Since we moved to the farm, late Autumn is possibly my new favourite season, for two very unconventional reasons. These two reasons have brought me closer to my goal of un-busyness and calmness – no expensive yoga retreat or traumatic cold plunge needed.
I’d like to introduce you to the two reasons; Mike and Claire.
Mike and Claire are our resident pikwakawaka (fantail) who only show up here every Autumn. I know their names are Mike and Claire because I asked them (wink). They are a delightful, inseparable pair. Their entwining conjures up feelings of romanticism for me. A language of joyful love. A communication that is intuitive, predicting, yet also enticing their next movements.
“Follow me”, “Dance with me”, “Flow with me”.
Beginning in May, Mike and Claire accompany me and my three companions on our circuit of daily farm duties. Buddy, our big rescue mutt, Ted, our affectionate ginger tom and his girlfriend Daisy; a sassy white ragdoll who defies her princess looks and acts like a feral farm cat.
Firstly, we head to the chicken coop, most of the crew wait outside; Buddy and Ted hover at the gate while Mike and Claire perch on the fence. This is hen-pecking territory. Daisy on the other hand, likes to come into the chicken pen and strut her stuff. The occasional peck from Bossy Brenda doesn’t deter her.
Then we wander on down to the sheep paddock, greeting all 6 of my grown lambs and Bart the goat (who thinks he’s a lamb.) Mike and Claire flying in-between me and them, landing on their backs, vying for attention. “Notice me, notice me.”
And I do. I notice them intently, but with the corners of my mouth upturned, a little sound escaping as a laugh. And I find myself talking to them. “You’re still here Mike and Claire!”, “You must be enjoying the sunshine today?” ,“You two are so cute together”, “Do you cuddle up at night?”
Next, we all meander on a farm walk of approximately 2 kms of undulating bush and grass, with a brief visit to the kawakawa grove and the glow worm cave, up the rolling hill and down into the valley. Mike and Claire are there at every step for the entire loop walk, dancing and playing with all of us. Flying from fence post to gorse branch to farm gate. By the time we are on the home stretch my joy feels like it’s about to break out in an Abba song.
Mike and Claire, my dancing queens, are still there when I hang out the washing, hopping from cable to cable of the traditional circular clothesline. It distracts me from ‘mindfully pegging’, a technique I teach in my Mindfulness classes, but it’s a welcome distraction because I’m still being present.
Sometimes when I’m working at my desk, Mike and Claire flit outside my 2m high sash window with 100 year old glass so brittle they could almost shatter it with their persistent tapping.
This year one of them, not sure if it was Mike or Claire, managed to get inside our lounge. Two of my four sleeping cats awoke and immediately detected lunch. But I was quicker and smarter than my cats, and I asked Mike (or Claire) to let me catch him. In an event I’ve never seen happen before, Mike (or Claire) rested in a window corner and allowed me to pick him up. I’d never held a piwakawaka before and so took this opportunity to engage in awe. Observing him, admiring his gorgeous tail, his colours, the softness. And in less than a minute I let him fly back to his love, who was waiting outside.
Mike and Claire have a unique way of bringing me to This Present Moment. I’m not lost in thought, thinking of my To Do list, or planning tonight’s dinner when they are around.
They have beautifully and gracefully shown me how to enjoy life’s simple pleasures, and in the process, cemented within me more grounded-ness and calmness from being present.
Because I believe being calm isn’t a tool we draw on in times of stress (that’s what chocolate brownies are for. Joke. But true).
Instead, calmness is something we cultivate in moments throughout our days, instilling it as a base-line. So that when stressful situations arise, we may not engage in them like we used to, with adrenaline, with fear, with anxiety. Just keep pushing. Go, go, go. When calmness is our baseline we respond differently to what would normally be a stressful situation. With less judgment and more compassion. Softly softly. Gently gently. Just like Mike and Claire when they’re in my garden.
Mike and Claire disappear around mid winter. I have no idea where they go. But every Autumn they turn up again bringing their same antics and behaviours, their joy and delight, their ability to help me get out of my head and focus on The Now.
So, now when Autumn is approaching, I look forward to the time when they arrive. Ready and waiting to welcome them back, to appreciate the gift they bring to my life, in such a simple yet profound way.
I’ll wait eagerly to see them next year. *taking bookings for “Mike and Claire” tours in 2025. Joke. But also true. Maybe. Follow me on Instagram to see if I do!