As I went walking I saw a sign there
And on that sign it said “No Trespassing”
But on the other side it didn’t say nothing
That side was made for you and me.
This land is your land, this Land is my land
This land was made for you and me

-Woody Guthrie

The Maori name for land and placenta is the same – Whenua. Traditionally the placenta and umbilical cord are buried in the earth signifying a connection between the newborn and place.

Aboriginal people have a profound connection to the land that dates upwards of 40, 000 years.  The land owns the people and the people are deeply connected to place.

As a westerner and a nomad I find great romance in these traditions. I was born in Sydney and raised in New Zealand. Flying back to Sydney in my late teens I had a deep sense of homecoming but when I visit her now, marveling at her coastline, like a mouth of perfect teeth, I feel like a visitor. Even though my two beautiful friends have made their place there, planted homes and babies, filled it with love and joy, she is not my home, just a place I love to visit and always leave.

I sometimes wonder if this relentless urge to travel is really just a deep seated longing for  place. I am drawn to the ocean but there is no place that is mine.  Vernon, an Aboriginal friend, called me a Saltwater girl and I liked that. I like the idea that the Coast is a place that I can belong to. Though there is no coast with my placenta buried, no place with the weight of ancestral history I feel like I am home when I am near the ocean.

Lately I have come to think of my body as a home. I am not sure why this thought has not occurred to me before. Feeling a connection to my body is a recent experience for me and one that is so very welcome.

Flying back to Sydney in my late teens I had a deep sense of homecoming but when I visit her now, marveling at her coastline, like a mouth of perfect teeth, I feel like a visitor.

My body is a beautiful home; it is strong sturdy and mobile. Over the years I have treated it rather shabbily, yet it held firm, stood with dignity, weathered the storms. I have lived in this home for 42 years, it is weathered and cracked but I am finally starting to notice how extraordinary it is.

I am learning to tend to this body, this home. I have been sober for six months and eating clean for half of that time. I have shed weight and started running. My legs are strong. They ground me to the earth, move me through nature and tuck beneath my body like wings when I rest. I am so very grateful to them.

If I am very lucky I will be half way through living in this home. I have done nothing to deserve a long healthy life. Though I exude health and wellness now, there are decades of drug and alcohol use and abuse. Food with no nutritional value, just plates of flavor. My body is a temple where I go to pray for forgiveness.

My body is a beautiful home. It shelters my soul. It holds my heart. It expresses my joys and sorrows. It moves and it dances. My body is a beautiful home that I am only just learning to tend to. May it not be too late.  May it carry me further – into sunsets that slip down the sky on fire and waters deep with secrets. My body is a beautiful home.

The recipe I am posting is one I developed and cooked while we were living on the beach. The Crepes can be filled with anything but the combination of the silver beet, marinated feta and sweet slow cooked onions is a great one.

Buckwheat Crepes 

=R1=

Marinated Fetta

=R2=

Silverbeet Salad

=R3=

Caramelized Onions

=R4=

Enjoy x