13/04/2026
Morena 🌿 i like to share a story today ✍🏼
It begins with a child, Hine
standing at the edge of the bush. Her grandmother, a Tohunga Rongoā, takes her hand.
They do not just pick; they ask. They offer a karakia to Tāne Mahuta, acknowledging the life force (mauri) of the forest.
The grandmother points to the Kawakawa. She shows Hine the leaves filled with holes—the ones the looper moth has eaten. "The plant sends its best healing energy to these wounded leaves," she whispers. "We take these to heal our own wounds."
They gather the heart-shaped leaves, careful to never take too much, ensuring the kaitiakitanga (guardianship) of the grove. Back at the whare, they boil the water. The steam rises, carrying the peppery scent of the land. Hine watches as the green water is prepared to soothe a neighbor’s aching joints. She sees the pain leave the neighbor's face, replaced by peace.
Years pass. The grandmother becomes the ancestor, returning to the earth to nourish the roots of the trees they once harvested.
Hine is now the elder. She stands at the edge of the same bush, her own grandson’s hand in hers. She looks at the Kawakawa, its leaves still heart-shaped and bitten by moths. She begins the karakia, her voice a bridge between the past and the future.
"We do not just pick," she tells the boy. "We ask."
The circle is complete, and the healing begins again.
