Creating a mumutawa haven

The first time I picked up gardening, I did it out of pure indulgence. I was after beauty. I wanted blooms and colour. I wanted a flower garden. It was a lot of work but gal, did I enjoy it. I became so attached to my flowers that when we had to leave our rental, I quit gardening for the next three years. I was heartbroken.

But a couple of months ago, the itch to dig my hands in the soil returned–along with memories of my grandad. El Tito was a keen gardener and herbalist. Most days you’d find him working away in the back garden, sometimes blasting music from a speaker he’d shifted to the windowsill, sometimes sitting quietly in his chair, stroking the back of his favourite chicken who often roosted on his lap. He was neat, El Tito, with his plants, his trees, his animals and his magical brews and remedies.

El Tito (grandad) at his garden, 1973.

Grandma and grandad kissing in the garden, 1973.

No wonder I’ve become obsessed with growing my own witch garden, a patch of kitchen herbs and medicinal plants. Of course! He planted the seed in me all those years back.

It was this witch garden that led me to start dreaming of a mumutawa (Māori for ladybug) haven. One day, my dill and lemon verbena were suddenly crawling with aphids. I didn’t want to spray them—those plants are for teas and cooking—so I spread a cloth at the base and brushed the bugs off with a soft paintbrush, leaf by leaf, branch by branch. It was ridiculously time-consuming. I love my plants, but I can’t afford to be that fastidious; I’ve got other interests to tend to as well.

Searching for natural solutions brought me to mumutawa, they love to eat aphids. Gosh, bugs are awesome. They’re pest controllers, decomposers, pollinators, we really need our bugs! But climate change, use of chemicals, destroyed ecosystems, pollution and invasive species have been our anti-gift to them and their populations are rapidly declining. That was the biggest lesson to me. Understanding that to keep a healthy balance in the garden I had to make friends with aphids and weeds. Damn.

So now I have a new project: building a mumutawa haven. The plan: growing lemon verbena, dill and marigolds to attract aphids–the ladybugs’ favourite meal. Next to those plants I’ll have mint and thyme for ground cover to hide from bigger predators. Then, water supply. A terracotta saucer with some stones, sticks and water for them to stand on and have a drink. And finally, a mumutawa hotel–a shelter made out of straws for the overwintering period (hibernation for bugs), so they never have to leave the garden.

Gardening is amazing. It isn’t just about plants—it’s about relationships. Between you and the soil, between bugs and plants and all the invisible work happening behind the scenes. Between one generation and the next, between humans and nature. We all carry seeds of appreciation that our tīpuna (ancestors) buried inside us. They lie dormant for years, waiting for the right season to sprout and bloom.

I think I’m ready to fall in love with gardening again.

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Winter in a mug

Starting new family traditions

I have been wanting to start new family traditions. Celebrations, rituals and festivities that connect us to the seasons and each other. Nothing complicated, simplicity and joy are a must.

This past winter I thought a good way to start was to make a delicious hot drink. One that we could make every winter and its smell would make us instantly feel cosy, homely and remind us the season we were in. I thought first of making Mexican ponche de frutas, of course, but guavas, sugar cane and tejocotes don’t grow in Aotearoa so I had to find a replacement.

Connecting memories to the senses

The Mexican ponche de frutas is an awesome hot drink that brings me lots of good memories. The smell and taste are glorious, but it’s the rituals around it that I’m most fond of.

I grew up in the big smoke, Mexico City, but my best memories are of us leaving the city to go into nature. I vividly remember one winter when El Tito (grandad) took us to the countryside to forage tejocotes to make ponche, membrillo (fruit paste) and tejocotes en almibar (fruit in syrup). He knew all the magical spots where the tejocote trees grew and so we went on an excursion to the wilderness with all our whānau (extended family). Back at grandma’s place, we all helped with the making of the treats and had a great time together. It was a wonderful day. Our senses were delighted with views of the beautiful wilderness, the sounds of our laughs, the wonderful smells travelling everywhere from the kitchen, the awesome taste of the treats and the touch of the tejocotes. I can still see and feel that day today.

We also enjoyed ponche de frutas with our neighbours around Christmas. People in our street would organise a sort of street party as part of a Catholic celebration called posadas. It was good fun and you could feel the wonderful community spirit. The smell of ponche de frutas brings me back all those memories and I want that for my family. I want them to experience the joy of those sensory treats and associate them to the magical memories we will be creating.

Finding the perfect winter hot drink

Finding a replacement hot drink was not going to be easy but in an internet search I came across Wassail. A seasonal hot drink made with apples and dark ale beer? Yes, please! I would very much like to try that, I love a good stout and dark ale beer, and apples are a staple at home. I experimented with a recipe that sounded particularly good, made some adjustments and added (of course) a Mexican touch. And just like that, I found the perfect replacement. My, my, it was delicious and it ticked all the boxes. It has a beautiful spicy flavour, it’s wonderfully aromatic (it flooded the house with an amazing smell) and boy, was it comforting. The only downside is that it’s not kid-friendly, but that could be a project for next year.

The origins of Wassail are also lovely. Apparently in pre-Christian traditions (Old Norse and Anglo-Saxon), wassailing involved groups of people visiting orchards to sing to apple trees and encourage a good harvest. Getting together and singing to the trees! Maybe that could be us next year? I mean, we do have a couple of apple trees in the garden [lets out a cheeky giggle].

The Wassail recipe (makes 4 cups or 2 big mugs)

So here it is: our new winter ritual, carrying good old folk traditions, sensory joy and the possibility of happy memories and communal joy in a single mug.

Ingredients

  • 2 cans dark ale (330 ml each)

  • 2 fresh red apples, diced

  • ½–1 orange (juice only)

  • 1 Tb lemon juice

  • ¼ tsp ground cloves

  • ¼ tsp ground nutmeg

  • ¼ tsp ground cinnamon

  • A dash (1 ml) vanilla essence

  • Small piece of fresh ginger (about 3 cm), cut into 4 pieces (I pop mine into a mesh tea ball)

  • 1½–2 Tb piloncillo (this gives it the Mexican touch—you can find it in Aotearoa)

  • ½ cup frozen blueberries (optional)

Method

  1. Place all ingredients in a pot, stir gently to combine.

  2. Bring to a low simmer over gentle heat.

  3. Cover with a lid and let brew for about 30 minutes.

  4. Allow to cool slightly, then ladle into your favorite mugs.

Enjoy—a spicy, fruity hot drink with just a touch of bitter. Your cozy winter in a mug!

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The Untaught Path

Here I am again, circling back to the beginning—rearranging projects and starting over. I am changing (or perhaps it’s my ideas and interests that are) and I keep finding myself drawn to threads that are leading me to places I didn’t quite expect. And I wanted to write about it.

I have been retreating. This September will be a full year spent in quiet introspection, reducing life to its smallest, simplest form. I needed that. I needed the time to heal and to tend to the foundations: my body, my mind and emotions, my spirit, and my family. And now, I feel ready to unfold.

This blog is the story of that unfolding. The Untaught Path is a creative exercise in shaping life as one might shape a bonsai tree—patiently, thoughtfully, and with an openness to surprise. I don’t have a map or a clear destination, only a sense of direction: toward simplicity, rooting myself in nature, finding magic in the ordinary, living seasonally, crafting rituals, nourishing the spirit, following special interests, and honouring my own particular blend of spices.

So here I am, setting down the first words. Hoping that the terror of starting and not being able to follow through is never greater than the excitement of following curious rabbit holes. Commit, commit, commit!

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