Mārama is a te reo Māori word that means clear, light, lucid — the kind of clarity that shows up after dark.

I had been told since I was young that my grandmother was born on the beach under a great pōhutukawa tree, and I’ve carried that image in my mind ever since. She was delivered by her great grandmother, Raihi Miraka, a midwife and the last chieftaness of Aotea.

I just wanted to make a whipped body butter, but what I stumbled upon was a miracle working, luscious whipped creme skin food that smells like cocoa butter and frankincense and soothes sunburns and skin ravaged by chemotherapy.

It is said that there is no place in the world where chickweed doesn’t grow. I found this affirmed when I recently spotted it on my first ever trip to Aotea (Great Barrier Island, New Zealand), my ancestral homeland, a very remote island in the South Pacific.