Tree Baby

by Suzy Atkin (New Zealand)

Making a local connection New Zealand

Legend says that Hinehopu was hidden in the hollow of a mātai tree. A small fragile baby, wrapped in flax, and not much older than a few months. Only the beating of her tiny heart could be heard. Her frightened mother, Hinetamairu, a Māori chieftainess, made an impulsive decision to hide her from the enemies. These enemies, powerful warriors who fought for land in ancient wars, surprised the local iwi in the 1600's with a brutal and unprovoked raid. Hinetamairu, wide eyed and terrified, placed the tiny child in the tree and called out to Tāne, the god of the forest: "Te aroha me te mahana" - Protect her with love and warmth. She did not know if she would ever see her child again, but trusted in the power and protection of Tāne, the son of Rangi and Papa, sky father and earth mother. This tree, once nature’s guard and now over 400 years old, still stands tall today on the side of State Highway 30 near Rotorua. It is now named after Hinehopu, who survived the raid, and later met her husband Pikiao under the very same tree, making it sacred to the area. Their union was strengthened and they became the founding ancestors of the Ngāti Pikiao tribe. Growing up in Aotearoa/New Zealand I have heard various tales from Māori folklore. Māori traditionally did not inscribe the stories of their ancestors, but would instead sing or chant waiata, creating memory in song and poetry, or they would use wood, stone or bone to carve out enduring chronicles. As a child I struggled to grasp which of those tales were true legends, which were the twisted fables of the enemies, or which had been misinterpreted and mistranslated by the European colonisers. But when I took an impromptu journey to Hinehopu’s wishing tree, there was something in the air that was hauntingly beautiful and achingly real. It was as if the baby still lay in the tree, her spirit forever guarding the whenua (land). Although weather-beaten from the wind and rain which have battered the tree over the years, it remains proud and robust. On the long and winding road it would be easy enough to drive past it, and not see any importance, or understand the beauty of its history. I can imagine the hollow of the tree is not as concealed as it once was, but it is obvious it tells a story of significance. Although the tree is sacred, you can touch the tree, feel the bark on the pine and notice that it looks like it has cried a thousand tears from the spiritual meditations of others who have visited. I was lucky enough to be told this legend by a descent from the Ngāti Pikiao tribe, who proudly told me the story of her ancestors, as if the raid happened yesterday. As I gazed up at the 40 metre high tree it made me think of the modern day wars; of the children who escaped brutality through the bravery of their parents. Those split second moments where it's a matter of life and death. In your desperate need for protection you put all of your trust into faith. People travel from all over the world and hear the mythological truth of Hinehopu. They do not merely marvel at the beauty of the old black pine tree or tell tales of swimming in the green and blue lakes of Lake Rotoiti and Lake Rotoehu that surround the area. Rather, they remember the story of hope, the lasting wonder that, by placing a gift of greenery or money in the hollow of the trunk, a wish can be granted. Because it is said, that all wishes come true. I can only believe that it is because of the enduring power of Hinetamairu, who forever blesses the earth for keeping her baby safe all those years ago.