The people

Karen at the heart of it.

One house in Robina. A mother, her two sons, her grandson. Everyone making something.

The founding maker

Karen.

She knits and crochets every piece in this shop, one at a time, in her chair at home.

She also wrote sixty feet of the family's whakapapa out by hand, at a wānanga on Waikawa Marae with the kaumātua, so the children coming after would know the line. The marae knows her. Her grandmother's name is in their newsletter.

Everything else on this page grew out from her.

Read her story, in her own words

In her own words

Karen’s story.

Written out by hand in August 2026, at the kitchen table in Robina, and transcribed word for word. Nothing here has been tidied up.

I started knitting before I started primary school at five years old.

Dad had made me knitting needles from wooden skewers taken from roast beef. Dad would sand the skewers to make them smooth.

I had a ball of wool and once knitted, I would pull it undone and start again.

Karen

We went to school at Whekenui in the whaling season. We had to walk over the hill, which is a fair hike for little kids. Many a time one of the parents had to walk us over because of the huge cows and bulls in the top paddock. If the weather was bad, we were all jammed below deck of one of the whale chasers and taken to school in the next bay. The noise of the motor was deafening.

We didn’t have power or electricity down there, so everything was done on the wood stove. Water was heated in a pot for our bath, which was tin and the paint was peeling off. I remember us kids being jammed in, one kid out and the next one in.

Every time we walked down to the station on the narrow pathway, I had a fear of falling into the sea. The blood and offal from the whales attracted tuere, or blind eels. They are also called snot eels, because they release massive amounts of thick sticky slime. The sea boiled with these eels, there were so many. Mum said, at that time, she would have fed us the eels and whale meat.

Another disgusting thing was the smell. Sixty odd years later I took my sons and grandchildren down to visit, and I’m sure the smell was still there. Some of the grandkids went for a swim in the bay and the water was so clear.

I remember there was always something to do. Heaps of kids from other families. Reeves, Huntley, Skippers, Nortons. All pretty much related.

We couldn’t swim in the bay at that time because of the offal and blood from the whales. We had the little creek to play in, and would slide down the hills on cardboard boxes and anything we could find.

Sometimes they would have a movie night for the families. All the women at the station would dress in their finest, with hair done beautifully and red lipstick.

I was only five years old when Dad caught the two great white sharks. I was shut in the bach, and all he could hear was me at the window calling out “Daddy, Daddy”. I only shut up when he came back to shore.

Being the only girl with six brothers, for a while, I was lucky. We all looked after each other. There would have had to have been seven of us kids down there at one time. Mum had twins next. I don’t know how she would have coped.

We grew up without money or fancy things, but I would not change anything.

I had knitting needles in my hands. My happy place. If anyone wanted something made, they would give me wool and a pattern.

Karen

My other passions are researching our family history and whakapapa, the family trees, and quilting and embroidery.

My dad told me once, before he died, that I reminded him of his mother, Hariata. That is the highest praise anyone could get.

At the end of this year I will take my korowai back to Waitangi House, north of Auckland, to meet my grandmother, Hariata, who was one of the weavers of the Bledisloe Chair.

Transcribed from five pages of Karen’s handwriting, sent 20 August 2026. Her words, her order, her spelling. The originals are kept with the family.

Her sons

Both of them write.

Karen made things with her hands and wrote the line down. Her two boys grew up in Picton and both of them ended up doing the same thing in words.

Books

Anthony (Āhuru)

Karen's eldest. He writes, and he is the one who built this shop for her. The Invisible Code is the one book currently shown here.

The Invisible Code shown here.

The Invisible Code

Short stories

Steven (Tēpane)

Karen’s youngest, and the other half of this. He and his brother work on it together every day.

He is writing his own book, in his own voice.

Working partner. His stories are on the writing page.

His writing

Everyone on this page approves their own words before they appear here.

The third generation

Honey.

Karen’s granddaughter. She builds nappy cakes, tier by tier out of rolled nappies and ribbon, for the very newest members of a family, and nappy trikes with a teddy in the saddle. The needles went down the line, and they did not stop.

Nappy cakes & nappy trikes

Her own collection

Every piece one of a kind and made to order, with the baby’s own name spelled out in wooden tiles if you want it.

Karen is writing her words for this page. Honey read her page and said yes on 23 August 2026.

Honey’s page Her pieces in the shop

Room to grow

The rest of the family, when they are ready.

Other family makers can each have their own named collection here, so nobody's work gets muddled with anybody else's and the customer always knows whose hands made the piece.

Their own name

Each maker gets their own collection, named for them, with their own photographs and their own words.

Their own say

Nobody is added because they are family. Each person approves their own page, their products and their photographs first.

Their own money

Every sale is recorded against the maker who made the piece.