Returning to the River, Together
When I first entered a Save Our River Trust hui in early 2023, I came in with a newborn in my arms. My fourth child, only a few weeks old. I was on maternity leave, using the spaciousness between feeds and naps to explore how I might contribute to my community in a way that felt easeful, local, and purposeful.
I didn’t know exactly what I was stepping into—but I trusted the pull.
I was the youngest in the room. Feeding my pēpi quietly, observing, listening—it was different. And. what a beautiful thing, to bring a new generation in from the very beginning.
SORT turns 21 this year. Over two decades of community-led restoration, storytelling, planting, advocacy, and service to Piriharakeke. A movement carried by many hands—hapū, iwi, long-time volunteers, and those with deep ties to the awa.
I joined in the most recent chapter, offering what I could: helping shape an intervention logic to clarify our path ahead, digitising systems to lighten the load, growing our online presence to reflect the depth of the kaupapa, and gently reconnecting our mahi with the community through story and shared action.
I haven’t led the work. I’ve simply helped reveal the current beneath it. Weaving what’s long been present into something a new generation can contribute to with clarity.
A few weeks ago, I facilitated our strategy session to revisit the kaupapa and its future direction. One of our kuia reframed it perfectly: “Maybe it’s not a roadmap,” she said. “Maybe it’s a river map.”
That hui was hosted in a space where my eldest daughter was invited to attend. In our whare, our tamariki know they’re always welcome at hui—but they must introduce themselves. It’s part of how I’m restoring te reo me ōna tikanga Māori in my home. Not as something to prepare for, but something we live by.
She stood. A little shy, a little awkward. And she did it.
I watched respected community leaders and elected members introduce themselves in return. These are the subtle shifts I pay attention to. The tiny tingles in the air when something generational begins to move.
My tamariki know Piriharakeke by name, and by relationship.
In my new role as Chair of Save Our River Trust , that’s the exact kind of restoration I want to make possible for the next generation—not just ecological, but relational. A return to familiarity, to trust, to presence.
There’s a quiet strength to the way this kaupapa has been carried. I want to acknowledge Matua Robin Hapi, who continues to serve as a trustee. His steady leadership has been a constant pou, and it means something to be able to learn alongside him—not because the baton has been thrown, but because the rhythm of leadership is being shared.
I often think about how my father describes this river—his memories of fishing, swimming, growing up in relationship with it. I don’t have those memories. The disconnection happened within a generation.
Let me be clear.
“I’m not here to romanticise restoration. I’m here to make sure that what my father experienced—or as close to it as we can get—my mokopuna will know too.”
Sometimes change comes when leaders are already tired or stretched thin.
This feels different.
It feels like trust.
Like timing.
Like care.
I acknowledge Matua Robin Hapi and the leadership he continues to offer this kaupapa. I also acknowledge those who whakapapa to Ngāti Tūrangana, including my Uncle Moe Turoa—a founding trustee of this Trust 21 years ago.
Stepping into the role of Chair is simply another layer of whakapapa in a story of quiet change over time.
My role is to keep the rhythm steady.
To hold the kaupapa with integrity.
And to help leave the door open for those still to come.
Ka Manawatū te awa, Ka Manawa ora te iwi.
When the river is well, the people are well.
– Robin Hapi - CNZM
Irene Wakefield, Chair of Save Our River Trust, pictured alongside Deputy Chair Justin Tamihana. With thanks to the Horowhenua Chronicle and Jacob Brookie for the photography.
