Welcome. I’m so glad you’ve made your way here. However it is that you came to be here, may there be some seed of sustenance in what you find to keep you going. This is my prayer, that you be well-nourished by whatever interaction may take place between us, however big or small. If this be so, then I have done my work.

Though I didn’t recognize it until quite recently, I come from a long line of nurturers. Visits with my Grandparents and Aunties were always centered around a cup of tea and a warm plate of cookies, and good conversation. I took this deep kinship for granted, not knowing how lucky I was to have this kind of beholding intrinsic to my days from early on.

As soon as I reached 18, I fled from the comfort and security of the home I had always known. I was angsty and untethered, seeking purpose and meaning in life. The next 10 years were a whiplash tour of wild barefoot adventures around the world and back to the land, birthing and being birthed over and over again as the world had its’ way with me. I finished a degree in English Literature, WOOFed and travelled 37 countries, did a farming apprenticeship on Cortes Island, studied Quantum Midwifery through the Matrona, earned a Holistic Health Practitioner certification through Windsong School of Healing, studied Reiki and Shiatsu, worked on Vandana Shiva’s seed farm in Dehradun, India, and sat in on the Dalai Llama’s 10 day teachings in Dharamsala. I began what would be an 8 year apprenticeship with Stephen Jenkinson in the Orphan Wisdom school. I sat over 300 hours of Vipassana.

At 27, my partner and I moved to Mayne Island to steward a beautiful heritage farm. Shortly thereafter I became pregnant with my son. There was no option for care within the Canadian medical system available to me without travelling off the island, but I knew that I would feel most safe and uninhibited at home. I wrestled with the politics of who to listen to- many folks on the island were heavily invested in me being gone by 36 weeks to ensure that no one would have to carry a tragic story on behalf of my “irresponsible” choices. In the end, with the unwavering support of a few dear friends, my good man and I hunkered down in our old blacksmith cabin with our weimeraner Titan. Two days after my due date (based on date of conception- I would have been more than 2 weeks “overdue” according to how most due dates are measured) my mucus plug came out at 9 pm. The contractions started around midnight. I remember that endless night, the fog horn blowing every 10 minutes and the pitch black sky. The lone candle lighting the room almost unbearable to my animal eyes. My partner still talks about the “primordial sounds” that came out of me as I rocked and moaned our son down my bones. I remember being certain that I was going to split in half as this fucking watermelon tried make its’ way out of my vagina. And I could surrender to even that- there was nowhere else to go. Birth was having its’ way with me.

He was born in the bath at 6:34 the next morning into his father’s hands, umbilical cord wrapped twice around his neck. I can conjure even now the feeling my fingers slipping under the cord and stretching it gently around his little vernix-covered face. We sat in the tub as the first light of morning graced the fields outside the bathroom window and the candle dwindled. Twenty minutes later, I felt the contractions coming on hard once more, so I heaved myself into a squat and his placenta was born. We left this attached for 4 days, wrapped in a deer hide I had tanned while pregnant, packed in salt and herbs we had grown on the land, until one morning when the attachment point in his umbilicus popped off like a piece of toast jumping from the toaster.

My daughter was born to us 7 years later, this time in our new home in Courtenay. A dear friend had come to be with us for the birth. My waters had broken the night before, with no signs of labour. The next day we spent the morning in Cumberland. I was wearing a massive mumu of a dress, and amniotic fluid was trickling out of me everywhere I went. Finally, I could no longer bear being out in the world, so we made a final stop at Love’s for ice cream and headed home. We quickly called a dear friend whose birthday it was, and then I kicked everyone out of my room so I could try to rest. I tried labouring on my left side, as I had with my son, but I could not get comfortable. Every time I moved the pain would get worse, and I just wanted a passive position to rest my body. I figured I was still in early labour, as I hadn’t been puking and shitting after every contraction like with Phoenix. Finally I found my way to the birth ball and was able to use low vocalization and intuitive movements to cope through the rushes, leaning forward onto my low bed to rest in between. I was alone in my room, my partner coming in to check on me and quietly slipping out again. He put up the sweetest little sign on the front door that said “Yield, Labour In Motion” for our friends who were going to drop my son off after a playdate. I remember hearing him come in, gingerly entering the bedroom where I was deep in it. He stayed a few minutes and disappeared into the room next door to play lego. At some point, I wanted the water to help with the sensations, but felt like it was still too early for the bath. I got my partner to help me to the shower and felt the deep soothing as the warm water ran over my lower back and belly. Finally something told me it was time to get out, and I shuffled back down the hall in my red bathrobe to the bedroom. “Are you sure you don’t want to get in the bath?” my partner asked, but I was sure there were still many hours to go. The pain was starting to get unbearable, and I remember thinking that I didn’t know how much longer I could carry on. My good man stayed with me this time, squatting on the floor bearing witness as I found my way through each contraction, singing and swearing and moaning. I was squatting on the bed when suddenly something shifted and I looked at him, uncertain whether I was going to vomit or poop. The next contraction came and my body pushed my daughter’s head into the world. I dropped down onto one knee and with the next contraction cradled her slippery body as it slid gently into the world. Our friend was in the kitchen cooking dinner and my son came in to greet his baby sister. When the midwives arrived, shortly after her placenta came, we had a very sweet moment as I was helped into bed. “This is what I love most about birth” she said. ”It’s an absolute miracle, and also such a completely normal part of daily life.” I am so grateful to have brought my children into the world in such a gentle, peaceful way. I believe that how we birth really does leave an imprint for the generations to come, and I feel very passionate about standing alongside families as they find their way to welcoming their children in the manner that is most authentic to them.