http://theharmonytreehouse.com.au/

The Harmony Tree House, House Of Creative Learning 6 Park Terrace, Port Lincoln (2026)

12/03/2026

thought it might be fun to share a little day in the life with you.

I’m Heidi, a 43 year old mum of two beautifully wild boys, nine and eleven, living in a small country town where the wind moves through the gum trees and everyone seems to know everyone.

My days are a patchwork of things I love. I’m Waldorf trained and run a small seasonal playgroup where we follow the rhythms of nature… baking bread, telling stories, singing songs, watching the children grow in their own gentle time. It’s one of the greatest joys of my life.

But my life isn’t just playgroup.

Some days start with sourdough bubbling away on the bench and a quick wander around the garden to see what’s growing. Some days start with me looking for my keys for ten minutes while the boys are already halfway out the door.

I write. I coach other women. I help mothers find rhythm in their homes so life feels a little softer and a little less rushed.

In between all of that there are school lunches, muddy boots, laundry piles that seem to multiply overnight, and the constant soundtrack of two energetic boys who are either building something, wrestling something, or eating something.

We live on a big block of land and I’m slowly learning the art of homesteading. Think sourdough experiments, hopeful vegetable patches, and chickens arriving at Easter (which we are all very excited about).

I’ve always been someone who believes abundance doesn’t come from having more.

It comes from noticing more.

A warm loaf of bread.
Children playing outside until the light fades.
A cup of tea in a quiet moment.
The rhythm of an ordinary day done well.

Anyway, this little carousel is just a glimpse into what my days look like at the moment.

I’d love to know…
what does a typical day in your life look like right now?

25/02/2026

This post was born from me sitting back for a moment at playgroup and really observing the moment. And thinking how magical mess with children really is, truly - here me out!

Listening to the joyful chatter, Toys across the floor. Fruit waiting on the bench. Paint in places paint was never meant to be. A sink that somehow fills again the moment it’s emptied.

And instead of seeing mess, I saw pure magic.

Evidence of hands that were busy.
Of imaginations that were trusted.
Of children given time and space to try, to spill, to create, to taste. And really enjoy the space and the bubble they were in.

The shabby tablecloths and stained clothes tell a story. They say no one was rushed. No one was stopped too soon. The constant dishes mean we gathered. We cooked. We shared. We nourished our bodies, This is what a well lived, well loved home looks like.

It isn’t pristine. It isn’t styled. It is alive.

How lucky we are, as caregivers, to spend our days in the middle of it. To witness childhood up close. To be the steady presence while the chaos of growing unfolds around us.

One day the toys will stay neatly in their baskets. The sink will remain empty. The paint will dry in its tubes.

But today, it looks like this.

And that feels exactly right.

My boys are no longer in the busy realms of early childhood and its truly bitter sweet. We have a different kind of beautiful mess in our home now, one of football boots, and fishing gear, and many pairs of sneakers!

Maybe being just a footstep out of that world gives me a different perspective, I dont know.

Or maybe my tolerance for mess has grown, who knows, but what I do know is this is what it is in all its beautiful messy - well lived glory!

H xx

22/02/2026

I’ve really been feeling the shift towards Autumn this year. It is my favourite season! I am really looking forward to the autumn rhythm in my home and in my playgroups. An invitation to slow down and enjoy the abundance of the season. Are you feeling it too?

You don’t need to overhaul everything to mark the turning of the season. You don’t have to change your seasonal table on the first day of Autumn either. Let it evolve as nature does. The calendar doesn’t always lead. The world around us does. Slow, beautiful transition.

Notice what’s already changing.
The light.
The earlier dusk.
The evening chill.
Leaves dancing and falling.

Point them out to your children on walks. Talk about the changes, craft them and tell stories and songs about them.

Bring one or two golden leaves inside. Tuck them beside your summer silks. Let the transition happen gently. Slowly adding more as the season unfolds.
This week in playgroup, we’re weaving in leaves to our rhythm as they are already falling in the garden. The wind has been lively, so our planned craft can wait while we make kites this week instead. Rhythm is responsive to what is going on in the world around us.

We’re welcoming porridge back. The rugs are returning to the garden. Warmth is slowly finding its place again. Not the summer warmth but the intentional kind.

Here are a few thoughtful shifts help everyone feel comfortable as the season changes:

• Add candles into your day as the light softens. For meal routines, bed times and lamps as dark comes.

• Bring in small nature treasures from your walks. Pinecones, seedpods, leaves.

• Shift food toward warmth. Think stewed apples, pumpkin soup, roasted root vegetables, herbal tea.

• Introduce new stories slowly. We’re telling The Runaway Pancake this week, and keeping it along side a few summer rhymes until we get closer to Easter.

• Simplify one small part of your routine. Remove one busy activity inviting more time for rest.

• Warmth to your home with extra blankets rugs and cushions.

Seasonal rhythm is less about aesthetics and more about atmosphere. Children feel the gradual shift. It tells them the world is safe around them.

More in comments ✨

09/02/2026

Today’s little photo dump ✨️
a valentine’s day playgroup full of slow magic -
celebrating love, planting tiny seeds of care,
making flowers, creating love cards inspired by vintage chocolate boxes, and stamping hearts everywhere they’d fit 💕

Gentle hands, busy imaginations, rosy cheeks,
and the magical playgroup garden holding the MOST perfect space.

TRuly the sweetest way to spend the day 🌸

05/02/2026

Week one photo dump 🐚🌻🧶 // what a beautiful, nourishing first week back we had at playgroup. The most dreamy summer weather wrapped around us as we explored the garden at the old house. We made summer candle holders made with clay and shells (I might need to head up the coast for more shells this easter 🐚). Flower potions in the water table, peaches growing in the garden, stories, songs, and the very best of friends - exactly how slow summer days should feel!

03/02/2026

My pockets have been an endless source of my own amusement over the years 😂 Truly a magical place where things get lost, to be discovered most of the time weeks later!

I’ve found so many oddities, but today I had to giggle and snap the evidence before it mysteriously migrated to the washing machine.

Today’s pocket haul included:
• a little bundle of string (???)
• a wooden chooky
• some shells
• a crayon someone definitely decided to chomp on!
• a peg

And yes what a treasure trove.
And this is just today.

Other past pocket treasures have included:
• rocks that were “very important”
• half a leaf, not the whole leaf
• mystery glitter that will never fully go away
• a single sock (no matching sock has ever been found)
• wool, wool roving, finger knitting.
• bits of bread
• a broken stick that was gifted to me
• stickers
• a random lid with no container
• tiny dinosaurs
• bits of tape
• and marbles

Surely I’m not the only one? 😅 Anyone else in early childhood / playgroup life end the day with pockets fuller than their bag? What are the weirdest things you’ve discovered?

28/01/2026

Today I sat down and mapped out my term ahead. When I plan a playgroup term, I don’t start with activities - I start with reflection. I turn to the world around me. I begin with the season, the landscape around us, and the natural rhythms of the year. I map the weeks, note birthdays and festivals, and let these gentle markers guide the stories we tell, the crafts we make, and the play we invite. And I shape everything around these things.

In Waldorf early childhood education, repetition and rhythm are at the heart of learning. Stories are told for weeks so children can carry them inward, imagine the scenes deeply, and express them through play, art, and movement. Seasonal festivals and the cycles of the year help children live in time, understand change, and feel a connection to the world around them - a quiet, lived knowledge that shapes curiosity, awareness, and joy.

Every element in our playgroup, from the seasonal table to the baking, the crafts, and the circle games - are woven together intentionally. Planning this way allows children to experience the rhythms of life rather than just observe them, giving them a grounded sense of security, belonging, and wonder. To teach without 'teaching'.

This term, our stories, crafts, and play are guided by light, love, and the unfolding of the seasons. It’s a rhythm lived, felt, and shared - and it all begins with careful, heart-led planning.

When the boys were little and at home with me my planning looked much the same. We revisited stories and traditions that worked and that were loved. I often repeat some things in the playgroup year, but for the most I am influenced by what the current season is whispering.

How do you approach planning for the little ones in your care - whether at home, homeschooling, or running a group like me?

Do you plan ahead or wing it?

22/01/2026

Quiet rebellions in motherhood often go unnoticed, yet they are the soft ripples that branch outward, weaving a sacred, unique tapestry of home for our children - the home they will remember as they grow, and the home they will carry in their hearts when they have children of their own.

I remember this season very well: small children close in age, days that felt like a blessing, and days we barely scraped through. One bedtime is blissful, flowing perfectly; the next, a missed window, full of tears.

It is the small, deliberate choices we make each day - the repeated meals that anchor us, comforting and familiar, the same plate, the same song; the rhythms carved by listening closely to your child’s needs rather than following every rule, every piece of advice, or “so they say”; the permission we give ourselves to rest, unhurried and without guilt. All together on the couch, a movie playing softly, or an impromptu nap wrapped in arms and hugs.

When we quietly choose our own way, children notice. They learn that their needs matter. They learn that boundaries are love. They learn that life can be rich, steady, and gentle, even without perfection. That perhaps perfection is the acceptance of a settled nervous system over a tidy bench.

These quiet rebellions move like wind through trees, unseen yet shaping everything they touch. They can be fierce, or they can be tender. They hold us. They hold our children. They quietly shift the shape of home, the shape of childhood, the shape of generations yet to come.

I have been absent here for what seems a life time. I have been halfway across the country in Queensland, caring for my sister post-partum. My boys and husband are home in South Australia. The absence has been hard and also deeply healing. I have been writing on substack. Its Quieter there! Ill link you in my stories.

Heidi x

31/12/2025

I’m not setting resolutions for 2026.

I’ve learned that when I do, life becomes a measuring stick. I watch myself too closely. And when I inevitably wobble, I’m harder on my poor dear self than I would ever be on someone I love. I have decided I deserve better than that. In my 42 years, I’ve been learning the art of acceptance, love, and grace. I want to honour what is, what has been, and gently move with what honours me on a soul level.

So instead, I’m setting a tone.
One that chooses soul-level peace over external expectations.

Grounded, not rushed.
Slow enough to notice, yet moving forward with each step.

This is a year of noticing what has held me, and gently letting what hasn’t slip away.
Choosing depth over more.
Community over performance.
Showing up as the villager. Honouring what needs tending.

Sharing and giving without expectation.

Allowing work to fit around family life, not the other way around.

I’m letting hustle slip away. Letting urgency lose its voice. Letting constant availability rest.

In their place, I’m inviting quieter things in:
Small, real circles.
Shared cups of tea.
Rhythms that make room for living.
Listening to my body and showing it care.

A clear no, honoured without apology, so my yes can remain warm and true.

I’m learning to trust direction without needing the full map.

To accept what is, and what will be, without rushing either.

To allow becoming to unfold alongside being.

For 2026, I want to tend what is true.

Stay small enough to give my attention fully to what matters.
Wise enough to know what needs honouring,
what needs patience,
and what I do not need at all.

If you’re stepping into the year without resolutions too, let’s walk together.

Thank you for all that you are and being here with me ❤️

How are you honouring all that is?

29/12/2025

Betweenmas ✨️
These days feel different, don’t they?

After Christmas has had its say and the year finally loosens its grip, something gentler arrives.

The boys are at the table making fishing lures, guitar playing on loop, wandering outside to whittle bits of wood from the garden. We swim for hours. We come home tired in the best, salt-soaked way.

The end-of-year urgency has faded and we can breathe again.

The to-do lists have disappeared.
Time feels like our friend once more.

I recently learned that in Norway, they call this time romjul.

The quiet days between Christmas and New Year.
Days not meant for effort or improvement.

A liminal space.
A soft place to land in wholeness.
A time to let the year arrive fully.
To let it settle in the body.
To rest.

This is how we’re spending Betweenmas, if you were to wander past our place:
Beach days with sandy towels.
Long walks that don’t need a destination.
Books opened simply because they’re waiting.
Meals made slowly from whatever’s on hand.
Leftovers again, and then again.
Familiar shows playing while the house breathes.
Paint, paper, hands busy without a reason.
Early nights, late mornings.
Cups of tea forgotten until they’ve gone cold.
Doing less. On purpose.

Before the calendar turns and the next year begins to ask things of us, I’m letting this space stretch.

Letting time feel irrelevant.
Letting the year settle gently in the body.

If you’re here too, reading this quietly, consider this a small permission slip.
Stay a little longer 🎄

27/12/2025

This year shaped me in ways I didn’t expect.

I began the year holding more than I could sustainably carry. More sessions. More ideas. More hope that I could stretch just a little further without cost. What I learned, gently and sometimes the hard way, is that devotion to this work cannot come at the expense of my own rhythm.

I moved from four playgroup sessions to two, not because the need wasn’t there, but because I was learning to listen. To my body. To my family. To the quieter voice that was asking for sustainability over expansion.

I tried something new, a playgroup in the bush, with all the intention and heart I could bring to it, and met more resistance than I expected. That, too, taught me something about timing. About letting ideas rest until the season is right.

This year also held family sickness, creative doubt, and the ongoing work of mothering while holding space for others. I returned again and again to my writing, learning to trust my own voice rather than searching for inspiration outside myself.

What I’m carrying forward is not a bigger plan, but a clearer one. A deeper respect for rhythm. A commitment to building slowly. And a knowing that the way we gather, care, and live matters just as much as what we create.

As I step into the year ahead, I’m honouring all that shaped this one. The good, the hard, the messy, and the utterly magnificent life we are given. I’m moving forward with more care, more trust, and a quieter devotion to the life I’m building, brick by brick.

Thank you 2025, I wouldn't say you were the best year, but you were entirely necessary for me.

What part of the year do you want to hold just a little bit longer?

18/12/2025

Wow, we’ve had a big week.
Everyone home. A new rhythm finding its feet.
Relatives visiting.

A year’s worth of living sitting quietly behind us.

I’ve felt like I’ve been treading water, trying to meet everyone’s needs while remembering I have my own too. Holding the practical things, the emotions, the expectations, and the invisible bits that no one else sees.

At one point I caught myself moving faster, tightening, pushing through.
So I paused.

Not to fix anything, but to sit with what was actually going on.

And what I noticed was this: nothing was wrong.
We were just meeting a season that asks more.
More presence. More flexibility. More patience. More care.

This time of year stretches families in quiet ways. Children feel it. We feel it. And it makes sense that parenting can feel heavier, louder, harder than usual.

If this season has you feeling a little undone, you’re not alone.

I’m right here with you, learning again how to slow, soften, and respond rather than rush.

No answers. Just noticing.
And a reminder that we are all here together ❤️

If this season is asking more of you too, you’re welcome to sit here with me for a moment.

Heidi x

The Harmony Tree House

12/03/2026

25/02/2026

22/02/2026

09/02/2026

05/02/2026

03/02/2026

28/01/2026

22/01/2026

31/12/2025

29/12/2025

27/12/2025

18/12/2025

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