Rangi Haraki wakes up at 4am every morning to walk his team of dogs. Retired from farming, his body clock is still set for work hours and he’s having to rehome his working dogs one by one. He says it’s been hard to let them go. Ko Ngati Porou tona iwi. Ko Materoa raua ko Hauiti tona tupuna. Rangi grew up in Matawai. He worked on many farms, from Waikaremoana to Tokata and many places in between. He met his darling Kerry, a shearing rousey, at Bartletts. Two cultures perfectly collided and the result was a long and happy partnership of 50 years and 2 children. Kerry grew up in an Irish Catholic community near Sydney. As Tauiwi immersing herself in te ao Māori Kerry says there were no real issues. Rangi’s whānau were welcoming, although he did get a bit of a ribbing about his new girlfriend down at the pa. Kerry is a vivacious 74 year old who speaks te reo, but she tells me she is still learning, she never stops learning. Decolonisation is important to her. That includes decolonisation of land and language and she is currently learning Irish Gaelic, a language which was once almost extinct. There are parallels between cultures she says, both te reo and Irish Gaelic are having a resurgence through a concerted effort to preserve them. Both cultures suffered the intergenerational trauma of colonisation and the more Kerry learns about her whakapapa the more similarity she finds. The English used the Irish as prototype for colonisation, she says. They took land, prohibited use of language, denied education, music and religion. The Harakis invite us in for a mean boil up. The wood stove is warm with a homey hint of smokiness. The walls boast an eclectic collection of art alongside framed photos of tipuna and whānau. Kerry has picked fresh produce from her impressive vege garden, and it has to be said, it was the best cabbage I’ve ever eaten. They live on a 84 Hectare block of land, near Ihungia station where they both once worked. The Haraki’s property, Mangara, is an oasis amongst the pine forests. They give us a tour of the old Ihungia Station and I sense the ghosts of a once thriving community. Ihungia sits at the edge of the Ihungia river beneath an old pa site, Titi o Kura, which is now called by a pākeha name, and given a forestry number. Even the names are colonised, swallowing the history of the land. A dilapidated shearing shed and cook house stand against a backdrop of monotonous pine. It smothers the land as far as the eye can see. Once again I feel downhearted about the damage done by the forestry industry and the death of biodiversity. Kerry says, there’s a name for that sadness. It’s called ecological trauma and we are all feeling it. There is a patch of remnant native forest on the couple’s land. It’s protected by a rahui and it is a haven for diverse species of native flora and fauna. Rangi and Kerry and other community members have planted some of their property with native seedlings to try and replicate natural native forest. The seedlings look like David against the Goliath of pine forestry. Pine plantations began here in the ‘90s, with great sums being offered to landowners with promises of returns for the community, but quite the opposite happened. Ihungia station died almost overnight, and the people living here moved away. Ihungia school closed in 1996. Rangi and Kerry were able to purchase part of Ihungia station when it was subdivided for sale. They are dedicated to restoring native biodiversity at their own expense, and are in the throes of removing giant eucalyptus trees to give the native undergrowth a chance to thrive. It also allows the sun to hit their new solar panels, as they work toward complete self sufficiency. They hire a local arborist to take the eucalyptus trees down at their own cost, and it’s pricey, says Rangi, so they have to do it one tree at a time. And I thought that was profound, because that’s all any of us can do. Heal the whenua one tree at a time. Come back and stay anytime, they said as they loaded us up with gifts of fresh produce and waved us off. Once again I was struck by the unbeatable generosity of spirit among the people of the East Coast, even when so much has been lost. Story by Aimee Vickers Photos by Owen Vickers

The op shops are often top of mind when it comes to secondhand scores, but there are also gems galore at Jazzy Manerva, a consignment shop on the corner of Harris Street and Wainui Road. Owned and operated by Sarah Buckley, Jazzy Manerva provides you an opportunity to clean out your wardrobe and make some cash selling your clothes at the shop, and houses a stunning collection where you can spend that cash on something you really love. Sarah believes we can make a conscious impact without completely denying ourselves. “I’m someone that likes a bit of both. I wear mostly secondhand…if I buy something new, I’m going to buy something that is really special and great quality that I will wear for years and not just a season.” After 11 years working in retail as a stylist and window dresser in Wellington, Sarah understands the appeal of a lovely and fresh atmosphere. She ensures that all the items she sells are clean, pressed, and “good to go.” You could purchase a dress off the rack and wear it out the same night. The shop opened just after the first lockdown in 2020, but started with a stall at Up Market, with pieces Sarah had brought in from Wellington. That initial pop up went so well that she realised the consignment model would work well in Gizzy. It continues to surprise and delight her that many items people bring in still have the tags on. “We all have things in our wardrobe that we don’t wear any more or that make us feel a little guilty - we’ve all made bad purchases. But someone else may love it!” Sarah advises that if you haven’t worn something in a year (and it’s not a memento), it’s probably time to pass it on. You can take your items to Jazzy Manerva and Sarah will have a look through, handpick what she thinks will sell, and work with you to determine a price. The process is best streamlined when the items are brought in fresh and clean. Because sale proceeds are split between her and the clothing owner, she always aims for the best price. At the moment Sarah is accepting Autumn and Winter clothing to sell, but she also always keeps a stock of warm weather “resort” items for people going on holiday. As a shopper, you get all the fun of a treasure hunt with the assurance that someone with an eye for style has curated the stock. Sarah sees it time and again, “someone else’s mistake can be another person’s treasure!” And how good to give a unique piece another life, rather than simply buying something new. Jazzy Manerva is open Thursday, Friday and Saturday 10-4. Sarah also does an occasional pop up at markets. Follow @jazzymanerva on Instagram to stay in the know. Words by Victoria Williams Photographs by Tom Teutenberg

The Pohutakawa trees planted along the gravel road stand out against an otherwise desolate landscape. They are the footprints of Graeme Atkins, who put the seedlings in the ground twenty three years ago. Like lights on a runway, the trees guide us to Pokai marae in Ruatorea. Beautifully kept, the Marae boasts a chef worthy kitchen. It's good for hosting politicians, says Graeme. They've had a lot of those lately, here to discuss the same overarching theme. Forestry slash and climate change. The many faces of colonisation are threatening Ngati Porou way of life and the heartbeat of the whenua itself is in danger of being extinguished. Of Ngati Porou descent, Graeme has three grown children and lives near the marae with his wife, Makere, a paramedic in Ruatorea. Graeme worked for the Department of Conservation in this rohe for decades and knows the Raukumara ranges like the back of his hand. He now works for his iwi leading the Raukumara Restoration project and has been instrumental in the fight to save the Raukumara forest and its unique flora from extinction. Graeme shows me a fresh Pohutakawa shoot and points to a furry looking yellow patch on the stalk. "That's myrtle rust... it’s killing this tree" he explains. An import from Australia, similar to the Cordyceps fungus in the TV show ‘The Last of Us,’ this fungus spreads quickly and there is no cure. Once rust infects a tree it infects the surrounding trees and kills them slowly over years. When Graeme tells me that one rust spore can travel thousands of kilometres on the wind, the gravity of the situation almost makes my knees buckle. The realisation that the mighty Pohutakawa, New Zealand Christmas tree, symbol of hot summers and BBQs at the beach, is heading for extinction, is heavy. Nobody knows exactly what to do about it. Graeme tells me that scientists and citizens alike are experimenting with different fungicides and natural concoctions to find a cure, but it has not been found yet. It went from knee buckling to fall on the knees despair when Graeme took me to Tikapa beach. I wondered if I could ever put into words the sight of forestry slash, smothering the land and choking the sea. It's hard to convey. Graeme and Makere documented finding generations of crayfish and paua, from babies to granddaddies that lay dying amongst the slash, wiped out in one storm. And we know there’ll be more storms. I can only describe this as an ecological genocide. Death by forestry, and climate change. This is not the uplifting story I came here for, but I’d be doing a disservice if I didn’t report on how dire the situation is. Thankfully, Graeme turned my despair into something more hopeful when he took us to his whare for a cup of tea and a walk around his garden. Graeme is warm, approachable and intelligent, with an unmatched knowledge and passion for te taiao. His garden is full of interesting and rare native plants, some on the brink of extinction. He’s particularly proud of the masses of healthy Kakabeak bushes growing all through his property. Endangered in the wild, they are notoriously difficult to grow. Pests love them, but his are thriving. He goes out at night with a pair of scissors and deals to most of the slugs and snails, but he’s not averse to using snail bait if necessary. Anything to protect the taonga. As we walk I notice a ground cover I’ve never seen before, for good reason. It only grows at Graeme’s house. It’s otherwise extinct as far as we know, Graeme says as he shows me a book about extinct and endangered NZ native plants and turns to a page with the groundcover. On the map of NZ he points to one tiny red dot on the most eastern coast of Te Ika a Maui. “That’s me.” He says without any pretentiousness, “I found it here.” Apart from the spot he found it, Graeme’s whare in Ruatorea is the only place on earth the plant grows. Graeme found the species and reported the finding to a botanist (he knows a few), who identified it as Mazus novaezeelandiae subspecies impolitus forma hirtus, once considered extinct. Graeme has an incredible eye for spotting difference amongst the sameness of the forest. He recently found a seed pod he had never seen before and sent photos to a botanist friend. Even the botanist had not seen it before, so it may be an undiscovered species, and is now going through an official identification process. By the time I leave with a pocket full of seeds, a small section of the aforementioned groundcover, and a rare native iris, I feel more optimistic knowing there are people like Graeme in the world, not only for his Kaitaikitanga but for his willingness to share his knowledge, to educate others. As we drive back through the Pohutakawa lined roads, locals smile and give us a quick wave. I see resilience and graciousness. They are still smiling after everything, like Graeme, as much a taonga as the land itself. In fact it’s hard to separate the man from the land. You can see him in the trees. I left with a determination to plant the seeds and guard them with my life. Graeme Atkins may be an environmental hero, but he can’t do it alone. Story by Aimee Vickers Photographs by Owen Vickers

I have always dreamed of living in a house truck or bus. From the age of six to ten, my mum, sister and I, along with our cat and dog, lived in an old 1949 Ford bus. It didn’t drive much anymore, and it was parked in an old cow shed on my mum's friend’s land. I loved our time there, and ever since, I have dreamed of going back to a home like that. I feel comfortable in a small space. I dabbled in house truck living for a couple of years when my older daughter (now 21) was 8. We rented an old house bus that was built into a hillside on those same friends’ land. The rest of my life, I have moved from rental to rental, never staying in one place for more than 2-3 years at a time. Until 2020. My oldest daughter was 18, we were renting a little house we loved, and I was expecting a new baby. When the pandemic hit, we lost our house as the landlord wanted to move back in. I came out of that house, paying $230 a week rent into a market in which a house cost $600 per week and I was about to go on maternity leave. Even if I’d had the money, which I didn't, I couldn't find a house to rent. There were just not enough houses for the amount of people searching. For the first time in my life as a renter, I was shut out of the market. So I removed myself from it. I took out a loan, while I still had a full income and they would still give me one, and went looking for a home online. I fell in love with my beautiful truck through photos, unable to see it in person due to travel restrictions and lockdowns. I took a leap of faith. Having just done 18 years of parenting, and looking towards the next 18, I thought I'd do something for me. I wanted to stop talking about it and make my ‘one day’ happen now. As a low income earner, home ownership was financially out of reach for me but I wanted to have something of my own. You could say I'm living my dream. Or you could say I’m creatively avoiding homelessness. Passionfruit is a humble little truck. She was cheap and came with a very basic set up. But I saw a blank canvas that I could make my own and call home. I wanted to provide a stable home for my youngest daughter (now 2 and a half), that could come with us whenever we had to move. I moved in with mum for a while to have my baby, and we have been living in it permanently since she was one. My whole set up is removable and lifts up. I attach nothing to the ground so I can up and move to the next bit of land when I need to. I am now a renter of land, and my home can come with me. I have just started to create a potted garden, so now I can take that with me too. I have everything I need. At a very basic level. Water and power have been the biggest challenges. Hard to live without either of them, obviously. Initially my truck's power source were the batteries which run the engine. While this worked for a while, the batteries eventually wore out and I wanted to separate the house power from the engine batteries, to preserve them. After researching how to set up solar panels, I worked it out. I was lucky to score a free deep cycle battery, and some cheap second hand solar panels. Along with a battery box/cover that allows you to plug USB into the battery, and a bit of help from a friend to connect them together and put them on my roof, I was away. Not having any appliances, it's a perfect set up. All I need to do is charge my devices, and some USB lights. You very quickly realise what you don't need with this lifestyle, and appliances were the first to go. I do miss having a blender though, so a USB rechargeable blender is next on my wishlist. The composting toilet system is a work in progress and I am trialling my first system now. While the concept of composting toileting waste is hard for people to get their heads around, I think it's all mind over matter. We currently have an “if you can't see it, it doesn't exist” attitude when it comes to our waste. I liken it to putting rubbish out on the kerbside. It goes in the plastic bag to be taken away by the truck and that's it. Like magic, it seemingly doesn't exist anymore. When we see the dump with our own eyes we know this isn't true. It’s the same with toilets. Flush it away and it's gone. Easy! I find it strange that people are okay with mixing our waste with chemicals and pumping it into the ocean, or the issues around waste flooding homes when there’s a lot of rain, but can’t get their head around our waste turning back into soil that's good for the earth. Initially I bought my truck because I wanted a home to call my own, but more and more it has become about living consciously and sustainably, with the earth, and off the grid. I have always been a subtle environmentalist, but living like this has allowed the passion to really take flight in me. I want my life and home to have as little impact on the earth as possible. And I'm getting there. If I had 10 times more money, I would reach my off grid dream more quickly. But as it is, I am slowly creating it piece by piece, as finances, energy and abilities allow. I'm not in a hurry, and there's a certain pride that comes with creating this life from scratch. My life is lived on a blurred line somewhere between camping and glamping. It's not quite glamorous, but not quite roughing it. It is by no means perfect or easy. Everything I do involves at least one extra step. Instead of filling the jug from the tap and putting the kettle on, I fill the kettle from a container of collected and filtered water, and then put the kettle on. Instead of turning on the shower, I switch my gas bottle over, connect the submersible pump, and then have a shower. Maybe eventually I will have those extra steps eliminated while still being off grid. But I kinda like working to live. Everything is that wee bit more satisfying when you've worked for it. I wouldn't change it for the world. Building and creating my own home, and holding myself to account for its footprint on the earth, is worth the extra effort. Words by Emma Photographs by Thomas Teutenberg

"I've never seen any life transformation that didn't begin with the person in question finally getting tired of their own bullshit." - Elizabeth Gilbert. I know I'm not the only one who gives an exasperated eye roll when I hear climate change denial in our news, social media and corporate advertising. Not always an outright brazen dismissal but a minimisation of the problem and the urgency needed to address it. We know it's real. We’ve been warned by climate scientists for decades. We didn't need Cyclone Gabrielle to prove the point but she ripped through anyway and we can only hope that the damage she left will convince naysayers to not only accept the forecast, but to take action. To change their mind-set to one where money isn’t the bottom line. An mind-set which values the earth and it’s animals, bugs, plants and microorganisms as something more precious, because without them we are nothing. The earth is forced to put up with our shit. But we can choose. Choose to go without, sometimes. We can choose not to have a manicured colonial lawn and to build a habitat for insects instead. We can choose to have meat free days or to buy second-hand furniture and clothing. To stop spending more and wanting more. As I killed my lawn I decided that I had no control over the government, the council, my neighbours or my family. I don’t have control over corporate polluters and befouling bureaucrats, but, I do have authority over myself and my own small piece of earth, (a privilege for some that should be a right for all). Under the circumstances it seems like a good time to stop taking up so much space and to plant more trees, and food. I mean, in a perfect world we'd have more to share while the land has a chance to regenerate, right? Communism! I hear you shout. You're dangerously close to communism! I know. It's too simple an ideological concept, but it's a drift I’m compelled to follow and the only one that makes any sense. I'm not going full commie here. I’m simply presenting a planet-over-money mind-set, and it's more of an ethos than a political stance. This was one of the reasons I grew a native forest in my front yard. Every time I heard of another animal declared extinct I felt a small grief, a brief hatred for humanity, including myself for being part of the destruction. I know hatred is a strong word to put to a feeling but at that point I needed to feel extreme emotions to flick the switch and stop fucking around. To start walking the talk. I got tired of my own bullshit and planted the damn trees. Of course people made fun and good-naturedly joked that I was 'bloody hippy.' And given the headline in the Gisborne Herald about my front yard forest, 'Bringing back the bush," it warranted jokes. To be fair it was a catchy title, and I was glad to share my story in the hopes of encouraging others to do the same. You stop caring about what people think when you hit middle age. There are more important things to be concerned with and I was committed to changing the way I live to help mitigate climate change, to feel I had some sense of control. And this brings me to the other, more personal reason I grew a forest. I'd lost control of my life. I was freshly and happily married, and my teenager was living his best life overseas. Middle-age brought with it a creative liberation and planting a micro forest was an extension of that. I romanticised the forest, and imagined myself writing a book or playing the ukulele there, amongst the shaded pathways of full grown trees, with fantails flitting around me while I write and drink Kawakawa tea. But, just as the trees were fresh in the ground I fell ill, and it was a long way to fall. Every time I thought I couldn't possibly plummet any further I’d land in another layer of discomfort and squall like a bird fighting to fly in a storm. I clung to each new diagnosis or medication like it was the fix, but I didn’t get better. Each new symptom or side effect knocked me off my temporary perch with a gust. I fell into a world of hazy pain and isolation. I spent the better part of a year in bed, gazing at a wall and wondering why I was even here anymore. I could contribute nothing. My brain function was impaired and I could barely walk with pain in my feet, ankles, knees, shoulders and hips. I was exhausted ALL the time. A dead-on-the-inside kind of fatigue. Blank. No electrical activity. I left the trees to their own devices, I had worse things to fret over. With only one income coming in how were we going to get through? Would we have to sell our house to survive? Being trapped in my own body with my survival instinct on high alert I was thrust into another YouTube algorithm. Suggested videos included food forests, tiny homes, and how to raise chooks. I was a captive audience to video after video showing people living happy and sustainable lives. People who’d gone against the capitalistic conditioning of ‘more is better’, or social conditioning which made them feel they weren’t good enough if they weren’t contributing to society by working themselves into an early grave. I began to see possibility where I’d once seen ruination. ‘I think we need to prepare.” I said to my husband. “If I can’t contribute financially maybe I could grow our food?” “As long as you don’t push yourself too much.” He shrugged. “I want you to get better.” He knows me well, and he’s great, but it took a little longer to get him to agree to the chickens. Nevertheless, we were soon enjoying tasty frittatas with potatoes and eggs from our own garden. I gave my husband directions from the couch and he made the chicken coop out of an old pellets and recycled materials. He also made a cute little potting shed out of pellets and an old window off the side of the road. So now I can grow my own vegetables from seed! Not only had our personal circumstances changed but the world had deteriorated in a short time. Coastal erosion, famine, war, floods, fires, pandemics. Food has become less affordable and interest rates have increased. We underwent the psychological process of letting go. We let go of our dream house on the beach and a trip to Italy. Instead, we looked at what we could cut from our budget. We were more conscious when buying groceries and using power. I couldn’t leave the house much so that saved petrol and we reduced expenditure wherever we could. I started building up my seed collection and taking free cuttings and seeds from friends. Fruit trees, fruit vines, fruit bushes, berries, vegetables, herbs, pollinators. Out of necessity I use a no dig method so I don’t have to expend energy, but it is also a wonderful way to allow the microbiome of the soil to remain healthy, and layers of compost are added after each harvest. On my ‘good' days I laid mulch (chucked down pea straw on cardboard. Super easy). I planted food amongst the native forest. I planted bananas, apples, nectarines, peaches, grapes, avocado, passionfruit and more. On my bad days I used a wooden stake to hoist myself on to a pillow for my knees and crawled around the garden pulling weeds. It took me three days to do a 30 minute job. I couldn't bend too far down, or lean too long. I struggled for breath and dripped with sweat. Legs like concrete. But, at the expense of the dirty dishes in the sink, I was outside, not staring at a wall and that helped me get through. I’m not dead yet, I’d say to myself. My front yard forest embraced me as I grieved the loss of function. As long as I could still tend my garden I could still be happy, I thought. On the days I couldn’t get out of bed I worried that I might lose that too. So, when I could, I kept moving, even if it was just a crawl. By now I’d watched so many permaculture videos that I stopped using sprays and started making my own compost, we saved money on green waste as well. In fact, all waste is reduced now that we’ve developed a system. Food scraps go to the chooks and I’m much better at recycling. I’m not the one who looks at an empty tin of tomatoes and throws it in the bin because I’m too busy and can’t be bothered to wash it out. No. That’s not me anymore. And, I’m more likely to have grown and preserved my own tomatoes too. In between these minute bursts of energy, there were days I could do nothing but sit in the fledgling food forest and watch it grow. The chooks and the fantails kept me company. It’s a nice scene from where you’re standing, but on the inside I was freaking out. The realisation that I may never recover...and what if something happened to my husband who was suddenly thrust into the role of sole provider. I went into a fight/flight response at the thought that I was losing my independence. I am not comfortable being dependent on anyone. I started obsessing over ‘what if’ scenarios. By this stage I was on a new medication and my condition had improved somewhat but I'd come to accept that I was never going to be 100%. So, once more, I went big. I began prepping for a zombie apocalypse. For all my ‘just in case’ scenarios. I can’t explain what was going through my head at the time but before I knew it I’d built a composting toilet and outdoor solar shower. My husband thought I might be taking things too far. “Do you want to be the one to christen the new toilet?” I offered proudly. “No thank you.” Came a quick reply. “I'm telling you now, I wouldn’t even shit on that in a category 5 Cyclone.” I gave him a knowing nod. We also had an old rainwater tank in our backyard. It was an eyesore and we’d been meaning to take it to the dump. However, in prepping spirit I changed my mind and kept it in case of drought so I could still water the garden. As it turned out, we needed it for something more vital. Our own survival. And my poor husband faced the mind- bending prospect of ‘shitting in a bucket.’ Cyclone Gabrielle arrived fast and hard. The first night was the worst. We brought all the animals inside and staked the trees. It was like a farmyard inside while a frighteningly strong wind ripped up the trees and strew the debris all over the yard. It rained so intensely that we woke up to a moat around our house. It was surface flooding, but we didn’t know how bad it had been in vulnerable places. We had no way to communicate with loved ones. Our town had no power, no landline phones, no internet. The local radio station was the only source of information and it was the only thing I DIDN’T have in my emergency pack. A transistor radio. (Note to self). Gisborne was completely cut off as bridges and roads washed away. A state of emergency was declared. We drove to check on family but we had to wait a whole week to let my son know we were OK. As news started to trickle down the grapevine we learned that people had been killed in flood waters and whole townships were under water. Some people had lost everything. Food and petrol trucks couldn’t get in and EFTPOS wasn’t working so we could only buy food if we had cash. And if that wasn’t devastating enough, then came the emergency alert to stop using water immediately, the main water pipe had been damaged in the storm. It was in that dreadful but selfishly glorious moment that I realised that I’d been contributing all along. I’ve gotchu whānau… A full tank of rainwater, a solar shower, a composting toilet and a full gas cylinder. Eggs and vegetables (the ones that survived). We not only had what we needed to survive, we had enough to share and were able to offer our help to other people who had lost much more than us. As this town recovers and settles back into a normality we know won’t last, I think it’s time to re-evaluate what we consider normal. Although I was forced by circumstance to give up my job and live more sustainably, my husband and I decided as a team that even if I get 100% better I will not go back to work in the capitalistic sense, because, actually, this is a really nice way to live. It’s gentler. We have proved to ourselves we can not just survive, but thrive on only one income. There is a sense of security in having one member of the team at home growing and cooking food, fresh from the garden, cleaning, (my least favourite), preserving food and keeping animals, all of which save money in the long run. I’m certainly no trad-wife and neither of us subscribe to gender roles but it naturally worked out that way, and for the first time in a long time I feel like my contribution matters. I’m healing my own small piece of earth, from a lifeless lawn to a productive, abundant, urban food forest. You never know what extreme event climate change is going to bring so I’m preparing for any scenario. My next project is to build a glasshouse with raised garden beds. I have been collecting old windows that have thrown out and learning more about home food production. I would like to keep bees. You’ll be pleased to know that almost all of the native seedlings survived the cyclone, and my front yard forest just keeps growing. Story by Aimee Vickers Photographs by Tom Teutenberg.

Izzy Te Rauna is here to help us with our pile… You know the one? That slippery stack of sewing jobs. The dress that needs its hem adjusted. The bung zip. The top you found at the oppy that just needs a little sumthin’ to make it actually work for you. That pile of clothing that often sits growing, (taunting you) in a corner for months on end, waiting impatiently for you to find the time or motivation to attend to it. That same pile that we may just end up giving up on and dropping off at the op shop to free ourselves from the guilt of never getting around to it… Lucky then for Izzy and her Upstyle Your Wardrobe Night Classes at EIT. These classes run for four evenings a week for four weeks, from 5 - 8:30pm and they provide the perfect opportunity for you to tend to your ‘pile.’ “I’ll help you figure out how to put it all together and how to pull it off”. Izzy is on hand to help you with the technical side of things, she’ll help you navigate your planning and cutting processes and find your way around the sewing machines. She is clearly in her element in EIT’s Design space. A Toihoukura graduate who got her post-graduate Diploma in teaching from Waikato University, she identifies her strongest suit as problem solving and loves these classes for the stuff that happens when people create together. “It’s more than I ever expected, I love it”. After spending so much of her life in trackies and oversized hoodies, at this point in her life Izzy is all about “dressing the way I want to be treated”. She loves being creative and wearing clothes that make her feel good. “They’re a sort of armour” she muses and she acknowledges that she is prone to dressing as if she’s off to some fabulous cocktail event. Many of the sewing projects brought to the classes involve adjustments to make garments feel more flattering or comfortable for the wearer. And while Izzy’s starting point will often be some fairly eclectic and out of the box suggestions, the problem solving process is often a collaborative one amongst all the students. “You never know what skills are going to be in the room” she notes, and there have been some fabulous outcomes. These are ACE courses (Adult Community Education), which are all about people introducing new ideas to, and upskilling our community. The ACE coordinator Bridget French Hall says she is always on the lookout for facilitators amongst our community who are keen to share their knowledge and skills. If you’d like to find out more about other ACE courses on offer, or chat about facilitating a class yourself, contact Bridget on bfrenchhall@eit.ac.nz. The next Upstyle Your Wardrobe course starts on May 1. It runs 5:30pm-8:30pm, four nights a week for four weeks. You pick which days you're able to attend! You can book here: https://www.trybooking.co.nz/NIW Photo by Tom Teutenberg Words Sarah Cleave

Just as the CBD experiences another one of its periodic clear outs, where the number of empty shop windows threaten to outnumber the number of occupied ones, a stunning new clothing store has opened on our main street. This beautiful store is the result of a story that spans generations, weaving together family, culture and design. ST is a designer clothing store literally like no other. High fashion couture meets Pasifika culture, bringing a boldness and brightness to Gladstone Road that we so need right now. Susana Tasi is the name of a woman who has harboured a lifelong passion for fashion and design, put on hold for decades until it was finally given flight last year at the sixth annual Pacific Fusion Fashion Show in Papatoetoe, Auckland. For years, service to her family and community had been the priority for Susana, with her sketchbook serving as a kind of therapy at the end of a challenging day at work. Many of the seven pieces Susana designed for her debut collection paid tribute to her mother, who came to live in Tāmaki Makaurau Auckland from Falelima in Samoa in the 1960s. Having grown up taking turns with her siblings to turn the wheel on the Singer sewing machine as their mother turned out curtains, table clothes and shirts for her children, often from the same cloth, the connection is a close one. ST the store is inspired by this debut collection, and is run by Susana’s sister, Michelle, who were born and raised together in Otara. Susana has been in the Tairāwhiti for six years working on the frontline in social services supporting individuals and families impacted by domestic violence and mental health. Since moving here she has represented Gizzy effusively at every opportunity, which is why when the time came to follow up her debut onto the fashion scene with a store, she decided to do it right here in Tūranganui-A-Kiwa, Gisborne. Michelle had been living in Samoa, getting in touch with their family roots, and working as a GM in the corporate telecommunications sector when she got the call up to join her sister in a new venture. With the two sisters’ skills combined, Susana Tasi is bound for the stars. The current offerings include three different apparel brands, one is a colourful Pasifika take on Street styles offering quality hoodies and polo shirts. The other two lines include both classic and playful pieces to work and play in. There’s a noticeable interplay between the feminine and masculine in many of the pieces, with options for so many occasions! Michelle has turned the online shop off for now, to give locals the opportunity to get in before the limited runs sell out, so now’s your chance to check this fabulousness out! susanatasi.com 109 Gladstone Rd , Gisborne. Follow @S.T on Facebook to keep up to date with the styles, the people and the fun as it all evolves... Words Sarah Cleave Photos by Thomas Teutenberg

When we’re thinking about ethical fashion habits, there’s no better place to start than with a galavant around our city’s rather fabulous selection of op shops… shall we? We’re going to start out at Heaven Sent because Nancy (pictured here) is undoubtedly the matriarch of our local op shopping scene. Those of us who have been around long enough might remember Nancy from old days of yore when she managed the Bojumbles store on Gladstone Road. Heaven Sent is about as old school as it gets. No fixed hours, no electricity, no eftpos. But try your luck around lunchtime weekdays or a Saturday, and you might just be rewarded with some gold. New stuff is shipped from Auckland regularly and original vintage items are often in the mix. If we’re heading uptown from there, we’ll next hit the Hospice. The Hospice is an all-rounder, with high quality clothes, books, crafty bits and kitchenware all organised in a very orderly manner. The clothes are rotated on a seasonal basis, so sharp op shoppers will be ready to pounce at the start of the new season, and if you keep an eye out for the end of season sales you’ll be in for some bargains. Red Cross is the next stop, on Gladstone Road. Clothing here is very tidy and of a uniformly good condition. There are often new items in the mix too from brands that know better than to dump their unsold stock. Skip a block and cross the road and you’re at the Salvation Army, known affectionately in our family as 'The Salami’. Join the regulars for a sing along to whatever is spinning dustily on the record player and browse to your heart’s content. If colour-themed arrangements of clothing and objects makes your heart happy, this is the op shop for you! Free books pile outside, we’re all winning. SPCA is just a hop, skip and a jump away, and is the place to go for those of us who get overwhelmed by too much selection. Another spot for uniformly tidy and less used clothes, and there are usually a few plants in the mix. Now for a bit of a walk before you reach the Salvation Army Furniture store, which might not stock clothes, but does provide an ethical alternative to K-Mart furniture (which is going to start looking shabby and probably fall apart within the year, but that’s another conversation…) Habitat for Humanity just next door. This is one of those mega stores, so make sure you’re fueled up before you hit it. There’s often some interesting furniture, and always lots of kitchenware, blankets, curtains, and crafty things. Clothes? There are heaps of clothes, also colour coded, and shoes. There are often $5 dollar fill a bag scenarios. And last but not least, if you’re in the market for a new frock, and have one or two that you’re ready to let go of, bundle them up and head into the Tairāwhiti Environment Centre for a browse of their Frock Swap rack. Golden. Stayed tuned for more local gems, coming soon!

And just when you thought you’d seen ‘em all, another gorgeous artist-run studio space has popped up in town.. Studio 4 is just a roller door down from the Far East Roastery, on Awapuni Road. It’s the creative home to Nikki Renwick and Nathan Foon, and a rapidly growing collection of beautifully rendered clay objects, paintings and prints. Nikki goes by the artist name of Namiko Native Design. Originally from Westport, she landed here on the East Coast after a decent stint over the ditch. A self-taught artist, she’s been creating her whole life; a practice that’s kept on evolving and morphing over time, from jewellery to ceramics, to digital art. Now that she has a space away from the distractions of home, with its limitations on sprawl, Nikki is looking forward to working on some bigger painted pieces and messy ceramic art. Before embarking on the huge creative undertaking that was transformation of the Tatapouri Bay campground, Nathan Foon had been living in Auckland pursuing his own artistic dreams. He was painting and exhibiting in group shows, providing illustration work for brand collaborations and making artworks for film and television. Studio 4 is the next step in Nathan’s creative journey, allowing him to wholeheartedly dive back in. And while he says he’ll always love painting, he’s excited about pottery, which is his new favourite medium. The pair will be inviting other artists to share their studio space via month-long residencies. Recognising the common story of artists investing in a studio space but not quite managing to create or maintain a habit of actually using the space, the idea behind these residencies is the impetus it will give artists to get stuck into a body, or piece of work, in a set period of time. Nikki and Nathan are looking forward to sharing creative energy with different artists, and seeing how this reflects in their respective outputs during each residency. Studio 4 will also be holding Clay Dates and workshops, with the first one happening soon on March 23! If you are interested in learning more about Studio 4 residencies, Clay Therapy, Paint and Sips and upcoming workshops get in touch via email on Hello.studio4artspace@gmail.com or call Nikki on O273490657. Words Sarah Cleave Photos by Tom Teutenberg

Gizzy Local When was the last time you practiced some self-care? In the cyclone crisis mode we’ve been in, self-care has likely not been a high priority. But if you’re noticing the effects of the stress and disruption that we are all continuing to navigate, now is probably the right time to start to call upon some self-care habits! Local health coach Becs Erickson calls upon the oxygen mask principle to explain - you’ve got to put your own mask on first before you can face the crisis and assist others. “You have to take good care of you first, and then overflow to others.” Instead of the mindset of ‘I don’t have time’ or ‘I don’t deserve it,' Becs would love to see self-care treated as a non-negotiable, “then everything becomes more doable.” Self-care means something different to everyone. The kind that Becs is encouraging is about small, positive incremental lifestyle changes that ultimately lead to big impacts on overall health. She coaches these in her course 'Good Change', which takes women on a journey of seasonal alignment and self-care, to help them find an easeful way of integrating daily self-care habits. Certified in Ayurveda and Yoga, Becs’ coaching is grounded in the holistic teachings of Ayurveda, a healing system developed thousands of years ago in India. Ayurveda comes from the Sanskrit words ayur meaning life and veda meaning knowledge or science, and it empowers individuals to achieve and maintain balance in body, mind, and spirit through the different stages and seasons of their lives. Ayurveda guides her approach, however Becs also weaves in modern teachings of Mindset and Behavioral Science. A lifetime learner, she’s a sponge for knowledge. Becs also understands the information can’t just stay up in our heads. “Many of us know all this stuff, but it can become top heavy. When I created Good Change I wanted it to be embodied learning, a hands-on or ‘felt’ experience in your body of how it feels when you do these practices. So that your body remembers.” The full Good Change programme runs all year, spread over 3 seasons of 12 weeks each. You can join for the year or a season, and the Winter intake is now open (each 12-week season aligns with an Ayurvedic season). The heart of the programme is a weekly online meeting, and it also includes one-on-one coaching and invitations for deeper self-inquiry through reflective practices. As a busy working mum herself, Becs isn’t trying to add to anyone’s to-do list. The inspiration for Good Change comes from the Japanese word kaizen, or small, incremental change. The habits you learn in the course don’t take a whole lot of effort. They’re more like 1% shifts that ideally become automatic. “Once upon a time brushing your teeth wasn’t automatic, but now the thought of not brushing your teeth is ick.” The goal is to get self-care habits to feel just as unquestionable. The course teaches 10 habits like going to bed earlier and shifting back when you eat your evening meal. But these seemingly small tweaks can be really impactful on sleep, digestion, mental state and energy levels. “You may not notice much along the way, but we always do a reflection 6 or 12 weeks down the track, and then you see that really a lot has shifted.” Sometimes positive effects are immediately apparent within the first week, but Becs thinks of it more like planting seeds that you will watch grow later on. “These are self-care habits that last a lifetime, so that we can age well and maintain our health as long as possible.” And because Good Change operates in community, there’s a support network. “It’s easier to try on a new way of doing things when you know others are doing the same thing.” Becs meets each client where she is; some start the course looking to heal, some come in looking for direction or purpose, and some just want to meet and connect with other like minded women. For all women, there’s an opportunity to seek more balance. “It’s like an old school radio. When we’re balanced we get a nice clear signal, and when we’re out of balance, we get static.” When we are more in tune with our bodies, we notice when the static starts, and have the tools to guide ourselves back to a clear signal. As Becs knows well, often we’re too busy and distracted to notice the static, and we let ourselves slip into greater imbalance or dis-ease. Her own journey on the Ayurvedic path started in 2014, when her body was breaking down, a culmination of a lot of things over many years. “My wish is that people don’t have to get to where I got to in order to rebuild.” Her goal is for self-care to be seen as essential, so we stay aware and able to calibrate ourselves toward that clear radio signal of ‘balance’, where we feel grounded, centered and steady. To help make self-care even more inviting, Becs has teamed up with friend Sanne to launch Soma, an Ayurvedic range of natural wellness products like digestive teas and massage oils. The hope is that if people have products they truly enjoy using in their self-care rituals, they’re motivated to keep up their routines, especially when life throws a curveball. “Our nervous systems need extra support in this world we’re living in - we’re all being called to evolve. It’s not a matter of if something like the cyclone happens again, it’s when. And so we have to shift the focus to what we can control.” It’s all a practice, and the more we do it, the easier it becomes. And for Becs there is a real connection between self-care and resilience, which we need more than ever. “Everything is doable, you can handle anything, when you’ve got that resilience.” Your chance to join Good Change is coming right up! The winter intake starts 30 May, and Early Bird pricing closes on 2 April. If you feel called to learn more, reach out to Becs for a free 30-min health chat and find out if the programme is a good fit for you. Spaces are limited. becs@heartspace.co.nz www.heartspace.co.nz | www.somasenses.nz

"Yaaaaas for the Goose Club!" screamed a group of young people boogying down at R&V this year. But what is the Goose Club, you ask? Originally conceived as an inflatable disco tent, this year the Goose Club set out to provide a sanctuary from the festival-related mayhem that reigns beyond its walls. Director and choreographer, Kayla Paige approached R&V with a very clear intention around creating a safe queer space, where there hadn’t previously been one; a place where anybody and everybody, regardless of age, gender, and inclination, could come to dance and feel comfortable in their own skin. This year in the Goose Club, the tone was set by a group of LGBTQIA+ dancers, who used performance to celebrate and uplift diversity and inclusiveness. Kayla called for the dancers “to bring their complete selves” within the concept she had created. In turn she hoped that the audience would feel empowered to lean into the energy they’d created in that space, “we want to make them feel comfortable to go crazy and step into their own queerness”. Performer Sam Dawson says that "It means a lot to have a festival openly invite and create a space for the LGBTQIA+ community” and for them “the agreement that there would be no tolerance for hate speech in the environment was a game changer". Another of the Goose Club performers, Vogue legend of House Givenchy, Raymond Fong reflects that when "queer dances and culture are woven into our dance practices on the stage, we are all inspired to claim the space as our own." Gizzy Local’s Sam Reckas spent the 29th of December with the Goose Club crew, a camera and coupla rolls of film in tow, and recalls the atmosphere of the tent on the night. “The energy of the Goose Club is not at all quiet; it can be felt in your chest, the bass and hype pump loud and proud. This place is a time capsule; nostalgia is rife. ‘Better off alone’ by Alice Deejay blasts on the speakers and fists pump at the ceiling. Vintage halter neck blouses, archived cargo pants, diamante skate belts, and Speed Dealer sunglasses completed the look. As 7pm approached, the smell of spilt drinks and sweat filled the air, and so much fun was being had that a mystery concoction formed on the dance floor, turning the mud and alcohol into an adhesive so strong that shoes stuck relentlessly to the ground. There were no Fs given though, because the crowd was too busy jumping up and down in a frenzy, waiting for the much-anticipated GOOSE”. She describes the collective mood of the room, “elevated with each provocative dance sequence” as the performances rolled. Sultry, fiery, and playful by turn, the performers embodied a fabulous cast of characters, including a martian, bunnies and of course, a goose, to play out dramatic storylines. The audience lapped it up. For Sam, her experience in the Goose Club served as a somber reminder of how rare it still is to celebrate ‘us’ in our entirety, especially when we think about how far we’ve supposedly come. The performers too, acknowledge the challenges but are also quick to point out that it is the embracing our own unique self that can serve as a superpower when it comes to making it in the creative world. Dancer, Isiah Reid, Ngati Porou acknowledges trying out different versions of self during their career, but believes that “you can never be truly happy in your career unless you are truly happy in yourself. Stay true to who you are and trust the process. “Everyone has their own time, and while it might not come today, tomorrow, or even next year, it will. Bring your culture with you wherever you go…and no matter where you end up, always be proud of where you come from. Maintain a constant reflection on your origins and what makes you, you." Dancer Jessica Tatoa spoke to Sam of embracing the vulnerability of it all, and fellow performer Samuel Dawson urged, "Don't half ass it on the emotion - the pure essence - be enveloped in it. Once you feel good in yourself, you can perform in your best skin." Mother Honey, also of the Vogue trio of House Givenchy, summarised the power of inclusive spaces such as the Goose Tent at this year’s R&V beautifully, "Find your people, your community, and stick with them because they will be the ones who will help you develop and prosper. They will assist you in finding where you belong, your identity, yourself, and who you really are”. Safe, inclusive spaces for our LGBTQIA+ community such as the Goose Tent in festivals such as Rhythm & Vines are an incredibly important start. And while there’s still a long way to go, they serve as a good reminder of the struggle that has led to this point in our history, and a source of inspiration to keep striving to express our own true selves, and honour and celebrate the journeys of others who are seeking to do the same. Story by Sam Reckas & Sarah Cleave Photographs by Sam Reckas Rhythm and Vines

As we pull together our list of Gizzy’s summery delights, a fresh fruit ice cream from The Village Berry is definitely on our list. This year The Village Berry team has been particularly busy, kicking off their summer season with a new shop, new look, and new mobile ice cream food cart. Run by Shelley Hunt and her son-in-law Tom McCann, The Village Berry has evolved a lot from its early days as a summer weekend operation called Berries Plus. Shelley took the business over in 2011, after a spontaneous chat with the previous owner at their hairdresser’s. Shelley’s daughter Madeline was already working at Berries Plus, and initially two families shared the business. Between the families they had a built-in work force of 6 kids to chip in, and for Shelley it was really about them. “We thought it was a great opportunity for them to learn about running a business and have a fun holiday job when they were home from uni.” As the kids grew and moved on, Shelley remained as the sole owner. But as she was also teaching full-time at Girls High, the business was only open on weekends during the summer months. It was thanks to the Covid pandemic that Tom entered the picture. He and Madeline met at uni in Dunedin and spent several years living overseas. In 2020 they were back in New Zealand for his brother’s wedding, and initially forced to stay when the borders closed, they ended up never leaving. Tom brings sales experience in the food industry, from working his way up to directing sales in London and Dubai for Harvey & Brockless, a distributor of artisan foods. Tom notes “we knew Auckland would be the best place to settle career-wise, but the Gisborne lifestyle really appealed to us.” Under Tom’s guidance, they have experimented with opening year-round, expanding their offerings of fruit, veges, packaged foods and takeaways like freshly made soup and locally made sourdough. The team is passionate about offering an alternative to the big supermarkets that really supports local growers and fosters an appreciation for what’s fresh and in season. “We roll seasonal, with food and offerings. It’s humble, healthy, good food, made with love.” And our local community is getting behind this notion, if last winter is any indication. “It was surprisingly busy, we were flat out making four batches of soup a day.” With that momentum, it quickly became clear they needed more space. Fletch the butcher next door was keen to swap spaces, and they opened the doors to the new corner shop on the corner of Ballance Street and Ormond Road in September. The move came with a re-brand, and the first thing they chose was yellow paint for the doors, to embody sunshine, happiness, and summer. And while we might not have seen much of summer’s usual main player, ‘sunshine’ as yet, as Shelley notes, “summer means ice cream” and luckily it’s been warm enough for most of us to warrant the occasional ice cream! The “village” part of Village Berry is just as important. “We have a village mentality, we are a family business that counts on relationships with other family businesses. We know where the food is from, we can tell you about the growers, we know their families.” 80% of the produce Village Berries sells is from Gisborne. Tom explains, “We can’t say it’s strictly local though, because we don’t want to limit what we can offer.” For example, Gisborne doesn’t have enough local asparagus growers to satisfy demand, so The Village Berry brings some in from Hawkes Bay. “Even when we source from outside Gisborne, we try to stay close - Eastern Bay of Plenty or Hawkes Bay.” It can be tough balancing customer demand and the business philosophy, “People might want tomatoes when they're not ready locally. We could get some in and make a bit of money but that goes against the importance we put on seasonal eating.” The one notable exception is bananas! The team sources them to make their ice creams and the customer demand for them is huge. But they also make a point to stock locally grown bananas whenever available. As a small independent business, it can be super challenging to compete with the huge purchasing power of the supermarkets. At The Village Berry, prices are agreed upon with the growers at the beginning of the season and remain fixed, even if there is a glut. Tom explains, “when we have these relationships, we’re not hustling each other, we all want each other to do well and operate fairly.” Because everything they stock is picked ripe, it’s better and fresher. And when it comes to fruit, they mean really fresh, direct from the orchard up the road. Shelley recently retired from teaching, and she and her husband Chris purchased an orchard (formerly known as the Bruce Road Estate) which provides renowned stone fruit and up and coming nashis. Fruit and veges aside, The Village Berry will likely always be known first and foremost for the ice creams. It’s fun to guess how many cones have been made over the years, but until moving into their new space, they never had a till that kept track. But now with an eye on it, so far the highest number in a single day was about 650 on Labour Monday. A record, which is bound to be easily broken once the heat of summer arrives! The ice cream is now also going mobile with their cart, The Village Berry Express. It’s currently on the move, popping up at markets, events, and catering at weddings. It has to be noted that they do dairy-free ice cream as well as a yoghurt option! This year they’ve got plans to continue refining takeaway food options, experiment with fun new ice cream flavours like mandarin and tamarillo, and offer fresh pressed juices. There are so many benefits to supporting local and eating local, taste being one of them. Summer of course is such a good time with the amount of delicious produce on offer, from citrus to berries and stone fruit. It goes without saying that most of these fruits also taste damn fine when whizzed up with ice cream and curled into a cone. We highly recommend you put The Village Berry on your list of musts this week, and don’t forget them when winter and soup season rolls around again… By Victoria Williams Photos Sarah Cleave