The librarian gave me a glance that suggested I’d failed to grasp the nub of the lesson and had gone off on an unexpected tangent.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I don’t know how to distinguish one plant from the next. I have to teach myself a new way of smelling, so the scents of the individual natives become as easy to locate in my brain as rose, honeysuckle or lavender. I need to start again with the notes.’ Though I was still grasping for clarity of thought, the idea of relearning how to smell took hold and dispelled some of my earlier disappointment. ‘The plants are my way into the subject. They’re the first step towards understanding the traditions and culture surrounding them. That’s how I can learn to be of this land.’

‘So botany, ethno botany, tikanga Māori, colonial history … That is quite a journey,’ the librarian said, his face professionally closed once more. ‘I hope you’re not working to a deadline.’

‘I’m not,’ I replied.

He patted the volume. ‘Do you want to see Taylor’s entry for the recipe before you start?’

‘No, thanks. It’s okay.’

He sighed. ‘I won’t leave this out for you, then. I’ll reshelve it.’

As I walked home I saw that the trip to the library had done me good. It seemed as if a faint trace of order was beginning to return to my life. My future, still uncertain, was not as frightening. I’d started to make decisions, to regain control and a sense of purpose. I was no longer tumbling around feeling lost but had begun to move forward at a gentle speed I could sustain. Yes, I would learn about plants, but it wasn’t a race and I had nothing to prove. I didn’t have to become an expert. I would take my time, my whole life if necessary, and allow the knowledge to grow, slowly and steadily, naturally. It would enter me, like breath and scent.

I could hear the protest before I could see it. A distorted voice calling through a megaphone and the roar of the crowd’s response, ‘Shame, shame, shame!’ I hurried up the hill, joining a stream of people all headed in the same direction. Some kept to themselves and looked downcast, but others formed lively groups, holding banners between them and chanting as they marched ahead. When I reached the main campus I joined the back of a large mass of people. Voices came from all directions, a chorus gathering momentum in its rallying cry of ‘Save the humanities!’, ‘Arts not cuts!’