My wealth

The most important photo in this post is that of my friend Sam. I met her in year ten when we bonded over Bronte novels. She has been my friend for 29 years and her friendship has been a constant, steady stream of support, love and wisdom. I have often said to her ‘we will grow old together’ and I hope that to be true.

My wealth is measured by my friendships, not by how many but by their depth, their care, their wisdom, their truth, their thoughtfulness, and their desire to push through difficult times. A friendship that understands imperfections and mistakes.

In this friendship I have screamed, I have borrowed without asking, I have been self absorbed at times without realising, and I have forgotten.

Its resilience lies in our self confidence. When I have done wrong she has spoken, I have listened, and I have said ‘I am sorry’. And when she has stumbled, I have spoken, she has listened, and she has said, ‘I am sorry’.

On her recent visit to see me, Sam took me to meet long time family friends of hers. Over our many years together she had often shared stories about Madelaine and her children, their boat trips, paintings and sculptures, and more recently stories of pottery and gold.

This post is dedicated to my long time friend Sam, who is, as resilient as pottery in a kiln and as precious as the gold that adorns it.

Sam.

 

Down to visit the chickens before heading into the pottery studio.

 

Door to chook run.

 

Up through a gallary passage way.

 

A precious street find. 

 

A montage of finds. 

 

Home made pottery.

 

Tea break.

 

Through the kitchen where shelves are filled with unique hand crafted pots.

 

Back into the garden and down the stairs.

Closer and closer to where the pottery is made.

Sorted and clustered for market sales.

Under the shipping containers where the clay is stored.

Raw.

 

Waiting.

 

As new creations are made by her hands.

 

Bridget.