānaka. 29th May, 7.50 a.m

The inversion covers and the inversion lifts
The sun sets and the sun rises
We keep turning the page
a new chapter
a story
being told, out of our hands
and
a story
we tell, moulded in our hands.

Daughter has arrived back home for the 6 week winter Uni break. Son will arrive in a fortnight. Time. Will go. As we know.
Eva is the best hugger in the world. I feel incredibly lucky to be embraced by her. She is staying with her father. Because he has a house with bedrooms. Families trying their best. Readjustments, grief, allowing it all, no other way. My diary is filled with cut outs of future homes, of Cat Rescue cats up for adoption, daughter has requested a less ferocious cat next time, that Time when we have a stable home to welcome an animal back into, Oh Pumpkin how we loved you, and how we miss you and your wild love, of recipe ideas for when I have an oven again, of warming winter soups, of community offerings and so many ideas, so many ideas, for that Time when I am settled and have stability again, and there at the back of my Paulo Coelho 2026 diary with the theme of Light, is a colourful diagram of Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs.
In my mind a pot of gold paint sits beside my diary, the cracks, the hopes, the stories. I take the brush and gently touch them with gold. The art of Kintsugi.
They are there still, those cracks, but there is gold glowing on them, through them.

Last week, before I went to work, Eva and I met up in a local cafe. A love heart was inscribed in my flat white foam. Eva’s green matcha was shining in a vintage diamond sparkling glass. We sat with our knees touching. She wore a beanie. In just the right way. Because young people seem to know how to wear beanies the right way, whereas I don’t. Sometimes I purposely do it wrong, long hair only out one side of the hat, hat pressed too far down my head, so that I can watch their faces up close as they say come here mum, let me sort you out, so I can watch and feel them adjust my hat, my hair and my heart. Oh boom boom. We talked. Of Life and Dreams. Of little things and big things. At 9.45 a.m in that cafe that looks out to the Lake and the Mountains. A woman and her husband sharing the table, strangers, but familiar as so many are in this small town of ours, reached over at one point. Excuse me she asked, I wondered, could I take a photo of you both on your phone for you? You look like you’re enjoying each other’s company so much. I see the connection. I wonder if you’d like the moment saved.
Boom boom. Energy. Light Matter. Gold in the cracks.

We will see each other more. Of course. We will Arrange times. Arrange things to do - walks and talks. But those moments in impromptu passing, the hallway moments, the hearing of the singing in the shower, the warm pink cheeked sleepy morning kisses, the socks inside out in the washing basket shaped by your feet, those moments are stored in my heart for safe keeping, for when my diary cut outs are no longer necessary.

View to Black Peak. Wānaka. 28th May, 8.23 a.m.

The moon is so bright this morning as I write
Shining over the tall pine trees
down on me
that I need sunglasses. Moon glasses.
I squint against the light as I write,
until I remember to turn towards.
Thank you Moon, I say,
with my eyes
wide open.
Thank you.
Light. Energy. The Universe and all that.

Books go out and Books are returned at one of my work places.
The stories we tell. The stories we read. The books that tell our stories.
This one has been on holiday. Golden sands slip out of the creases. And this one, the pages curved up, the shape, book has rested on a wet belly after a recently returned dip in the ocean. The pages dry now, but formerly wet.
Stories.

Yesterday I stood in the sun, mesmerised
as I watched my washing drying on the line.
Watching washing drying on the line is one of Life’s great joys. Isn’t it?! Although I have discovered that this is a rather New Zealand thing to do, the hanging of washing on an outside clothes line, not necessarily the standing in rapture of the washing drying, which may be a personal quirk.
Yesterday it was 15.7 degrees celsius. In late Autumn!
I allowed my shoulders to be caressed by the warm breeze.
Shoulders dropped 5 inches from where they’d been living, up by my ears.
Soaking it in. Letting myself be covered in gold
as the towels and clothes swayed
and sunbathed.

Sun Rises. Mt Roy, Wānaka. 28th May, 8.10 a.m

Thank you so much for reading a few of my musings.
Always raw. Always unfiltered. Photos included.
With much love and gratitude.
Jo xx

Lake in cloud. Bremner Bay, Wānaka. 16th May 2026, 9.29 a.m.

This post was written this morning for my small local community in Wānaka, New Zealand. I hope it may resonate in some way with any one in the world.
Thank you for being here. It means a lot. With Love. xx

I have a confession to make

I’m kinda upside down,

an inversion, one could say

from what is expected of us in May.

While many are frowning and bemoaning

the cloud that covers us with her blanket, all soft and grey

I’m on cloud 9, feeling all cosy and saying hooray!

which can be really blimmin’ annoying,
both the unintentional rhyming and the happiness,

especially around the table at the local cafe
when the first half hour is taken up with complaints about the inversion and you’re expected to be on board, because, well you know, the human need to belong and all of that, but mostly because there’s nothing worse than one of those jolly skippity dippity people who have to go and ruin your fun and point out the positive in everything. And then if that’s not enough, to also go and make up silly words to describe this condition.

Quantum Leap. Eely Point, Wānaka. 16th May 2026, 9.42 a.m

I do wonder, to whom are they hoping to address their issues? God? Mother Nature? the QLDC? the current government? the last government? their spouse?
There must be someone to blame?

Firstly I will say, I get it. We all love the sunny days. We all want to see those magnificent mountains. Otherwise why would we have moved here.

I get it. It can be hard on our mental and emotional health when the inversion goes on for weeks. When we humans need that spark of light to ignite our On switch. I get it. You’ve just invested in solar power. I get it. You watch your 5 year old daughter playing netball in a short sleeve shirt and your 7 year old son playing rugby on hard ice. Ah, us Kiwis. Told to toughen up. I get it. Thank goodness you don’t have to worry about their warmth any more now that they’re all grown up, at Uni and flatting in Castle Street… I get it. You just started riding your bike to work to save on petrol and now, now it’s just that much harder to motivate yourself. I get it.
Hands in pockets, shoulders hunched, Everyone is COLD.
I get it. We’re all in this together.

Picnic. Eely Point. 15th May 2026. 10.42 a.m.

I’m the first to admit both the joys and sorrows of this beloved town of ours. The things that can feel heavier than an inversion and the things that can feel lighter than when the sun bursts out again.
So I’m not trying to be all Pollyanna about this.
I’m just suggesting that there is another way.

This will be my 24th Inversion season here in Wānaka. Yay! Yes I’m proud. And I would like a badge please. Someone should start making them. Hey and how about the profits go to Food for Love or firewood for those in need or to any number of local charities doing awesome and much needed work out there.

The inversion is part of this town. Just like the star studded night sky, The Tree, the Other Trees that are equal to The Tree, the funny round abouts, Mt Iron, the list goes on…

The only way through is to embrace. Or to at least reach out and touch it gently. Like anything challenging it won’t improve if you sit there despondently looking at it. Go into it.

View of Lake turns to view of bright pops of colour. 16th May 9.22a.m.

How amazing that when one of our senses is diminished the remaining ones become more acutely aware. Losing the capacity to see out we suddenly notice other daily wonders. An inversion forces you to look at what’s right in front of you. At what is always there but we may have missed it because we’re looking at, well, our phones maybe, reading that TLDR post on social media. Or because we’re looking at the obvious - our stunning mountains and ridge lines as the sun sets over Black Peak.

So suddenly you hear the waves lapping at the shore, happy with a fresh top up of rain last week.

You notice the birds who just love an inversion and sing their feathery hearts out. The tūī especially.

You notice the sparkling spider webs stretching for miles up in Butterfields strung between plants that seem to have taken on an extra bright colour shade under the grey. Hey it’s my turn now. Look at me, they say.

Butterfields. 14th May 8.52a.m.

You notice the last of the golden leaves. Hanging on. Determined to stay. Just like us eh. The piles of gold lying underneath nearly barren trees - an offering of thanks.

The mist, ethereal, swirling around the pines at Eely Point.

The mist rising
off River, off Lake, off your breath.

The familiar faces who appear out of the cloud coming down our local deity Mt Iron as you’re going up. Colourful hats amongst the grey and the Kanuka. Friends and community standing out even more. Bright spots of light illuminating each other’s day.

The droplets that form on your eyelashes. Diamonds and disco balls dangling in front of your eyes.

The ducks. And how they just deal with it. Carrying on floating and not getting all in a flap.

The people of this town out there still doing their thing. Planting, building things, walking, running, standing on sport sidelines, loving, struggling, trying, trying so very hard for themselves and their families. Rugging up in Mons or RAB or their own patched together with duct tape ski jacket from 1984. All the flavours. All part of the fabric of this town.

Morning Run. The Path. Butterfields. 14th May 2026, 9.21a.m.

Action absorbs anxiety they say so we move, we dance, put on bright coloured lipstick, pull up those crazy patterned long Scandinavian socks, hug someone, get our dog to take us for a walk, go to hot yoga, make soup, have a fondue party, do a puzzle, get creative and put ourselves out there. Because F**k, life is short. And it’s just an inversion. And we will get through.

Just don’t join the whats app groups with minute by minute updates from your friends in Bali, Phuket and Hawaii. This will make it much harder. Trust me. I wish them well and go and refill my hot water bottle.

And the sun will come out again. About 2.09 pm possibly. And you will yell YAY Look it’s the Sun!!!! And your eyes will get bigger as your face expands to take in all that you see - Mt Roy Hello! The Buchanans Hello! And it will bring a tear to your eye for the sheer bright beauty of what you can see and for just a moment everything will be Love and Happiness and Joy and you will be so Grateful and feel like you can do Anything and you’ll go around smiling at your neighbours and strangers and you’ll give way to someone trying to merge into the traffic on your way to work.

Just like we used to do.

And then, after 5 minutes of sunshine and big mountain sky, we’ll forget
what we just remembered,
that we’re all here connected,
and our mood and behaviour will be inverted again

Only if we choose that though. Only if we choose.

Have a wonder- full day.

With Love
Jo xx

Bremner Bay. The cloud lifts, for a moment. 15th May 2026, 11.21a.m.

Lake Hāwea. 29th April 2026, 10.25a.m.

Good morning, this is Ms Jo to Ground Control.

“Take your protein pills and put your helmet on.“

Spiritual Healing incense lit. Purple beanie on.

“Check ignition and may god’s love be with you.”

Warrior I (Virabhadrasana I) and may Pine Tree Elders and Glowing full Mother Moon give me strength.

“And stepping through the door.”

And stepping through the door….
into the dark, into the glow, of Moon full, Heart full,
I move between
places
containing hope and caffeine, ritual and warm cleansing water,
of home. Home? Home.

Every day beginning with a grounding. A remembering.
A reconnecting to the Essence of Life.
God? God. Good, Spirit, Source, Earth Goddess, Mother Nature, the Universe, Chi, Prana, Light, The eternal witnessing, Consciousness, Christ Consciousness,
The Whatever the F*** you want to call it. It’s that. It’s that.

My jandals which live outside and are used to walk between cabin and tiny house are sparkling now with frost diamonds. Ice skates. Sliding, gliding, across decks. Tentative steps. Bold steps. Looking up. Grounding down. Reflection caught, there I am, who am I? Dance to my reflection, she dances back. We laugh.

This is Ground Control to Major Jo.

Good Morning. Thank you for being here. 💛🙏

Moon sets over Mt Roy. View from writer’s desk. River Mountain Cabin, Wānaka.
30th April 5.15a.m.

There is much to hold right now.
There is nothing to hold right now.

I know nothing
I know Every thing

I know what my values are.
I know what’s important, to me.
I know the sound of my Heart. And I know the song of my Soul.
We keep turning to this in times of challenge and grief.
Turning pivoting pausing catching your reflection
Who is that? doing this dance of Life.
Twirling spinning falling rising smiling crying laughing loving.
Who is that human? Her form down there.
A sparkle amongst millions and billions of sparkles.

“Did you know that birds can still fly with a broken wing?”
Mark Nepo reminds us of the words of the Greek poet George Sepharis.
That this is part of the flying.
Dealing with the limitations and the bumps in the road we can still stay in conversation with the vastness. In fact, its an invitation.
“We don’t have to be perfect.”

So there we are, broken winged and flying. Sparkling. Trying our best in our human forms.

Golden Love Hearts. Eely Point, Wānaka, 26th April. 9.21a.m.

This week there was a battle.
Swords of Light vs Light
( doctrine vs felt sense? what’s best vs what is? He vs She? The Way vs Many Ways)
Mother and Daughter
A Shield of Strength lifted
Enough. Enough please.
Each in her own way of Knowing.

It began with an opening and sharing of vulnerability.
Why don’t I learn?

Resulting in unsolicited advice, religious spam filling my inbox. Becoming someone’s Mission. A recruitment drive. Only HE will save you. This is The Way. The Only Way.
“Take my yoke upon you!” the tidal wave of words plea.

Scrambled eggs in my head.

We open our hearts. We close our hearts. We open our hearts. We close our hearts.

Family, stepping over boundaries, disallowing child individualising from parent, inability to hold the space, to See and to Be, needing to fix.

Grief is not a problem to be solved. I am not a problem to be solved!
I want to yell.
Yes there is Grief, as there always is with the loss of our assumptive world.
Grief, pointing to what held meaning for us. To what we love.
I’m spinning in space. Uprooted and disorientated. Who am I? Whose life is this?

Ground control is required to manage disorientating times
and ground control was required to not react with anger immediately to the
Sword that cut deep.
To let it be for a few days. To let it bleed. And to let go and let God.

Life learning Life learning
A knowing this isn’t just this life. It’s other lives. Past lives. Proving myself. Unable to communicate. Trying to EXPLAIN. A strangling around my throat. Cast out. Unwilling to accept. Knowing what is right within. Talking to trees. Praying to the moon. You fucking weirdo. Kill that witch. Protecting family. Her children. Her children. Heart. Sensing. Sensual. Bad. Good.

After the bleeding. The knowing.
Do not fight he who cannot see. It’s a waste of energy.

“Thanks mum for your thoughts” my text reply begins 3 days later.

Rumi reminds us.

And I kiss the ground every day.
Mum.
Just this morning I prayed with the pine trees and the female energy of the wise moon.
We must trust that we each have our ways to find comfort in hard times.

I opened my heart and shared my knowing
My shield in front of me and my sword shining in the sky.

I didn’t hear back.

It must be hard when you really think that your way is the only way. When you are grieving yourself for a daughter in grief. When you think your way will help.

We all find our way in our own way. Some may look messy on that journey. But fuck isn’t that the reality of it.

Right now as I finish here the Moon is lingering. Stripes of purple and pink cross over her. God. Life.

Thank you for reading dear ones. Sending you love from me, the trees, the full moon. Sending prayers on broken wings, flying wings. Imperfect. Perfect.

Jo xx

Clutha River, Albert Town, New Zealand. 10th April 2026, 10.18 a.m.

My cup is full

quarter warmed milk

full cream

thanks

didn’t they tell you that lite is a lie. Full of Sugar and Shit. But hey who am I to preach…
I’m not a doctor.
Just a woman
Living a Life
Freshly expressed
Unskimmed
Not Lite,
that’s for fucking sure.

my cup is full

half strongly brewed coffee

Hummingbird brand

Nectar blend

my cup is full

half of a quarter

I was never good at fractions but I’m confident you understand the equation

hot water

from kettle boiled

and

that other half of a quarter,

is today

Raindrops

from the Sky

with a dash of

just a couple

teardrops

from my eye

as I step

again

on this day, in a rain so drenching my outsides and insides are wet instantaneously upon our coming, together, skin and nature’s nectar.

one step

two

three

pause

look up

for star power

star strength

to help me

in this balancing act

of Life

the stars are hiding though, behind the rain, but they wink nonetheless,

they’re good like that,

as I carry

my full cup

of unskimmed Life

as here I am again

on my early morning devotion

between

cabin and coffee making facilities over there

by the pine trees

who watch me

with amusement

and care.

Outlet Track Albert Town 10th April 2026 10.27a.m.

Thank you for taking the time to read dear ones. I truly appreciate every one of you in this life giving community. I hope your last fortnight has been full cream, full cup, full immersion into whatever Life is offering you right now. Because, fuck, the absurdity, the pain, the joy, the hilarious ridiculousness of it all, can really only be fully accepted fully drenched in as you stand there in your underwear, the comfy ones of course, under the big sky Receiving it all. 🙏❤️

Clutha River Outlet Track 10th April 2026 9.42 a.m

Rocky Mountain, overlooking Lake Wānaka. New Zealand. 20th March 2026, 1.39p.m.

I step

under a full moon

lighting the way

my feet

walk towards

underneath, in?

heaven

Stars

a breeze

touches hairs on my arm

i step

ferret screams

rabbit runs

river flows

foot on stepping stone

pines and smoke in air

Moon

Full

Heart

Pull

All this

on my way to the cabin, over there

to make my 5.15 am coffee.

Lake Wānaka. Low, but nonetheless still lovely, due to dry February and March.
21st March 2026. 7.59a.m.

Thank you for being here my lovely Substack community. It means a lot.
Easter. Autumn Gold here in New Zealand. Family. Home, My most sacred time of the year. Reflection, rebirth, hope, faith. Living in this mystery, this ride, this Life.

Wishing you a very Happy Easter. 💛💛💛

With Love

Jo xx

Hello, it’s Jo. You may not recognise me because I usually post photos of flowers and mountains. Not heavy machinery.
But Life sure ain’t just a bunch of pretty pictures.
Life requires some fucking heavy lifting at times.

This is a large truck

Hāwea. 10th March 2026, 5.46 p.m.

Before I continue, I would like to say thank you.
Thank you for taking the time to be here. It means a lot.
This community has a palpable heart beat.
This community is real, in an unreal world.
Creativity and Care bring us Together
Creativity is the language of the Soul.
Soul and Heart will save us.
With Love xx

On the back of the large truck is a house.

Loading zone. 10th March 2026. 5.42 p.m.

These sorts of houses are known as Tiny Houses.

People buy Tiny Houses for all sorts of reasons. Downsizing, retirement, freeing up funds, a more simple life, a temporary solution whilst building a “normal” home, a last resort, a romantic ideal of living off grid with your partner and a bunch of free range chickens, although they don’t have to be off grid, the tiny homes, not your partner, although of course you may like an off grid partner but I’m not sure what that means for you, they may be hard to keep a track of, if you are into tracking your partner, oh my god I am actually going insane. It’s been a big week.

I bought mine as a way to try and stay living in this beautiful, but increasingly unaffordable town of Wānaka in the South Island of New Zealand. A town I love and that has been Home to my children and me for 22 years.

This was my Tiny House. That top window was a loft where I slept. Funny to think of that now. The Tiny House is in the process of being moved to Christchurch, 5.5 hours away, and more if you are towing a tiny house, where the Actual owner of the tiny house, a friend of mine, will continue to try and sell it. The market for tiny houses has soured in Wanaka due to a long list of reasons some of which I allude to here. There was a beautiful view from the house where I was leasing land. I looked out over an orchard of apple trees and further on and out towards the majestic mountains surrounding Lake Hāwea. On one side of my house lived Charles and Lily. Charles is a pig. Lily is a lamb. They were my flat/land mates. Some of the best I’ve had. I was lulled gently to sleep at night with the sound of Charles’ snoring. A lot more peaceful than some of the snoring partners I’ve had.

10th March 2026. 5.50 p.m.

This is me saying good bye to my house. I look happy but I think I was just squinting in the sun.

A lot of those potential buying scenarios I describe for Tiny Houses work well if you own land. I don’t own land.
If you don’t own land and own a tiny house you need to find land to lease.
You also need to find someone who is willing to lease their land to a Tiny House set up and willing to take a risk with a house that can be hard to define.
Is it a vehicle? Is it a house? No, it’s certainly not superman. I feel sometimes though, that I should be fucking crowned SuperWoman and given a pair of red knee high boots, although that is another conversation.
A tiny house “should” be moveable. Some easier than others. Does it therefore fall under vehicle rules and regulations? Or does it fall under fixed abode rules and regulations? Which council jurisdiction are you under? Because every single one has different rules. Will you be wanting to hook up to septic with that or are you wanting to compost your shit? These are just a few of the 900876 questions that you will need to attend to if you are buying a tiny house and leasing land.

Right now, I hear our beloved coming in with wonderful questions and assistance from the heavens above. ❤️🙏

If you have children you will need to find a land owner who will understand and support the fact that you will be buying/building two good quality little cabins in which to house your children who still come home from university for 6 months of the year. Not because I have to. No. Because I want to. The number of times I have had to defend this seemingly obvious point. I love them and they love me and we have a good thing going. They do their thing and I do my thing and then we come together and its bloody awesome. 💖

Home is Everything.

These are native plants at Bremner Bay. I volunteer doing planting and watering for Te Kākano Aotearoa Trust. It feels like home in there. It’s peaceful and beautiful.
11th March 2026. 12.21 p.m.

Right now I don’t have a Home.
It’s ok. I don’t want this to sound like I’m hosting a pity party. I can do that in private. Which I do, at regular intervals, before I pluck myself off the floor, and get back up, again. I am lucky. I am not living on the streets. I am in a temporary cabin. It has nice cedar cladding. I am not being bombed in Gaza or Ukraine or Iran or Lebanon or or or. I have a view of the mountains still. I am lucky.

I am also exhausted. It’s been a big few years. Constant learning of such unfamiliar subjects. Constant pivoting. Constant uncertainty. Grief. Shame. Hope and then Hope Smashed in my face. So I think I am just going to have a wee little lie down in that forest of trees and new growth. And I may just stay there a while. And maybe when I get up again a home for me and the kids will have fallen from the heavens.

Thanks for reading dear ones. Much Love and have a wonderful weekend.

Jo xx

Photo: Pink Roses and Sun Set. View from my desk. 25th February, 8.07p.m.

It’s Saturday afternoon
and hot
here in NZ
as I look across to the mountains and write to you.
Thank you for being here.
I don’t usually write at this time of day. The creative juices flow best in the early hours for me and the afternoons are usually busy with other commitments. But at the risk of further reducing my writing here on Substack, I am sending out a rather simple post today to just keep me in the game so to speak. To honour my dedication and to connect with you dear Reader. My posts were weekly from September 2023 - September 2025. Weekly! And what a bloody huge achievement that was actually. Then life kind of did it’s thing, even though it was doing it’s thing in those years too of course. But it did it’s thing even more last year and my writing here on Substack reduced to fortnightly. Any of us posting regularly should be giving ourselves a very big pat on the back or a ginormous loving arm wrapping hug. Because whether its once a week or once a month you post, it’s a commitment to doing what you love. And fuck, we need to honour that right? Right.

Photo: Lake Wānaka and Mt Roy. 24th February, 7.22a.m

The last couple of weeks have been full of loving gestures and Life affirming moments. I have allowed them to capture me. Because we have to don’t we. To avoid falling into the abyss.

There have been
sunrises and sunsets
birds bobbing on the feathered toi toi out my window, pecking for food and swinging in the breeze
lake swims: baptisms/ re births/ renewals every time
There were things saved, like the little bug that was scrambling up the plug hole in the bathroom sink, trying trying trying to make it out, kept slipping slipping slipping back down. I rolled up a piece of paper towel and slid it through a gap, an offering, of which the little one grabbed hold, lifted by the hand of fate/god/ paper towel/ Life! up and out and onto a blade of grass outside.
I am not sure why that affected me so much. But it did.

Photo: Lake Wānaka and Mt Roy. 24th February, 7.25a.m.

I have been given pink roses.
I bow my head into their petals and breathe in their scent a hundred times a day.

I have been given time with friends. I have been given beautiful inspiring words verbally in person.

Photo: “All of This Holds Me” Some of Kirstie’s beautiful art work.

I have received mail. In the letter box! With a real letter enclosed with real handwriting!
I did what I always used to do when I received such precious treats. I ticked off all my “to do’s” and then finally sat down with a cup of tea and gave the gift the ritual it deserved. Thank you so much ❤️

Photo above: The handwritten letter from Kirstie. I have covered up some of the more personal in it.

And finally. I want to say thank you to who may very well be flying high above this lake right now. I have learnt today from Josh’s dearly beloved Veronika that Josh has passed in the last couple of weeks. Josh was one of my biggest supporters here on Substack right from the start. I am not sure how we even stumbled upon each other but that’s what we did. Organically. Which is just right for Josh. Organic and Real. He has been a huge part of this gorgeous little and ever evolving Substack community. His humour, wisdom, kindness and massive creative energy kept me inspired to keep going with my writing and my endeavours to create a home for me and the kids. He gave so much. How is it that someone we have never met in person becomes such a dear part of our lives? Through words. Through writing. Through creativity. Through authenticity. Through kindness.

Thank you Josh for everything.
Sending you much love and thoughts. 💔❤️🌟🪶

Lake Hāwea. About to Immerse my self. 23rd Feb 8.35a.m

One of Josh’s favourite musicians. And mine too.

Lake Hāwea, 12th February 10.25a.m. You should join me for a dip sometime. Standing in that water, droplets dripping and sparkles sparkling, surrounded by the Mountains, is pretty much as close to Holiness as you can get. In my opinion.

Good Morning dear readers. Thank you for being here. And thank you to me for being here. Because sometimes it’s fucking hard isn’t it. Especially when you’ve just tripped over a hose at 4.31 a.m that was lying on the path upon which you walk every morning in the dark from cabin to tiny house where your coffee and shower await. But hey. Bring it on. I like lying on the ground looking at the stars and there is a gorgeous crescent moon right now. Have you noticed?

Mt Iron summit. 10th February 8.53a.m

Today I share a piece I wrote early one morning this week. It may resonate more with a NZ reader who will know the places and culture I refer to. But as I haven’t marketed my writing here on Substack to anyone, let alone the unique and beautiful small New Zealand population, it will have to do for all of you. Yes you are unique and beautiful too. ❤️

“Do Not cry when we get to Castle Street Mum”

she warns, there in the driveway as we finish loading the car with duvets and coat hangers, clothes drying rack and heater, bedside table, pot plants and pans, and four of those large plastic black and white stripy Warehouse bags bulging,
their zips already broken apart,
while
we’re all just trying to hold ourselves together.

I nod slowly in acquiescence, a smile tickling my lips,
as I look across to my daughter
with wonder at this beautiful evolving creation in her denim shorts and
confident assertiveness.
I understand the seriousness of her request.
She knows me well, and I know that if I open my mouth
to acknowledge any of this with words
that a tear may also escape from where they sit behind my eyeballs pressing for release from their own Mother, the Heart.

Long hug with her Father.
Stay there tear, stay there. heart. pump pump beat beat

“Ok Let’s Go”
She says as car doors shut
So we hit the road, the one named Aspiring,
to begin another Life journey,
a rainbow explosion bursting out of Lake Wānaka
on this early morning in February and I pray that
a pot of gold awaits on
the other side

and indeed, upon arrival at the aforementioned street called Castle Street
lining the footpath and road outside her flat which is named
Big Black Coq

there is a shining.
Is it a pot of gold? Is it diamonds?
It is
A Sea of Sparkles and washed up Students

So I do what I’m told not to do.
I don’t cry in Castle Street.
Instead, I step tentatively, slowly, mindfully

crunch crunch crunch over the
broken glass

glittering littering
the Every thing

remove a jagged edge, a half speights bottle from the driveway
to her new home, eye up brush and pan waiting longingly in dark corner, go to begin a sweep of the pieces of aftermath that have made it inside onto the carpet
MUM!
Leave it. It’s ok. We’ll do it later.

But…..

Ok, ok today is a day where I must go with the Flow
because that is what they call
this week, this Flo Week,
a special week designed to honour the second year student at Otago University.
To spotlight their maturity and growth...
To welcome them gently and wholesomely into flatting’s arms...
yeah right…
Jo….No. Just Go with the Flow.

There are many other parents around on this move in day.
They look a little
Numb
Stunned
It’s oddly reassuring in a community kind of way.

I bravely ascend the stairs to go to the loo
open up toilet lid, am welcomed by a
very realistic fake poo
sitting there on the white seat.

so I breathe and I flow

I flow
as we hit Briscoes
with every other parent and their student from around New Zealand,
catching each other’s eye as we look up from working out the best pillow consistency -feather or recycled plastic bottle inner? feel like huge overwhelming questions today,
shy smiles of solidarity
with other parents
as we wander in a daze
though the cleaned out towel aisle
under those dizzying, mind fucking fluorescent lights
as we shuffle through North Dunedin New World
under more fluorescent lights.

harsh light, harsh reality, student life.
I want ambient. I want soft. I want safe.
the glow of the Himalayan Rock Salt lamp hides away

Finally it is time for me to turn
and to leave her in the sparkles
in all the colours of University Life.

We hold each other long and hard
in the street called Castle Street
and then we let each other go.
I have done my job.
I don’t much like the job description of this particular task though. It seems incongruent to what a mother should do. Delivering the young woman who was once, very recently I am sure, just a child, into such chaos
and the thoughts start snowballing....
I didn’t even teach her to cook!
My god, she’s not going to survive!!

Breathe in Breathe out

I drive out of that town of castles and degrees,
of pubs and sea breeze
and onto State Highway 1, where the horizon opens out
and the salty flow
is finally unleashed

She’ll be ok reassures her older brother.
She’ll work it out he says.

An earthquake later that day, right there beneath us,
only a few k away,
rolling and rolling
rocking and rocking,
we have so very little control.
All we can do is to be there heart open going with the Flow.

Thank you to my muse and beautiful daughter Eva.
I have every confidence in you. You’ve dealt with a lot in this life already, maybe more than you should have. You are strong and courageous. And I love you.
Thank you for allowing me to post this. I have learnt it’s safest to ask so I don’t get threatened with a law suit.
A law and psychology degree well equip you to advise your mother on any dodgy behaviour. ❤️

Thank you dear unique and beautiful Reader! I appreciate you. Have a wonderful week. With Love from this little slice of Paradise called New Zealand.

Gladstone Track, John Creek, 12th February 9.42a.m.

Thank you for showing up and taking the time to read
as we all weave our way through
Life’s joys and sorrows.

Morning run. Gladstone Track, Lake Hāwea 23rd January 2026, 8.13a.m.

I am fully alive
as I mentioned in my last post
albeit my feathers a little ruffled.

The last 2 years have been a washing cycle on fast spin, in one of those old machines that moves itself out from the wall, shaking and thundering, a helicopter taking off in your laundry, tangling sheets, sending your socks into places from which they never return, before finally shuddering to a stop, and a series of warning beep beep beeps.

For those who don’t know
I have been on a journey. An unexpected one. Apparently they are the most rewarding ones.
I had so many other things I was going to be doing instead…
like a yoga retreat in Bali with green juices, massage, and ocean plunges
like a Vipassana retreat in India where it would suit me just fine to stop talking, stop explaining, just be with it all. yes of course I could do it…
but most of all I would be doing a Home retreat in Wānaka.
Simply Living Normal Everyday Life.

Morning run. Gladstone Track, Lake Hāwea 23rd January 2026, 8.16a.m.

As you know I have been trying to rebuild a nest for nearly 3 years after ours fell out of the tree. As a result I’ve been living in Tiny Homes and Mountain cabins for the last 18 months. Oh yes it sounds very romantic doesn’t it. Isn’t that what every writer wants? A mountain cabin! And yes, it is Glorious sitting here as dawn becomes, a pink bloom right now over the mountains, fingers tapping away at my keyboard.
It’s a very small part of the puzzle though. Like a side of broccoli, great nutrients and good for the soul, but in need of something more substantial on the plate. ie a home that can house my kids when they’re home for 5 months of the year, a home that has a bathroom and kitchen and laundry, ideally all under the same roof. Simple, beautiful, family, Home.

Home should always be here. Whatever age or stage we are at.
I would rather like to fold my wings, and curl up in that nest with my loved ones by my side.
Home is Everything. Our retreat, our launching pad, our sanctuary.
A solid base from which we can take off and Fly.

This story that I tell myself, that I tell you dear reader, I edit every day. I see that how we tell our story defines our life. When I re read both my published and non published writing I see that some days the Story is full of mournful self pity, often it’s self depreciating, occasionally humorous, sometimes courageous, regularly despondent and equally as often full of awe and joy. The beauty of writing every day is you can see how you think. You become very aware of the story you tell yourself.

All versions of my story are true. This is my confessional for today.

Morning run, Upper Clutha River Track, Wānaka. 29th January 2026, 9.34a.m.

My skin has been cured by the sun and weather.
A base of growing up on North Shore beaches with a sun protection of Tropical Oil SPF 2 has been further lizard-ised by living an outside kind of life.
Toilet, washing powder, washing machine, pantry items, bed, all in separate locations, accessed by wanderings over grass and stones, dust and mud
all under a big bright sun or refreshingly drenching rain.
I am guided at night by the stars as I walk half asleep to the loo outside or as previously confessed - my little grassy patch.
If I’m lucky Thunder and Lightening electrify me as I walk to the container, further down the property, just to get the soy sauce. There is only so much you can fit in a tiny house kitchen drawer.

Sometimes I can’t open the tiny house front door when that nor wester from the Matukituki is blowing a gale.
It’s a battle: Jo vs Door
A pull and a push
the ultimate in metaphor confrontation,
standing outside looking in
unable to open the door to get inside Home.
Often the wind blows my coffee right out of the cup when walking from the kitchen to the cabin
I know I know Wind, I should cut down.
Luckily I am a nature and all weather lover and
this “curing” can be somewhat exhilarating and empowering.
Sometimes though, it’s fucking exhausting.
Appreciate your laundry dear people. It’s the simple things.

On the Journey,
I have got a few more piercings. I can see how it could become addictive.
There’s something about choosing pain and making it look pretty and sparkly.

Mountain Flower joy, Mt Grandview (1398m), Hāwea. 14th January 2026, 11.14a.m

On the Journey
I went to church.
It was the stained glass windows that did it
I was blinded
by the Light.
The ever so kind priest who was looking rather handsome in a tight fitting hand knitted jersey actually offered me a glass of wine!
And it was only 10.30 in the morning! I know right!
I don’t drink much any more so I turned him down
but did surreptitiously leave an alcoholics anonymous card on a
musty cushion.
They were lovely and welcoming in there. We even did a book interpretation! Which you probably know is right up my alley.
I was the chosen one
to read a passage from
the book
so I stood up and began to move towards the mic and the pulpit
but was told to stay in the circle.
My interpretation of Jezebel and Delilah appeared to be different to those there. But that’s ok. Difference is welcomed here isn’t it? All loved. All welcomed and All that....
Anyway I left before they asked me for money and returned to the life work of finding the power within
I reckon I saw some Light shining in there
but we can sure all do with some help to uncover it sometimes.

Let there be Light.
Raindrops on Summer Grass. Hāwea. 23rd January 2026, 8.18a.m.

I then turned to sound healing, kundalini movement
and slapping of my own bottom.
This was bloody liberating.
It’s very important to be able to laugh at yourself on your journey. And as I float above myself and look down upon myself sitting there cross legged trying to chant in Sanskrit and get my hand movements in sync with the rest of the class I see all that Life is in that moment and how we just have to fucking fully immerse ourselves because there is no other way and
because Life is both utterly terrifying and utterly Amazing.
Upon getting my morning coffee afterwards the gorgeous barista asks what I am on:
”Sound healing” I reply.

I had a hair cut in 2025.
I am overdue another. It’s getting to lengths where I may be identified as a bare back beach horse rider or a yogi who has spent a few years in a cave.
Neither of which are the case.
Long hair: Does this count as personal growth?
I remembered to shave my legs a couple of times.
I forgot my armpits for a while.

My shoe purchase for the year was 2 pairs of gumboots.
Two. Because I couldn’t decide. I spent an entire morning in the Mitre 10 gumboot aisle staring blankly at the vast array. I didn’t know there were so many types. Ankle, calf, knee high, fancy, standard. And then someone came along and said “ah you should get Le Chameaus. They have tweed inside.” And I’m like mate I haven’t even got a house to put a fucking tweed blanket in, ever so beautifully arranged over the arm of a brown leather couch, right now
so, shin high Red Bands, along with cut off denim shorts and a rain jacket or collared long sleeve shirt ( weather dependent) have become my uniform for cabin living.
Oh the second pair of gumboots you ask? They were knee high. Black.
Eva borrowed them for Rhythm & Vines
just in case it rained ….
they were left behind in the North Island.
Her baggage allowance went over the limit due to the weight
of the festival mud.

Mud is heavy eh
but one must remember: “No mud no lotus” Thich Nhat Hanh

Gladstone Track, Lake Hāwea, 28th January 12.13 a.m.

I feel incredibly grateful, often, that I am living life on the Edge right now
because it forces you to dig deep and
experience life intimately. Feeling it all.
It’s like all the clutter is stripped away and you are left with perhaps what is actually the Meaning of it all.

I am navigating this Life
as best I can,
and it feels, often, like I have headed right off the map into
unchartered territory. It’s f***ing frightening
but really isn’t it like that for all of us? If we want to cold plunge into life and come up with diamonds sparkling on our skin?

What I keep learning is that Life must be a constant turning towards
Towards what lights us up
allowing ourselves to be totally captivated in those moments
Especially when all else feels a bit dark
to look up at the stars and allow yourself to swim in them
to pause and watch the little girl in a tutu riding her bike, knees pedalling with such determination and with the biggest smile you’ve ever seen,
to feel the joy of the dog running with a stick twice it’s size in it’s mouth
to notice the cactus that has sprouted an abundance of pink flowers for the first time in 15 years and you wonder was that there all along
you wonder at what is inside

Everything

Always

Just waiting to blossom.

With Love and thank you for reading.
Jo xx

Mt Grandview (1398m), Hāwea, my feet, Daughter’s knees. 14th January 2026, 12.56 pm.

Good Morning
It’s a new year according to the calendar, and according to
all the Change Yourself advertising filling my inbox.
It’s nearly a month since I last posted according to Substack.
Apologies if you’ve been missing me although I doubt you have.
I’ve been missing you though. I mean that genuinely.❤️
I hope you’ve been fully immersing yourself in time with loved ones and
doing what lights you up.

Thank you for being here. Thank you for showing up and taking the time to read as we all weave our way through Life’s joys and sorrows.

The Mark Nepo quote above I have shared before. The words are by my side every day
to remind me to try and settle into the weight….

Mt Aspiring National Park. Me and Trees. ❤️ 9th December 2025 12.13pm.

This post is no Great Offering
nothing poetic, no literary masterpiece, not 5 steps on how to…,
neither is it any great life wisdom or insight.
It’s simply me saying hello I am here.
I am here, in Wānaka, New Zealand.
I am here, a woman aged 53, navigating Life
as best she can,
which feels, sometimes often, like I have headed right off the map into
unchartered territory. And it’s f***ing terrifying.

Rob Roy Glacier, Mt Aspiring National Park & Eva, 9th December 2025, 1pm.

Another quote I have shared before. It holds much meaning for me in both a poetic and literal sense as I continue the journey to find a nest.

My feathers are certainly a little ruffled after this last year. I would like to fold my wings and curl up in that nest with my loved ones by my side, to feel safe, to feel secure, in order that I can stand again, launch myself from a solid base and Fly.

I have survived on a diet of poetry, philosophy, runs in the rain, walks in nature, family laughter and bonding, yoga, writing, beautiful understanding and nourishing friendships, dark chocolate, prayer, ritual, early nights and early mornings, broccoli, coffee, community connection, quail watching, mountain reverence, star gazing and easy read escapist bed time novels.
I have screamed, cried, laughed, and been on my knees.

Rob Roy Glacier, Mt Aspiring National Park, Eva & me. 9th December 2025,1.34pm

I think I died in a past life and went to heaven and heaven was New Zealand.
The landscape here, the proximity to Nature sustains me. It’s my oxygen.
One can step out one’s front door and be in all of these places within an hour.
One can step out one’s front door and be surrounded by water and trees and fresh air and stars and light as soon as your toes touch the ground.
My children have inherited this love of Nature through genes maybe and definitely through the experiences I have given to them. These are the out of nest experiences that we can continue to share. Nature is our Home, our Nest.
We know and feel the healing and soothing power of Her. We turn to Her and let Her do Her magic.
Without Nature we die. When our glaciers recede, the water quality of our lakes starts to deteriorate, our trees are cut down to make way for mines, we have nothing.
When people, often those in power currently, take the piss about Her,
it feels very personal.

Wishbone Falls, Mt Aspiring National Park. 9th December 3.28pm

Despite not posting on Substack recently, I have still been writing.
Most days begin with a morning mind download in an attempt to lighten the heart and soul for the day ahead. These writings are of course for my viewing only.
I have also been writing on community facebook pages. This is a dangerous endeavour, the extreme sport of writing. Perhaps more on that another time…
I have been writing for and performing at local open mic nights. Less dangerous than online posting.
I have been writing this and writing that. I have been stashing up the Notes and the Ideas. All of this writing is done in the wee early hours of the morning before the bright lights and cacophony of modern life steals away my creativity.
Most writing seems to be well received. Primarily by me.
Because it literally keeps me alive. It makes meaning out of the shit and illuminates the beauty.

Wishbone Falls, Mt Aspiring National Park. Our post walk swim.
9th December 2025, 3.26pm

The water is cool and clean, bracing and embracing.

Mt Grandview walk, Hāwea, 14th January 2026, 11.14a.m

It’s a steep climb
if you look up from the bottom and see how far you have to go
to reach the summit, you may never attempt it.
When you arrive, though, you look back, and wonder how you ever did it.
One step at a time.

With Love and Gratitude.
Jo xx

Photo: 23rd December 2025. Pōhutukawa: our New Zealand Christmas tree.
My favourite tree. ❤️

It’s a morning for the true believers
the man says to me
with a wide smile
as we pass each other in the torrential rain on our morning exercise.

His words struck me in the heart.

I gathered them up and stored them away
somewhere safe where I could access them
at regular intervals.

May you find a place where you believe.
Where no matter what is going on
you can return again and again
and discover peace and joy and solace.

Wishing you a very happy Christmas.
Thank you so much for your support dear Readers and Writers.
This community is very special indeed.
With Love
Jo xx

Favourite Christmas song. Tears every time. ❤️

Red roses. New Zealand Christmas. Wednesday 3rd December.

There’s a bird nest in the honeysuckle vine outside the river house window.
I can’t see it, but I can hear it.
A high pitched cacophony of squawks permeate from the honeysuckle at regular intervals. It’s feeding time.
I watch Mother Bird flap furiously back and forth between vine nest and forest where meals are gathered and prepared.

I understand.

“What’s for dinner mum?”
”When’s dinner mum?”
”Oh. Just salad? “
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Replying calmly, ”Not just darling: it’s filled with protein and all good things -
wild black rice and courgettes and asparagus and avocado and ….
Faces look blank and disappointed.
Later. All is quiet. Cheeks chew, Mouths move.
”Wow mum, that’s actually like, like really good! Yum.
You are the salad queen mum.”

I look out the window to where the river flows and the vine grows
I give thanks
I acknowledge all mothers who do their best, who flap their wings non stop
who nourish and love no matter what.

Kānuka (maybe Mānuka) flowers. New Zealand Christmas. Our version of white snowflakes. Thursday 4th December

Google searches since the kids came home for summer:
how to cook a steak
how to treat vomiting (unrelated to steak)
how to clean a sleeping bag (unrelated to vomiting)
how long does chicken last in fridge ( vegetarian mother enquires to avoid household vomiting)
how did the f^%*ing ridiculous, damaging to health and society, meaningless tradition of NZ Crate day come about? (will definitely end up with vomiting)
Merry Fucking Cratemass CrateMess
when do baby birds leave the nest?

Flax flower/ harakeke. New Zealand Christmas. Thursday 4th December

I notice the lambs’ days are numbered. Their innocent white wooly backs have now been marked with blue ink. It’s been a daily pleasure of mine watching the lambs grow in this abundant Spring we’ve had. White puffs on lush green grass. By their mothers’ sides. All is well in the world, for a moment. But I am reminded that nature is not there to simply please me and warm my heart. That there is a different kind of value attached to things by some. That lamb tastes good at Christmas dinner.

Pine Tree. Morning Run. Wednesday 3rd December.
Christmas can still be Christmas without a tree inside I tell myself and my loved ones.

And besides, they look pretty good out here in the wild. No killing required.
Morning Run. Saturday 6th December

Thursday excitement:
”Mum mum Spotify wrapped is out!!!”
”Lets see yours, lets compare! “
Oh its just like Christmas when Spotify wrapped comes out.
The fun and laughs this gift unexpectedly gives us. Every December.
I’m not a techy, stat nerd at all, but there is something about the the swirls and twirls, the party that’s all about YOU, your story being told to your favourite soundtrack, that your taste can’t be defined, that your top genre is Exotica, (ooo that sounds, so Exotic! What even is Exotica?!) and so you keep on scrolling ( oh yeh they’ve got you well and good now Miss ANTI SCROLL!), and look!
Age is just a number. They say. So don’t take this personally. They say.
Just in case you were wondering dear reader … I am 42. They say.
19 year old daughter has the musical taste of a 69 year old and 21 year old son that of a 55 year old. They say.
Oh what fun this is!

Music - the soundtrack of our life.
The break up music, the study music, the morning writing music, the get out into the day motivating music, the good vibes music,
the Christmas Carols on repeat in the supermarket music….
I offer my condolences to the check out operators.

Swedish reindeer Christmas decoration. Red Rose and Rosemary in jar. New Zealand Christmas scents. Writing desk at River House looking down to river. Saturday 6th December.

I trekked up hill and beyond in gumboots and pulled out a few treasured decorations from my storage container. Just to try and make it special for the kids. And for me, to be honest. Christmas decorations are memories. Every one holds meaning for my family and me. This year, as last year, there won’t be Frank Sinatra playing in the background as we hold our tree and decoration ritual. We will enjoy instead just a chosen few. One day again we will be settled in our own home. One day, I will be able to unbox, to unfurl and to breathe easy.
We look through a children’s pop up book of the Night Before Christmas, we inhale the scent of our first strawberry of the season and follow it down with a piece of Whittaker’s dark chocolate. We listen to our favourite songs. The birds sing. Life is good.

This is the time to retain “the spirit-world of childhood.” To notice the beauty all around. The birds and the bumble bees, the wild flowers popping up outside your cabin front door, the laughter and enthusiasm of your children. It’s the time to put down your shopping basket in the supermarket and talk to those you have lived beside for the last 21 years. Your friends. Who you only see here because you don’t go out any more. We are always so busy, too busy to stop. So we pause and we listen, we hear, we love and we end up not exiting those sliding supermarket doors until 2 hours later.
And your heart just keeps on opening again and again.
It’s amazing what hearts can go through. It’s amazing what hearts continue to do.

Go easy in this lead up to Christmas time. It is a time full of emotion and expectation. Memories and Desires. Wishes and Dreams. It’s an incredibly challenging time for many. Go easy.
Pause. Soak in the natural joys. Keep turning towards what opens your heart. Remember, you are needed here. Remember, you are loved.

Happy Christmas time
Love Jo xx

Cabbage Tree Christmas Star. Saturday 6th December.

Bye from santa and me. xx

One of my most listened to songs this year says Spotify Wrapped.

“The goal of life is to make your heartbeat match the universe, to match your nature with nature”

Joseph Campbell

Californian Poppies, Butterfields Wildlife Area, Albert Town, New Zealand,
16th November 2025, 1.30pm

Thank you for Being here dear Reader. Your time and presence are so appreciated. Time and Presence. The most meaningful and precious gifts you can offer anyone in your life, from your children to the local barista.
Other meaningful gifts, if you happen to be looking for gift ideas for your loved ones, or for that matter, any other human, plant or animal in this entire Universe, are the gifts of:
Genuine Seeing, Hearing, and Understanding.
I can guarantee they will not disappoint. They cost nothing. They will not be secretly dropped off into the WasteBusters recycle bin the next day. And you may just find that the gift boomerangs right back at you. This is how it works.

I have just deleted an 8 minute Raw And Unfiltered ramble that followed on from my Wise and Profound beginning, giving you other gift ideas including flowers (wild, not petrol station purchased!), lingerie (not red!), local handmade pottery, jewellery, books…(not another fucking cook book please!). Jo stop!!! This is not what you were going to write today.

Hāwea River Track, 16th November 2025, 12.42pm

I have a confession to make

I have become a wild thing

Immersed in Nature, of which I live and breathe in every footstep I take

in my current cabin and tiny house set up.

I have started greeting the Tui, quail, black birds, goldfinch, heron, skinks, and Bunnies ( it is illegal to call rabbits cute names in NZ) who live here in harmony with me. I am getting to know their routines. We share regular nods and comments on the weather with each other.

I talk to the stars. They guide me through this stage of my life.

I forecast the weather, not by looking online at what the NZ Metservice says, but by how it feels on my skin
by how it smells as I breathe in the early morning outside at 4.30 a.m.

I have taken to hanging my washing on the line naked.
There is nothing nicer.
Have you tried it?
A warm breeze will caress your buttocks. It may even make you smile with the sheer delight, the absolute pleasure of being in close proximity to the essence of Life.

I have a confession to make

So wild have I become that

I have started to pee on the grass

outside my cabin, which is closer than walking across the 9 paving stones to the civilised toilet, white in colour, with seat and lid and a flushing button, and a roll of toilet paper hanging handily on the wall beside.

I crouch down in the dark of night,
a position that my knees query with me upon the getting back up,
and I relax into the most primal of positions
squatting over the earth, under the stars,
feeling like I have returned to some ancient past
It feels Known. It feels Real and Connected.

Until the morning

when I notice in the broad daylight

of Reality

that an ever widening circle

of brown dead grass has appeared amongst the lush green,

a circle of which I appear to have created

with the power of my urine.

The shame of being exposed, the blush of Eve upon the Knowing of Sin.

Lupins. A weed many say. A delight I say. 10th November 9.57a.m

I have a confession to make

Today I woke up in a house

a Real House

with high ceilings and 4 solid walls and a front door
with a washing machine inside, in a room in the house! and a tub ( A Tub!!!) beside,
with a large oven and a pantry! ( A Pantry!! Pant Pant)
and with a toilet a few steps from my bedroom
inside, inside the house!

I find myself
dizzy and swaying
as though I have just come back from a long voyage
off a rocky sailing trip
back onto solid ground.
Familiar yet strange,
a reorientation of the compass.

It is bracing to be reminded that this is how I used to live before I became Wild and Unmoored. Back When I actually gave a f..k about shaving my legs with any care or effort. Back When I had a house with 4 bedrooms and space for my kids to come home to, with an oven for my famous lasagne and apple crumble. It feels unbelievable that for a year and more I have been crawling, leaping, retreating, running towards, falling, scrambling, opening, as I continue the prayer to find stable housing.

I am so grateful to be given the opportunity to stay in this home for three weeks of the 4 months that my kids are home from University over Summer.
It’s still rocky seas out there though, it’s still all unknown. The house, despite being on strong foundations, feels like its going to crumble underneath me at any moment. But I have to keep focussing on the birds and the bunnies, on the beauty that Nature and Life gives us in any moment. I consider this all as I pee in the toilet. Like a Civilised person. Like a non Wild person.

“Oh Mum Look at you,” my daughter exclaims as I walk down the hill from the depths of the untamed forests of Cabin Living to greet her. “You look so cute! You look like you’re in your element mum.” I start running down the hill to greet this gorgeous creature who I haven’t seen in months, holding on to my wide brimmed straw hat, bra less breasts bouncing freely under floral floaty top, denim shorts stained with dust and dirt, and gumboots stomping through the mud to finally reach her for a fierce embrace. ❤️

With Love

Jo xx

Desk set up for a few weeks. A river flows at the bottom of the garden. It is beautiful. And did I mention there is a pantry, and a washing tub, and an inside loo!

Incoming Storm. Lake Wānaka. 12th October 2025, 10.23 a.m

I’m not the kind of runner who’s looking to win races.
I’m the kind of runner, whose big win is simply running in nature
immersed in the elements.
I invite you to come along with me
it’s ok, we can go slow
because that’s what I do,
we’ll pause and enjoy the journey.
I am older now you see, and oh so wise, and insist on embracing the moments, the offerings of Life, more Fully.

We will dip our head into that pine tree on the cliff edge that thinks it’s Christmas all year round. We’ll inhale it’s scent. We’ll possibly get poked by needles. It’s a daring enterprise to immerse oneself in Life.

We will pick a twig of spring blossom from the wild apple tree (after asking Tree for permission of course). We will tuck it into our top or leggings for safe keeping. We’ll forget it’s there, and then be wonder- fully surprised when getting undressed in our bathroom later
as we are showered with a glorious pink petal confetti.
Nature is celebrating you, reminding you. She’s good like that.

Glendhu Bay Track, Wānaka, 12th October 2025, 10.17a.m

We may go out in an electrical storm. But before you start berating me for being careless I would like to assure you that I have great respect for the elements and the weather. Ok ok, there was that one time I was rescued by helicopter and a NZ SAR team but they reassured me it could have happened to anyone, that I did all that I should have, in this for ever changing alpine environment….. ( gosh they are amazing heroes those people. Donate immediately.) So yeah, the electrical storm, I mean it wasn’t a fully blown thunder and lightening storm when I started out, Just a very Ominous Dark and Heavy Sky which called to me, it said
“immerse yourself immediately Joanna!”
and yes it may just have developed into one of the biggest electrical storms Wānaka has had in years and yes it was “thunderbolt and lightning very very frightening… Galileo!!”
But oh how The Storm matched and met my mood. And after the necessary acknowledgment of my feelings by wise old Therapist Mother Nature, my dark mood transformed. I could see the light. That constant Giver of Joy didn’t even ask for payment.
“Just spread the word to Protect me”, she said.
I could smell the electricity.
I am Alive the sky said. I am Alive! I yell back.
And you see, this is Life
Your heart will boom
You will be all lit up
You may even wonder if this is your time, if you’ll be struck down and then
you’ll give thanks when you arrive home safe,
completely electrified and energised by the sheer force of Mother Nature.
And then later, the plug will be taken out of your socket
by the sheer force of your own Mother
who calls from Auckland
and is rather good at popping your bubble,
even though she means well, I am sure, and
even though I am 53, it still gets to me
somehow.

Glendhu Bay Track, Wānaka, 12th October 2025, 10.57a.m

Running in a snowstorm is the ultimate win in my opinion,
the delight of moving with soft white flakes falling out of the sky,
the landscape, oh so quiet, in reverence, as she receives this cleansing
bounty from the heavens
tussock and kānuka bend their heads as they feel the weight of the offering,
my eyelashes blink and shimmer with snowflakes.
The beauty of being the only one out there, wondering why on earth Everyone isn’t out here!? After all, it only snows in town once or twice a year. It is pure magic.
And then, oh look! In the distance, on this remote Lake Hāwea track, amongst the swirls of snow, a colourful person bouncing along towards me with a sun beam of a smile a mile wide upon his face. I am not alone. I am not the only mad/sane one out here.
We don’t know each other but we do know each other.
Because we recognise ourselves in the joyful all weather runner. It doesn’t matter that he is youthful and bouncy in his stride and quite possibly wearing a pace monitor. It doesn’t matter that I am older and most definitely slower.
We know each other’s heart and we know each other’s soul.
He holds out his hand as he passes, I open my gloved hand to meet his
and snap, clap,
we connect.

Snowy welcome home. 27th October 8.01a.m

I would rate that snowy run as one of my PBs.
What’s your PB?
A PB, for those of you who don’t know, is a Personal Best. I learnt the acronym from an ex boyfriend in the 90’s who was always striving for PBs. He specialised in 10ks. He was a lovely man and very supportive of my own brand of PB. He would laugh, with love, that I would come back most days saying “wow that was the Best Run ever!” A Personal Best again. “Today I stopped to talk to cows,” I would say excitedly, as he marked his charts with times and distances and prepped his after run protein loading to make the most of the Golden Hour of Metabolism (that used to be a thing back then, it may still be).
I tell him about the cows’ adorable eyes and flicking ears. He tells me about how his Wednesday night track running is really improving his speed on the trails. We are both filled up. And I guess that’s a good way for any relationship to be.
Both having your own versions of Personal Bests
of what makes your heart sing
and then coming Home
and sharing the joy with another.
He used to also enjoy that other PB acronym. Peanut Butter.
Jam and PB on toast was his fav. He said it was a great combo for training. I would often find half eaten pieces of sticky toast on window sills, chests of drawers, and once, in the washing machine.
This was a PB joy that we didn’t share.
But I guess that’s also a part of any good relationship
- to accept both the sweet and the salty
to feel the crunch in your teeth, the tightening of jaw, and as efficiently as possible digest the nutty bits and
let it go, right out the other end.

Anyway, as usual I have gone off track,
Back on track. Back on the trail now.

Glendhu Bay Track, Wānaka, 29th October 2025, 11.40 a.m.

I think we can all define our own form of Personal Best.

For some, it will be beating their previous time in a pre work morning circuit around the block. For others it may be returning each year to a favourite running event and trying to trim off a few minutes. I understand.
But for me, well, my body doesn’t seem to go any faster. It’s kind of stuck in 5th gear. So I get to enjoy the ride. I want to taste every bit of Life while I’m out there and why wouldn’t you? Look at what we have here in New Zealand.
We’re so damn lucky.

A Personal Best can be every day, any way.
It’s the days when you think you can’t,
when the hill of Life looks too steep,
too big to climb
it’s those days, when Despite that feeling of fear or overwhelm or apathy
you dig deep and find that little flicker of light
you pull out your Hokas, tie your shoelaces and take the first step…
You may just find yourself,
climbing out of the cloud
standing on hill or mountain top
with a different perspective. A bigger view.
Mind relaxed. Heart open. Soul glowing.
That act is a Personal Best.
The act of finding your Light every day.

NOTE: If you are not a runner, as most normal people aren’t, please insert instead of Hoka running shoes,…. art, music, cooking, dancing, gardening, singing, walking, laughing…..the list is endless. It’s your choice. It’s your Light.