One of my favourite aunts died yesterday. She lived in a highland village in Fiji Islands. When I was a kid we would vist her village - my mother’s village. The road to it was on the other side of the river and when we arrived we would have to holler for someone to come across in a boat to get us across to the village.
My aunt was perfumed by the woodfire smoke. She cooked hot rotis for our breakfast over a cow dung hearth in a thatched hut. Her eyes too were often smoky because her heart was sweet and sad at our departures.
Some time ago she visted us in Australia. I took her everywhere, all about Sydney but she was a country woman. Whenever we asked her what she really wanted to see, what was important for her visit to Australia, she would turn to me and say, “Son, I would love to see an apple tree”.
So I took her on a long drive over the range and at Bilpin she blessed a large apple tree in full crop. She posed under it for the photos jubilant as a child and she cried with delight.
My aunt was illiterate but from her I learned courage in gentleness. She was neither a leader, nor a teacher but she could see beauty and who would not want to follow such sight? Ultimately beauty can only be beheld by love …
If there is anything that you like in this post please join me in offering an air, any air, in tribute to my aunt and those of her ilk who are leaving this world. May a trace of what they have shown and shared scent the music we play.
How lucky you are to have known her. I wish we could see a picture of her under the apple tree. But I have that lovely image of her in my head. Have you considered writing down all your memories of her?
I like this–You’ve acknowledged and celebrated your aunt’s traits. Traits representative of real life, real value, real characteristics which enrich human interaction. Real stuff that makes life good.
Talasiga, thank you for telling us about your aunt and a little bit about her life. Her desire to see an apple tree made me think of “Londonderry Air”, which we probably all know as “Danny Boy”. The first verse of the air mentions apples and apple blosoms. It is a beautiful poem and one of best loved tunes in the English-speaking world. I played it this morning, thinking of you and your aunt. http://www.contemplator.com/ireland/derryair.html
It is obvious in your post how much love she generated in your life. Although she was from another island, I played “Women of Ireland” with tears in my eyes. May her beautiful soul fly free … and visit you from time to time.
Thank you so much all of you. My soul is flying too.
I have just spent this year’s flute budget on my air ticket to her funeral. It has been over thirty years since I set foot on the sacred soil of Fiji and I hope I will not feel a stranger in my mother land. My loved ones are going one by one. There is nothing worse than feeling the chill in a hot land.
I imagine we can tap strength in the crevices of trepidation. I know she did. Surely I can do this in memory of her. Her final gift?
A lovely and fitting tribute to a woman who, there is no doubt, influenced and enhanced your life in so many ways… some of which I’ll bet you have yet to discover.
I wish you a safe flight to Fiji, and may you feel like you have just come home when you are there.
I’ll play my air ‘Mo Chroi ag an Doras’ (My Love at the Door) in her memory this day.
