Jillian Sullivan first viewed the Ida Burn from a bridge: a "coppery, shining pathway bounded by trees". The surrounding central Otago landscape was one of alpine tussock plains, valleys, rivers and mountains, in impression sparse, yet overflowing with flora and fauna, changing as the seasons progressed. She had come here, to the Maniototo, on account of the hills, which did not disappoint. The Hawkduns loomed large over the scene; the dips and dives made for perfect mountain biking expeditions. As the sun went down, the ranges would be bathed tangerine and the fields similarly would vary in colour from vibrant greens of spring, then flush with colour, through autumnal golds, and then again to stark white in heavy snow.

Ever since she was a teenager, Sullivan held in her mind the simple goldminer's home in its ruins. She admired how it drew on aspects of the local land. After nearly two decades living in Motueka, geographically far removed but also isolated and sparsely populated, it was time for a life change. Upon her marriage ending and her children dispersing, now was ripe to act on her youthful aspiration and so she finds herself building her very own strawbale house, in the company of friends, community and whānau:

"...a building up of

radiance...

I can think of no other fineness

than to build with earth, brush

light from rock, and there rest

dreaming after a day by clinking

stones, while overhead a pipit

sings" (With lime wash, p15)

One scoop at a time she dabs on the protective coats, after mixing together the correct proportions of locally-sourced sand, clay, straw, water and sawdust. Local people, many older, pitch in to help nurturing the communal. These individuals' kindnesses and strength, and handprints, are embodied in the walls and spirit of the home. The house was to emerge as if from the landscape, inspired by vernacular architecture. It would also pay homage to earlier dwellers, where children would have run over the hills to the local school, and adults worked the land and grew produce, as she is doing now.

Sullivan's Map for the Heart is a collection of essays, poetry and pieces of memoir related to her present home, her family and her notion of belonging. On arrival, she was ignorant of the species inhabiting the terrain but realised we have an ethical duty in the way we relate to the much broader natural world. This means attentiveness, appreciating each plant or being in its uniqueness and adaptability. In such a setting, the colours and variations can be overwhelming - of the lucernes in purple flower, perfuming the air, or the frozen yarrow stalks. As fellow local poet Michael Harlow writes, it is to notice the seed scatterings almost microscopic, the flowers and their colour conversations.

This sense of wonder relates to all parts of the landscape: the hills Sullivan bikes over, the tracks she follows, the Manuherekia River for which she advocates, as part of the Central Otago Environmental Society. She feels her obligation to stand up for the land against human intervention; to protect the dryland ecosystems for future generations. Her grandchildren often enter her stories either as physical presences or in her mind.

Sullivan is a writer of poetry, fiction and non-fiction; she writes thoughtfully and quietly, grounded in a landscape and community with which she actively engages. Nature should and will always dominate, yet she has found her settled place. Even in the midst of a snowstorm, her home is sheltered. Here is a home from which to write out her world and in this way others can come to know of it, to protect it and tread carefully.

Reviewed by Jessie Neilson