White Bait (A tale of two South Westlands)

SATURDAY

Spring has officially arrived. The mossy grass is soft and warm, its damp and earthy smell a memory of a week of rains. Little waves splash softly towards the river bank, slowly edging closer as the tide rolls in. A skylark is singing, high, high above the river. Sun filters through the punga overhead, streaks of heat warm cool skin. Along the river mouth a line of whitebaiters scoop into the incoming waves, the surface glistens as the warm sun shines down on it. Alex is hunting crabs on the river bank below me, stopping every now and then to check his net. The river seems peaceful, the tide is full and the seabirds congregate on the opposite bank. Buckets empty, its time to head home.

SUNDAY

We wake to ominous grey clouds hugging the mountain tops out the window. Not a streak of sunlight brightens the sky. The smell of rain is heavy in the air as we pack up nets and buckets. As we arrive a wind has risen, whipping sand along the empty shoreline. Jeremy drops us at the cliffs, off to get his nets in as we walk along the beach. Tiny raindrops start to fall, we are dressed in heavy layers, jackets and hats a complete opposite to the previous day. The children run into the trees, climbing onto the swings, they swing above the beach for a while before running ahead to the huts along the lagoon. We walk back up to the tiny settlement, Alex stopping to smell all the wet daffodils. The rain begins to fall faster, we run the rest of the way to Jeremy in the truck. Before long the rain is really pouring down, the infamous torrential West Coast rain raising the river in mere minutes. A lone kotuku wades along the lagoon edge, eventually giving up and flying off as we drink hot coffee, the skies grey, the river swollen and the rain thundering down on the truck roof. Another day of empty buckets, its home time again.

Winter pantry

A while ago I promised to write about what we squirrel away in preparation for winter. Of course, I never did write that post! Things we usually make in the autumn have changed somewhat, my precious rosehip syrup packed full of vitamin C is missing due to a complete lack of wild roses out here. Alex and Phineas have fermented jars full of sauerkraut, seasoning each jar slightly differently with a variety of different dried spices. We collected wild growing bits and pieces to make kimchi, and topped them up with town bought supplies. We have dried mountains of borlotti beans to add to all our soups and casseroles, but none of our kumikumi or squash came to anything, so this year we have a shed full of pumpkins grown by Ted along with a few store bought ones. As always, we have fermented ketchup, fermented mayonnaise, and fermented onions on the go, and we have started a brand new ginger bug. Although we are still milking, and still bringing home plenty of raw milk, I am once again making oat milk daily. This week I intend to start a new sourdough starter, I haven't had one for two years now and am really missing it! Most importantly, we have made a big batch of fire cider, a guaranteed to stop any bug in its tracks blend of garlic, ginger, apple cider vinegar, chilli and manuka honey. All these goodies, along with an Ayuvedic based diet full of dahls, kitchari, tumeric tea and other nurturing, nourishing goodies are our keys to winter wellness.

 

LACTO FERMENTED MAYONNAISE

• 1 Large Free RangeEgg
• Pinch Cayenne Pepper
• 1/2 tsp. Organic Dry Mustard
• 1/4 tsp. Rock Salt
• 2 Tbsp. Apple Cider Vinegar
• 1/4 c. Extra Virgin Olive Oil
• 3/4 c. Other oil of choice
• 1 tsp manuka honey
• 1 1/2 tsp. Whey

1. Combine the egg, cayenne, mustard, salt, vinegar, honey, whey and 1/4 c. oil in a small bowl and start beating with an electric beater.
2. Whilst beating, add the remaining oil in a thin, constant, steady stream.
3. After you’ve added about half the oil, the mixture should start to thicken.
4. Once all the oil has been incorporated, transfer mayonnaise to a small jar and close the lid tightly.
5. Leave the mayo on the counter for 7-12 hours to “ferment” and then refrigerate.

LACTO FERMENTED KETCHUP

• 1 can organic tomato paste
• 2 tbs raw apple cider vinegar 
• 1/4 cup manuka honey 
• 3 tbs whey
• 1 clove of garlic
• 1/4 tsp rock salt 

Combine all ingredients, transfer to a jar and allow to ferment at room temperature for 2-3 days. Refrigerate.

Autumn Fading

Two rainy, stormy weeks have ended a run of beautiful warm days. The ground is heavy and soaked through, we venture out only to feed animals and get more firewood now. The lawn sinks, feet disappearing ankle deep in mud as you step on it. My beautiful cosmos that were so vibrant little more than a week ago have faded into brown slush, drooping heavily and rotting at the roots. The first dusting of snow fell crisp and fresh, polishing the tips of the Alps with a bright and clean whiteness two nights ago. The dragonflies are gone and the cicadas and crickets have fallen silent. Day after day of torrential rain are punctuated by thunderstorms; lightning tears through the sky over and over, thunder echoes off the mountains and shakes the house, seemingly stuck amongst the towering Alps it moves slowly and can last for days.

This week marks Phineas' second birthday, and Zoe's ninth. Phineas, being first, is excitedly planning his...he wants a Christmas tree, a rainbow cake and a bunny. There is something so bittersweet about your last little baby growing so independent and capable. He is all we hoped for; free spirited, packed full of passion for life, loving, carefree and wild, but knowing that we are nearing the very end of our baby days forever is sobering with a sting. We will, however, celebrate thoroughly on Sunday; he will have his Christmas tree, I will make him his rainbow cake, and if the weather gods are kind, we will have a bonfire into the night. Zoe is getting older, and all she wants is to go to "the city" and buy her own presents, so in June we have booked a hotel in Christchurch and she can buy all the clothes and music her nine year old heart desires!

It is late now, the sky is inky black, not a star to be seen out the windows. The three boys' snoring has blended into a comforting chorus and the house is toasty warm, the smell of smoldering totara and freshly baked bread bring such a cosy feel. The rain has let up for a moment and everything is still and calm. I intend to write more frequently, but then I do say that with every post and have made no improvement on seasonal updates. Goodnight world and goodbye autumn.

Autumn again

Here we are again, the summer has ended and autumn is upon us. Summer seemed to end overnight, the first day of March we awoke to a new chill in the air and thick fog from the alps to the coast. It was most definitely a fire sort of morning, and I was filled with smug satisfaction as I carted in a load of my perfectly dried wood; the same wood Jeremy assured me wouldn't need to be cut til March!

The end of summer also brought with it the South Westland A&P show, and all three children spent the week working on their entries; busily harvesting berries, icing cakes, plucking all the flowers from my garden for their sandsaucers, baking and constructing various bits and pieces. It was lovely to see them so supportive of each others efforts and so thoroughly industrious! They helped at every opportunity; setting up tents at the show grounds, dragging last years wood away and even helping sell sausages on the day. We talked about how nice it was to be part of the community and how it didn't matter whether they won prizes or not, it was just huge fun to join in with everyone else and be a part of it all. This was all very well and good until they all started winning prizes, and I have to admit, I was as proud as they were to see their stack of prize cards!

The days are becoming shorter and the mornings and evenings colder, so we are making the most of the still temperate days, roaming every day, and  this week alone we have walked Lake Wombat, the Tatare Tunnels, The Callery/Waiho circuit, Whataroa Wetlands, and all over  Franz. With the change of temperature has come a natural change of diet, and we are squirreling away all the goodies we will need to stave off winter bugs and to warm chilly days, more on that in my next post!

High Summer

Summer is at its hottest. The Matainui has dried up. All along the dusty road huge dragonflies lie lifeless, their cycles complete. Up the valley road the blackberries are ripening, growing fat and sweet in the heat of the long days. Days are spent roaming, the children disappearing into the tangles of wild blackberry bushes, emerging hours later with buckets overflowing. It is barefoot season, shoes have long since been forgotten in the cloak room. Even the snow on the Alps has receded so you can only catch the tiniest glimpses from the house. We are making wishes on first stars and dandelion wish fairies, wishing that the summer never ends.

Around home

Writing is not a talent I possess. I have wanted to write about home for months, but I am a little apprehensive, I'm certain I can't do it justice, but will attempt to paint you a picture. Our wee house is old, so old that the kitchen and bathroom are add ons, it was built without a bathroom and the kitchen was little more than a coal range. Bits and pieces have been added on, little touches of every decade since it was built add to its character. None of the doors have handles, and most can't even be closed. At the front of the house is the kitchen. Its north facing windows look out over Mount Hercules, the foothills of the Southern Alps and up the Whataroa Valley. From the west we look over the farm towards Whataroa and the distant Okarito Lagoon. Out the back of the house is an old covered veranda, surrounded by ancient hydrangea bushes and my wee garden. The house is set back in the alpine foothills and the hills rise sharply from the backyard, the first row of the beautiful Southern Alps. A row of old macrocarpas shelter the veranda and the house paddocks, they are home to a shy morepork who we have only seen once despite hearing him call most nights as we lie in bed. The hills behind are thick with west coast rainforest, they ring with the songs of the cicadas and tui all day and with the calls of the kiwi and kea all night. A row of moreporks echo up the valley on clear nights, each one taking its turn,  fading into the distance. Amongst the rainforest are hidden the clearest, icy fresh pools, and ribbons of tiny streams merging into waterfalls that flow into the Matainui which runs down the valley floor, past the house and towards Whataroa below us. Behind the line of Alps above us is a mass of glaciers, the rugged and rocky tops covered in snow and ice year round. They rise so sharply that weather moving in from the Tasman sea hits their faces and can move no further east, bombarding us with around six metres of rain a year. Rivers rise and fall rapidly, an opalescent blue from the glaciers the begin in. It is still and quiet, the only sounds of civilisation are the occasional sounds from the milking shed when the wind blows in the right direction or the odd helicopter picking its way up the valley to the glaciers or towards the Whataroa Valley and Mount Cook. The house paddocks are full of hydrangeas, cabbage trees and kowhai, the home of 11 chubby wood pigeons. Alex's chickens roam and forage in the long grass all day, following  Buttercup the calf and Lambington the lamb as the stir up insects in their grazing. This is paradise.