Homestead

Waitui is the place of my own childhood memory. This house no longer exists in this form. I captured it before my grandmother passed away, while she was still keeper of the hearth, still making butter and bread and feeding chickens. Still growing begonias and strawberries and still serving cups of tea at the wooden table in the kitchen. Still chasing the weka from the porch, and feeding toast to her cockatiel. I miss her, quite ardently, when I look at these pictures, and I remember moments that accompany each vignette.