Flower feast week on Tiritiri Matangi as the island begins its spring flower display.  Carpets of yellow cover the tracks under kowhai trees as the tūī rummage and attack each flower sending discarded petals to the ground. Too soon these delicious golden bell-like flowers will be gone leaving the ravaged trees to begin their cycle of regrowth once more. 

The children in my group today do not hunt for the spectacular but are seeking the more modest flowers of Aotearoa, which they find hiding in the foliage.  Our insect-pollinated flowers may be tiny but they are significant as the birds feed on their pollen and litter the ground with the carcasses. 

As the only group walking up the road these exuberant, energetic ten-year-olds make the most of the freedom to leap ahead when they glimpse a bird, call out a name, listen for the call of the tieke or rush to the record sheet to check off their sighting.  Standing still is impossible so any offering from me is brief.  After the first experience with the magnifying glasses, they desire nothing else.  Their fascination knows no bounds as they hold the glass to every leaf, feather, stalk, or stone. 

Under a pūriri, flush with ruffled new dark green leaves they find the tree’s delicate mauve flowers.  Through the glass the long stamens full of pollen hang out almost beyond the petals and look so beautiful I wish I were a bird and able to nuzzle in with my nose.  But they find more in the tree.  Looking up they point to tiny seeds in colours of white, pink, and finally the luscious red of the ripe berry.  It is no wonder this is the Tiritiri Matangi supermarket tree. 

Cream flowers drip from the māhoe and karamū but nothing can be more beautiful than the white flowers of the mānuka or the red of the karo peeping out from their delicate enclosures. Seen through the magnifying glasses these miniature flowers come to life, in a way that help us understand why the birds so love these flowers.

The children are on the hunt for the birds their teacher had taught them about and for which they know the Māori names – the hihi, a bird they have never seen and the kererū known to only a few. They quickly recognise the korimako, marking each sighting on the tally sheet until it overflows. Excitement mounts when a male hihi perches on a branch at eye level and remains in place long enough to be admired. Something was up with the pōpokatea. I have never heard such a racket. Are they defending territory or has a rival stolen their favourite female?  Whatever it is there is anger from both sides of the track. In their large groups they usually fly across the path with their gentle swishing call. We leave the chaos hoping they can sort it out themselves. 

Out came the glasses again and this time we look at the fine threads of the skeleton leaves, spiders and insects in the cabbage tree trunks and the multi-coloured lichens. After a brief explanation of the pūriri moth, the popular Māori father we have with us tells of how his grandfather extracted the pūriri grubs from holes in the tree and ate them, just like I did as a child eating huhu grubs found tucked in rotten wood. He remembers a peanut butter taste. He also told of his parents rubbing the kawakawa leaves into a pulp and having it applied to any cut, scratch or pain he had. 

As we walk along one little girl asks how old I am. When I don’t respond she says, “I won’t tell anyone.” Then later still “Are you 100?”. “Nearly “, I say. She tried again at 92. They love the puppets and the best spotter spent his time at the back of the line. Then, thinking I could rid them of excess energy I race them up the track arriving at exactly 12.30, our deadline. At lunch, guides share their stories of the fun they have had with their groups as there is always something to enjoy and for me, there is always some new learning.