I first met Lisa, a fiber artist specializing in weaving, on a creative retreat in Puglia with Ace Camps. I gravitated toward her warmth, authenticity, and free spirit. When she emailed me the following spring with an idea – Would you consider traveling to Australia for one of my weaving workshops? – I didn’t need much convincing.
Tempt me with a good time. I’ll use any excuse to buy a plane ticket to a place I’ve never been and to plan a grande adventure. And I can be very persuasive — I convinced my travel buddy, Leah, to take a month off of and join me.
By the time we landed in Busselton, Western Australia, Leah and I had already spent two whirlwind weeks gallivanting across Sydney and Melbourne — eating, shopping, sightseeing. Now we finally had the chance to slow down for a few days and sink into a meditative craft.
Lisa fetched us from our hotel in her rugged, red-dusted off-road vehicle, her adorable mop of a dog, Edie, in tow. We drove an hour inland from the coast and down the long gum tree–lined path that led to Kangamia, Lisa’s home and retreat property in Balingup. She slowed to let Edie tumble out and run alongside the truck toward the main house.
As soon as we stepped inside, Lisa, her partner John, and Jo, our chef for the weekend, were pressing cold gin and tonics into our hands. It felt less like checking into a retreat and more like arriving at a friend’s home.
The Setting: Kangamia
Prior to signing onto the retreat, Lisa managed our expectations: Kangamia wasn’t polished in the way of the boutique hotels we’d stayed in earlier on the trip – our harbor-view boathouse in Sydney, or our modern city stays in Melbourne. That being said, it’s a gorgeous, vast permaculture farm exuding bohemian charm. Fruit and nut trees populate the property. The macadamias were the size of marbles, their bright white flesh unlike any I’d ever seen before.
The main house anchored everything, its open-plan kitchen and wide windows overlooking a lush garden, the living room warmed by a wood-burning stove.
Leah and I shared a room, our twin beds arranged perpendicular to one another and layered with blankets. A small bouquet of native flowers sat on the bedside table. A space heater hummed softly, keeping the evening and early morning chill at bay. The bathrooms were communal, fitted with composting toilets that worked far better – and smelled far less – than one might expect. Rustic, yes, but well thought-out, and far from uncomfortable.
The Food
Meals were prepared by Josephine Taylor (“Jo”), a close friend of Lisa’s who also stayed with us at Kangamia for the duration of the workshop. Jo, who is also a published author, cooked colorful, nourishing dishes. There was always something fresh, and something a little decadent.
Breakfasts often began with eggs, one of my favorite dishes being the shakshuka served with a slice of griddled bread. What we came to anticipate most, though, was what we dubbed “breakfast dessert”: exquisite tea cakes rich with cream, or dense cookie bars that paired perfectly with coffee and tea. Lunches featured Ottolenghi-style cauliflower cake (reminiscent of tortilla española – recipe here, if you’re inspired to bake), hearty soups, fresh salads, and crunchy slaws.
Gin & Tonics marked the transition from day to night, and dinners were warm and communal. There was a satisfying variety – lasagna, roasted sweet potatoes crowned with whipped feta and slivered almonds, broiled fish. We uncorked shared bottles of local wine we picked up from the local general store, and the cellar doors we’d visited in the Margaret River Wine Region.
The Workshop
Our workshop was just steps from the main house – a small, weathered shed that served as Lisa’s studio and classroom. Inside were shelves of books stocked with art books. Rugs softened the floor and bundles of natural fibers were strewn about.
Both in-progress and finished baskets and weavings sparked inspiration, while shafts of light filtering through the windows. The space was layered and lived-in. Lisa led by example, encouraging us to go barefoot. Shoes were quickly abandoned.
Our first project was the melon basket – a piece that began with long, flexible branches arranged in intersecting ellipses. At the center of each side, where the handles met the bowl, we spun a God’s Eye from twine – a pattern I vaguely remembered making in childhood crafts (back then, with yarn and plastic straws).
Once we’d completed one God’s Eye on each side, we twisted and threaded dried, yet pliable palm inflorescence between branches, gradually filling the spaces between the “bones” of the basket.
The second project was a round, flat wall weaving. Lisa handed out packets of natural fiber in earthy mustards, browns, pinks, and greens. Some of us chose bold, tight patterns; others experimented with leaving negative space or weaving in bits of found materials—feathers, bark, or grasses—as we went.
Walking & Wellness
Each morning we’d wake slowly, wandering to the kitchen to warm up with a mug of coffee or tea. Then we’d grab mats, padded bolsters, and blankets from the trunk of the instructor’s car, unfurling them across the floor of the main room, and pushing the furniture to the perimeter, creating a makeshift studio.
Two yoga teachers gave classes during the retreat. They guided us through slow stretches and grounding poses that released the knots in our shoulders from hunching over our weaving. It wasn’t vigorous yoga – no pretzel-like contortions or long static holds – but restorative movement, the kind that let us wake up gently and feel refreshed. (It also wasn’t uncommon to wake from savasana with an eager Edie panting at your side.)
Beyond morning yoga, we took easy afternoon walks to explore the local landscape. At Golden Valley Tree Park, we stood dwarfed beneath vast, ancient trees.
We had a brief window before shops closed for the day in Balingup, but just enough time to grab a hot cacao from Mr. Foster’s Cafe, browse the handful of vintage and antique shops in town… and marvel at the insane fantasy-meets-romance-novel packaging of the plant-based skincare products at Tinderbox (trust me, you won’t regret visiting).
One afternoon took us to the private garden of a friend of Lisa’s – a sculptor – impeccably landscaped and dotted with her copper works. We also paid a short visit to the Origins Centre and its golden peace pagoda.
The Women
Our small group felt more like an extended family than a collection of strangers. In fact, every participant had some link to Lisa. There was a permeability to the week – a blurred line between hosts and guests – just women opening heart and home to one another.
Four of us (five including Lisa) had first crossed paths in Puglia. It was thrilling to reunite in another part of the world. One of the yoga teachers was also a workshop participant. The sixth member of our intimate group, Ayla, was a kind mother of four and an already talented weaver. She graciously gifted Leah and me each a single female red-tailed cockatoo feather as a parting gift at the end of the workshop. And, of course, there was Jo, whose nourishing cooking we all looked forward to at every meal.
At the center of it all was Lisa. Approachable and free-spirited, she had earned the affectionate nickname “Earth Mother” that Leah and I had given her in Italy. She guided the weaving with patience and encouragement but, more often, simply held space for us to explore.
Lisa’s hospitality stretched well beyond the retreat itself. After four days at Kangamia, she extended her generosity with a three-day road trip along the South West coast, inviting us into her breezy, beachside summer home.
I may have signed up for a weaving workshop, but my reasons for saying yes had less to do with weaving and more to do with everything surrounding it: spending time with Lisa, building community through creativity, and exploring a part of Australia I might never have reached otherwise.
Seeing what Lisa has built with Kangamia, supporting her creative endeavors, and simply basking in her presence was a gift. It wasn’t an opportunity to turn down, and it came at exactly the right time – after days of exploring two bustling cities on foot. Lisa even helped shape the next part of our journey: an afternoon and night glamping on Rottnest Island, biking its car-free paths, visiting quiet beaches, and snapping selfies with the island’s famously friendly quokka.
It’s rare for someone you meet on a trip to become a friend in real life, one who later welcomes you into her home on the other side of the world. Meeting Lisa in Italy and reuniting with her in Australia reminded me how creativity connects kindred spirits. It has reunited me with women across the globe, across ages and backgrounds, into a wide, yet close-knit circle. I’m grateful for these connections and the places they’ve led me.
At Perth Airport, I clipped my finished melon basket to my backpack with a carabiner, heading onward to Southeast Asia.
Leave a comment