Between the Slips: Keeping Our Conservation Dream Alive

A story of devastation, resilience, and the unwavering commitment to conservation

The Double Strike

The end of June 2025 will forever be etched in our memory, but not for the reasons we'd hoped. As we were reflecting on the progress of our conservation efforts and the successful crowdfunding of our 2025 planting project, Mother Nature intervened in our little corner of the Tasman region.

It started with the first deluge when the Tasman region was hammered by what meteorologists would later describe as record-breaking rainfall. We watched helplessly as our familiar landscape transformed into something unrecognisable.

The rain didn't just fall—it pummelled, it carved, and reshaped what we thought we knew about our land. Then, just as we were beginning to assess the damage and start the cleanup, mid-July brought a second devastating blow.

Torrential downpour

Trapped on Our Own Land

Both times we found ourselves completely cut off. Three massive slips completely blocked our driveway - our only access route. These weren't mere puddles or washouts; these were massive earth movements that required excavation equipment to clear.

Being "dug out" twice in less than a month becomes a surreal experience. There's something humbling about depending entirely a contractor and his digger to reconnect you with the world beyond your gate. Each time, we waited with a mixture of patience and anxiety as they moved the debris that nature had deposited across our driveway.

A Landscape Transformed

But the driveway was just the beginning. Our farm, which is our canvas for conservation and restoration, became a testament to the raw power of water and gravity. Slips appeared in paddocks where animals graze, under fences we'd carefully maintained, and in places we never imagined the earth could move.

The most heartbreaking loss was a portion of our original bush. This wasn't just any piece of land; this was part of the foundation of our conservation dreams, the established vegetation that had inspired our whole restoration journey. Watching trees that had stood for decades suddenly find themselves at impossible angles, their root systems exposed and their canopy reaching toward empty air, was devastating.

Multiple fences now hang suspended in space like abstract art installations, wires and hanging where solid ground used to be. These "fences in the air" have become an unintended symbol of how dramatically our landscape has changed.

The Long Road Back

Recovery, we learned, is not measured in days or weeks, but in months. It's been over two months since that first June event, and we're only just beginning to feel like we're approaching some sort of normal—though it's a new normal, not the one we knew before.

Some areas of our farm will never be the same. Where once we had gently rolling paddocks, we now have raw earth and reformed contours.

Where we had established paths and familiar landmarks, we have new gullies and redistributed soil. The very geography of our place has been rewritten by forces beyond our control.

There's a strange grief that comes with this kind of landscape loss. It's not just about the practical challenges of farming or the financial impact of repairs. It's about losing the familiar, about having to learn your own land all over again.

Two new slips, hundreds of tonnes of dirt

Resilience in Action

But here's what surprised us most: human resilience and the power of commitment to ongoing conservation. Despite everything—despite being cut off, despite the slips, despite losing part of our original bush, despite fences hanging in mid-air—our 2025 planting project was completed as planned. Between June and July, right in the heart of this chaos, our native plants went into the ground.

The team from Horizons worked with us to find windows between the weather events. The plants we'd purchased from Westbank Natives were planted in their new homes. The recycled fencing materials we'd sourced from around the farm were erected to protect the young seedlings. In the midst of destruction, we were still creating.

The team from Horizons (email)

Lessons from the Land

These events have taught us profound lessons about working with nature rather than against it. Our conservation work isn't just about creating habitat for native wildlife—it's about building resilience into the landscape itself. Every native tree we plant, every fence we build, becomes part of a larger system that can better withstand future challenges.

The ironies weren't lost on us. As we watched areas of our property slide down hills, we were simultaneously planting new roots that would, in time, help stabilise the soil and prevent future erosion. As we cleared slips from our driveway, we were also establishing plants that would grow to become part of the solution.

Looking Forward

The 2025 planting project stands as a testament to persistence. Not just our persistence, but the persistence of everyone who believed in this vision even when the ground—literally—was shifting beneath our feet. The plants are in the ground, protected by fencing, and already beginning their slow work of putting down roots and stabilising soil.

The Tasman floods of 2025 were a test we never expected to face. But they've also proven something important: when you're committed to something that matters, when you're part of a community that believes in the same vision, and when you understand that setbacks are part of the journey — you keep planting.

We're planning our 2026 restoration work with new eyes, informed by what the earth itself has taught us about how water moves and where the ground wants to go.

See our restoration goals for 2026. The work continues.