PETER PAN & WENDY

“The moment you doubt whether you can fly, you cease for ever to be able to do it.”

— J. M. Barrie - Peter Pan & Wendy

The original telling of the Peter Pan story is so much more complex than the disney movie we all know and love.

For one thing, Peter is not portrayed as a loveable imp, but as a forgetful and uncaring boyish character, while the ever-hated Captain Hook is actually shown to be a morally fraught gentleman, with a vengeance.

For another thing, the subject of death is broached without much formality, and a Lost Boy could die as soon as any dastardly Pirate. Such is the way of things in Neverland.

If you are prone to falling in love with fantasy, and losing yourself in other worlds, then beware - this novel about Neverland will have you in a day dream for weeks.
The author, J. M. Barrie, writes in such a charming manner - speaking to the reader every now and again to make us aware of the twists and turns of the tale, while also diving us deep down into a legend of details - into a place where mermaids comb their hair and blow bubbles, but leave the hero to die a slow death by the tides; where a dog called Nanna can take care of three children; where a pirate can worry about right manners and 'good form'; and where children live freely in an underground bunker beneath a hollow tree trunk. 

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“Will they reach the nursery in time? If so, how delightful for them, and we shall all breath a sigh of relief, but there will be no story. On the other hand, if they are not in time, I solemnly promise that it will all come right in the end.”

— J. M. Barrie

WENDY'S TEST FOR THE BOYS:

 

1) Describe mother's laugh.

2) Describe father's laugh.

3) Describe the kennel and its inmate

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* the beautiful illustration of Peter and Hook is by Robert Ingpen.

THE DUNES OF DUNEDIN

Living on one of two relatively small islands means I have grown up within breathing distance of salty sea air. It is only a hop, a skip, and a long jump to reach the beach here in New Zealand. 

I go to the beach for every occasion - to chill with a friend on the sand dunes, to find adventures in the beach caves, to run at a gallop beside my dogs on the edge of the water and sand, and most of all to find some sense of inner calm.

The beach is my retreat from the world - a place on the edge of all existence where I can hear a deep silence.

In my mind, there is a storage of beach memories - all those small wonders accumulated from the days, seasons, and years spent beside the rolling waves. 

Between the dunes and tussock reeds, there exists...

A family day out, with boogie boards and ice cream at the end of the day.

The sandcastle of my dreams: all turrets and moats and seashell portals.

A tonne of sand that wants to get stuck in your hair, your eyebrows, behind your ears, and in your dogs fur. 

A flurry of seagulls that pester anyone who brought fish and chips.

A collection of shells, waiting to be made into a driftwood mobile. 

Two old ladies, sitting under an umbrella, watching the ships roll by.

A section of sand that has been wet and then dried, so that the surface is hard, and cracks under your feet.

An ever changing display of waves, turquoise blue in the summer sun, broody and grey in the winter, touched with white foam at the tips.

A deep hole, dug by somebody else, and filled with water by the rising tide.

A moment of reflection, and the overwhelming realisation that we are so small, so tied to this land, this earth that nourishes us. An epiphany into the wild beauty of life. A sense of wonder at the other world that exists within that vast ocean.

SATURDAY FARMER'S MARKET

Some Saturdays I would take a break from my studies, and accompany my family to the Saturday Farmer's Market.

It is such a joy to walk between the stalls, weaving through people, conversations, smells of hot pizza ovens, and the wafting lyrics of a busker with a guitar. 

The fresh produce is every changing, with misshapen organic oranges in the summer, and giant fronds of silver kale in the winter.

Then there are the ol' faithfuls - the pie cart, the juice place, and the woman selling Lebanese pastries and pickled vine leaves. 

Each person is a beautiful sight to behold at the Farmer's Market. A lady with purple tinged hair and wearing all red carries a straw basket full of carrots. A group of young beatniks congregate to talk academics by the coffee cart. Near the cheese stall, there is meeting between a grey haired man in a smart bowler hat, and a woman with a scarf that is all the colours of the rainbow. She is rolling a trolley bag to and from her house, to fill with a week's worth of groceries.

I am not so pragmatic, and all my money seems to disappear, only to reappear in the form of a very full stomach and empty tote bags.  

All photos were taken at the Otago Farmer's Market, which happens each Saturday beside the Dunedin Railway Station.