So often we seem to be looking forward to the perfect man / holiday / job / dress / life / whatever, but are, of course, doomed to failure in our search. Or are we? I think what's needed is recognition that 'perfection' comes in many forms.
Recently I have had a perfect weekend. Twice.
The weekend before last I went to WOMAD, in New Plymouth. I went with Mac. We camped with one of our sons, Simon, and his partner Rebecca, and a whole bunch of their friends, and their friends' friends. We laughed and danced and drank and listened to good music and danced some more and got wet when the rain came to break the drought and it was a perfect weekend. I would have loved it if my other sons and their partners and some of my other friends had been there,but it was what it was and it was perfect.
Last weekend, I went to the second NZ Natural Beekeeping Conference. I learned heaps, had a vegetarian lunch provided, met some interesting and pleasant people and got stung on the head when a woman tried to beat a bee out of my hair instead of just picking it out gently. I got to know some fellow Whaingaroa Bee Club members better, and confirmed that I like them a lot. When I got home, somewhat sore of head and tired, another of our sons, Steven, and his wife, Heidi, came out to stay the night, and Steve cooked us all a very yummy dinner.
On Sunday I did lots of food preservation: I froze Roma tomatoes; I peeled, sliced and dried apples; I collected and froze chestnuts; and I collected Cape Gooseberries added them to some I had in the freezer and made my favourite jam. Mac had cooked homegrown eggs and tomatoes for lunch, so for dinner we just had dessert! Heidi cooked buckwheat pancakes, which we ate with apple I stewed a couple of days earlier, apple butter I made a couple of weeks ago, and icecream.
Another perfect weekend.
This weekend is Easter and I'm looking forward to Mac being home for four days instead of the usual two. There's heaps of work needing doing, A friend is planning to come out for a night or two, maybe there'll be other visitors, maybe not. It may be sunny, though I'm hoping for one rainy day. If we work really hard, a trip for a soak in the Waingaro hot pools may be in order.
With the nights getting cooler, and the days shorter, something inside me is starting to feel sad and black, and I am acutely aware that winter is on its way. I've found my 'happy light in the cupboard, and will start to use it for half an hour morning and night. But most of all, I will try and focus on all the good stuff in my life rather than the bad stuff, which isn't really so bad, and to not think about the disappointments and the what-if's that lurk endlessly in the back of my silly mind waiting to take me unawares. If I am mindful and aware then the monsters won't be able to get me, will they?
I'm planning on Easter being another perfect weekend.
Monday, March 25, 2013
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
February Reading
My intention was to keep track of most of the books I read - or at least those that aren't 'junk food' but the death of my friend Marcia at the end of November sent me into a reflective state such that I had to put all my energy into not falling into depression. I managed that, but many things suffered, including both my reading and writing. However, three books really caught my attention. Both authors are just a few years younger than me (and Marcia), so fitted well with my time of reflection - my gosh, I had it easy! I have never liked reading biographies or autobiographies, but I think I've been converted after reading these, and previously, Roger McGough's Said and Done.
Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit 1985
Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal? 2011
by Jeanette Winterson
I read 'Oranges' first simply because it was written first, and think that was the best way to do it, even though, as it is written in the form of a novel, I found my constant wondering about which parts were 'true' and which parts were fiction somewhat distracting. Horrifyingly, it seems that not only was most of it true, it was also very understated. Winterson has said,
Jeanette started her writing career at the age of six - writing sermons! She was involved all the time in the church activities and evangelising, including the Gospel Tent - a once a year mission to other towns, preaching in the church's Gospel Tent.
Books were not allowed in the house except for the Bible and a couple of others.
In an interview from the Guardian, Jeanette says of Mrs Winterson:
There is little overt bitterness, though my imagination filled that in. The books are not relentless misery; there are amusing anecdotes in both books.For example, Mrs Winterson says the lesbian sweet-shop owners deal in "unnatural passions", and the young Jeanette thinks it means they put chemicals in their sweets . She tells of how Mrs Winterson "was one of the first women to have a heated corset. Unfortunately, when it overheated it beeped to warn the user. As the corset was by definition underneath her petticoat dress, apron and coat, there was little she could do to cool down except take off her coat and stand in the yard."
She left home at 16 after becoming openly lesbian, and went on to work her way through a degree in English, and become a novelist. Later in life, after discovering that her birth mother had not died, as she had been told, she searched for, and found, her birth mother, and found she got on well with her, and keeps in touch.
The Glass Castle 2005
by Jeannette Walls
Born in 1960 in Phoenix, Arizona, this Jeannette lived a very different life from Jeanette Winterspoon. Her parents lived a nomadic, sometimes homeless, life. The book opens with the appalling story of her being burned as a three year old, while cooking hot dog. The book tells of a life of poverty, as her father was sacked from one job after another. Sometimes they slept in their car; other 'homes' were broken down shacks, an abandoned railway building - but always there were the plans for the Glass Castle that her father was designing and going to build one day. On a couple of occasions out of utter desperation, the mother worked as a teacher, but not for long: she was an artist, she claimed, and it was an offence to her Art to work as the teacher her mother had insisted she trained as. They had little food, and were expected, in the main, to feed them selves - hence the hot dog incident. In one home, the father found some timber and made bunk frames, hung ropes across, and then put cardboard over the ropes, making 'real' beds - they usually just slept in the cardboard boxes.
The neglect unfolds gently, however, which makes it even more horrific, because Walls writes from the perspective of the child at what ever age she is writing about. Hence the hot dog incident is less about the horrific burns she endured, and more about the indignation she felt at the hospital staff's criticism of her having been cooking her own food.
She writes about the joys of the life they led. One Christmas, with no money for presents, her father took the children outside and told them they could each chose a star to be their very own for always. Walls chose one but was told it wasn't a star, but a planet. Then her father said, 'but it's Christmas, if you want a planet, you can have a planet.'
As she gets older, she starts to recognise the inadequacy of her parents and their way of living. Eventually her older sister leaves for New York, to find a job and live a better life - and she makes it. Then Jeanette follows at 17, found a job to support herself through her final year of school. Next, they fetch their brother, 13, and take him to New York, and support him through the rest of his schooling. The youngest sister ran off to California and they don't have contact with her. The parents eventually moved to New York too, and lived as homeless street people. Her mother is still alive.
Jeannette graduated from Barnard College with honours, and became a journalist, gossip columnist and writer. She moves in the rich and famous circles, and constantly feared that people would find out about her homeless, dumpster-diving parents, who refused to be helped into a 'better' life by their children. But eventually she decided to come out about her life, wrote The Glass Castle, and appeared on Oprah just before the book came out.
I found both books fascinating, moving, tear-inducing, and inspiring. I was amazed at how different their childhood days were from those of mine, lived on New Zealand farms and small towns, without the neglect and abuse, and yet how easily I could relate to these women. That in itself is a sign of the quality of their writing.
Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit 1985
Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal? 2011
by Jeanette Winterson
I read 'Oranges' first simply because it was written first, and think that was the best way to do it, even though, as it is written in the form of a novel, I found my constant wondering about which parts were 'true' and which parts were fiction somewhat distracting. Horrifyingly, it seems that not only was most of it true, it was also very understated. Winterson has said,
"I suppose the saddest thing for me, thinking about the cover version that is Oranges, is that I wrote a story I could live with. The other one was too painful. I could not survive it."Jeanette was born in 1959 in Manchester and was adopted out six months later. Mrs Winterson, as she calls her mother throughout, wanted a baby to raise in her Elim Pentecostal Church to become a missionary. She was beaten, she was often hungry, she was often left all night outside on the doorstep. Her mother was both excessively religious and very depressed. She was not loved for herself, but only for her fate - to become a missionary.
Jeanette started her writing career at the age of six - writing sermons! She was involved all the time in the church activities and evangelising, including the Gospel Tent - a once a year mission to other towns, preaching in the church's Gospel Tent.
Books were not allowed in the house except for the Bible and a couple of others.
In an interview from the Guardian, Jeanette says of Mrs Winterson:
"It was never going to work between us. I don't know what fate put me with her, or her with me, but at least I was able to use all that and make something of it. Whereas for her it was just purgatory. She was a very unhappy woman. And I was a happy child. In a way, the battle between us was the battle between happiness and unhappiness."
There is little overt bitterness, though my imagination filled that in. The books are not relentless misery; there are amusing anecdotes in both books.For example, Mrs Winterson says the lesbian sweet-shop owners deal in "unnatural passions", and the young Jeanette thinks it means they put chemicals in their sweets . She tells of how Mrs Winterson "was one of the first women to have a heated corset. Unfortunately, when it overheated it beeped to warn the user. As the corset was by definition underneath her petticoat dress, apron and coat, there was little she could do to cool down except take off her coat and stand in the yard."
She left home at 16 after becoming openly lesbian, and went on to work her way through a degree in English, and become a novelist. Later in life, after discovering that her birth mother had not died, as she had been told, she searched for, and found, her birth mother, and found she got on well with her, and keeps in touch.
"Mrs Winterson had always insisted that my biological mother was dead. She also told me that my mother had been a drunk, a drug addict, a mental patient, and a woman who had exploded. I didn’t necessarily believe any of this, but it didn’t make me eager to start looking for her either.This woman has lived a highly controversial life, has suffered misery, abuse and depression, yet writes of a life filled with, well, LIFE! I found her inspiring, not because I want her life, or to do the things she has done, but simply inspiring in this wonderful determination to live and be exactly who she is.
"Then, in 2007, I found some yellowing paperwork hidden in an old chest of Mrs W’s. The papers revealed another name for me – but one violently scribbled out. I was troubled enough and curious enough to risk going further."
The Glass Castle 2005
by Jeannette Walls
Born in 1960 in Phoenix, Arizona, this Jeannette lived a very different life from Jeanette Winterspoon. Her parents lived a nomadic, sometimes homeless, life. The book opens with the appalling story of her being burned as a three year old, while cooking hot dog. The book tells of a life of poverty, as her father was sacked from one job after another. Sometimes they slept in their car; other 'homes' were broken down shacks, an abandoned railway building - but always there were the plans for the Glass Castle that her father was designing and going to build one day. On a couple of occasions out of utter desperation, the mother worked as a teacher, but not for long: she was an artist, she claimed, and it was an offence to her Art to work as the teacher her mother had insisted she trained as. They had little food, and were expected, in the main, to feed them selves - hence the hot dog incident. In one home, the father found some timber and made bunk frames, hung ropes across, and then put cardboard over the ropes, making 'real' beds - they usually just slept in the cardboard boxes.
The neglect unfolds gently, however, which makes it even more horrific, because Walls writes from the perspective of the child at what ever age she is writing about. Hence the hot dog incident is less about the horrific burns she endured, and more about the indignation she felt at the hospital staff's criticism of her having been cooking her own food.
She writes about the joys of the life they led. One Christmas, with no money for presents, her father took the children outside and told them they could each chose a star to be their very own for always. Walls chose one but was told it wasn't a star, but a planet. Then her father said, 'but it's Christmas, if you want a planet, you can have a planet.'
As she gets older, she starts to recognise the inadequacy of her parents and their way of living. Eventually her older sister leaves for New York, to find a job and live a better life - and she makes it. Then Jeanette follows at 17, found a job to support herself through her final year of school. Next, they fetch their brother, 13, and take him to New York, and support him through the rest of his schooling. The youngest sister ran off to California and they don't have contact with her. The parents eventually moved to New York too, and lived as homeless street people. Her mother is still alive.
Jeannette graduated from Barnard College with honours, and became a journalist, gossip columnist and writer. She moves in the rich and famous circles, and constantly feared that people would find out about her homeless, dumpster-diving parents, who refused to be helped into a 'better' life by their children. But eventually she decided to come out about her life, wrote The Glass Castle, and appeared on Oprah just before the book came out.
I found both books fascinating, moving, tear-inducing, and inspiring. I was amazed at how different their childhood days were from those of mine, lived on New Zealand farms and small towns, without the neglect and abuse, and yet how easily I could relate to these women. That in itself is a sign of the quality of their writing.
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
Raising Chicks
When I first got chooks, I bought Brown Leghorns, because I liked the idea of old breeds, and I had always loved the roosters of this breed, which look like the roosters of farmyards in children's picture books. A couple of years later, when I wanted to extend my flock, I couldn't get any, and had given up on the idea of a rooster. Partly because of the noise, and partly because I thought the cats would eat the chicks produced. So I bought Red Shavers, the hybrids used in battery egg farms. They have proved to be wonderful layers, and pleasant natured in the main.
One of the characteristics of hybrids is that they hardly ever go clucky or broody. I've had one who has gone clucky several times over the last three years, but that was easily cured by putting her in a pet rat cage given to me by a friend. (Rat not included!) With lots of light and air, and nothing to make a next with, she quickly gave up on the idea of raising babies.
However, this January not one, but three hens decided their internal clocks were ticking and all went broody the same day - and I couldn't fit three of them in the cage! I bought a dozen eggs off Trademe and put four under each hen. Twenty-one days, the Lifestyle Block book How to Car for Your Poultry said. Would they be right? They weren't right about hybrids not going broody!
Day 2 - 1 egg broken by a clumsy new mum.
Day 18 - 2 eggs broken by helpful children collecting the eggs for me. Sad, but I knew from the remains that something was happening inside the shells.
Day 21 - CHICKS!!! But one died, exhausted from its efforts getting out of its shell.
For the first few days after hatching, I kept the chicks and mums in an old chook hutch designed for 2-3 chooks, but soon the mums were fighting and so I decided that they would have to take their chances in the main chook run.
Turns out, it was an Australasian harrier (hawk), so I set to and made
some extra 'canopy' to deter the harrier, and as far as I am aware, it's
only been back once. Mac heard that there are people who will come out
and trap them, and relocate them away from people. I hope he can track
them down, because earlier, the same bird was stealing our duck eggs.
They have gone off the lay now, which is, I assume, why it has moved its
attention to the chook run. Enough, I say!
The remaining 6 chicks are growing well - now I'm holding my breath to see if any are female, or if they will all turn out to be roosters. I hope not, although I think I might keep one rooster.
One of the characteristics of hybrids is that they hardly ever go clucky or broody. I've had one who has gone clucky several times over the last three years, but that was easily cured by putting her in a pet rat cage given to me by a friend. (Rat not included!) With lots of light and air, and nothing to make a next with, she quickly gave up on the idea of raising babies.
However, this January not one, but three hens decided their internal clocks were ticking and all went broody the same day - and I couldn't fit three of them in the cage! I bought a dozen eggs off Trademe and put four under each hen. Twenty-one days, the Lifestyle Block book How to Car for Your Poultry said. Would they be right? They weren't right about hybrids not going broody!
Day 18 - 2 eggs broken by helpful children collecting the eggs for me. Sad, but I knew from the remains that something was happening inside the shells.
Day 21 - CHICKS!!! But one died, exhausted from its efforts getting out of its shell.
What's that little bit of white on the right? Egg shell!
Breaking out.
Out!
So much easier when they were in, though.
For the first few days after hatching, I kept the chicks and mums in an old chook hutch designed for 2-3 chooks, but soon the mums were fighting and so I decided that they would have to take their chances in the main chook run.
The old 'hutch was so dilapidated, I had to encase it in bird netting to stop them getting out....
.... and to stop Spike from getting in.
So glad my new-borns weren't this active!
The chook mommas would have preferred that too.
Out in the big chook run.
We weren't sure what decapitated number 8, but a couple of weeks later
there was much squawking from the chook run and when we got down to the
run, we could see just 2 chicks, and found 3 broken eggs as well, rolled
away from the nest some hens had made in the grass. We assumed ferret,
stoat, weasel or rat, and set a trap. Later, when the chooks had settled
down, we discovered that only one chick was missing.
And there was dancing in the streets....
There is quite a bit of cover in the run, from flax, fig, apple, pear and avocado trees, also a bare area.
Looking like a hippy chicken run now!
The remaining 6 chicks are growing well - now I'm holding my breath to see if any are female, or if they will all turn out to be roosters. I hope not, although I think I might keep one rooster.
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
Love Is A Verb
Three months ago my friend Marcia died. We first met in 1972 working at the Post Office Savings Bank, both in our first 'proper' jobs. She, straight from school, me, taking a break from university to earn some money, so she was two years younger than me. She was a lively, vivacious young woman, and we had a lot of fun together, but then I went back to university and then off overseas for the great OE (overseas experience), while she married and had a baby. By the time we got back from overseas, she had been widowed, had a new man in her life, and we drifted apart due to the very different lives we were leading.
Then in July 2009 I went along to a Hamilton Organic Gardeners' meeting and there she was - talking about urban beekeeping! Shortly afterwards I signed up for the Fraser High School night class that Marcia was teaching, and each evening after class we talked and caught up on all those years, and found that we had so much more in common now. Our friendship started again, stronger and more interesting than before. For three years I enjoyed her company online, by phone and in person, mostly coffee and a walk at the Hamilton Gardens. Then she was gone again. I'm so glad I talked to her just a week before she died. I'm so glad I had those three years, getting to know her as an enthusiastic, intelligent, passionate, interesting, mature woman. She help me see life more positively than I am apt to do. She showed me how to enjoy life for the good in it. She showed me how to acknowledge the bad things that happen, but also how you can then step out of the shadow and focus on the good stuff.
I miss Marcia so much. I think of her most days. I have also been brought face to face with my own mortality. After so many years of depression, I have been basically free of it for a couple of years, and I want to live longer, to live and enjoy life. Marcia was enjoying her life: she died at a time of her life when she was following dreams, making plans and living hopefully. I want to live like that. I hope I get the chance to live like that for a lot longer. But I also want to die like that - in the midst of a life lived in joy, hope and dreams.
A few days ago, a man a couple of years older than me died after his car left the road - the scariest road I have ever driven. I didn't know him well. I knew his widow via the online homeschool community, and enjoyed her online friendship, but lost touch after the email lists we were on broke down. I visited them in 1999 along with Steven, Simon and Jeffrey, staying in one of their various tourist accommodations. They were lovely people. They have 10 children and some grandchildren. They loved each other in a way that shone brightly and obviously. Now he is dead.
So, after three months of pondering about my life and what will happen between now and when I die, Tim's death has brought me to pondering the awful possibility of Mac dying before me, and what that would be like.
I realise that life is all I have right now. The present is all we have: I have to live joyfully, and I have to do anything I can to make Mac's life more joyful too. I must not take life for granted. Nor can I take Mac's life for granted.
Partners, parents, children, friends - don't take any of them for granted. If you love them, show it. Talk to them. Spend time with them. Make sure they are part of your life. Don't put them off until you aren't so busy with other things.
Love is a verb: do it. Live is a verb: do it.
Then in July 2009 I went along to a Hamilton Organic Gardeners' meeting and there she was - talking about urban beekeeping! Shortly afterwards I signed up for the Fraser High School night class that Marcia was teaching, and each evening after class we talked and caught up on all those years, and found that we had so much more in common now. Our friendship started again, stronger and more interesting than before. For three years I enjoyed her company online, by phone and in person, mostly coffee and a walk at the Hamilton Gardens. Then she was gone again. I'm so glad I talked to her just a week before she died. I'm so glad I had those three years, getting to know her as an enthusiastic, intelligent, passionate, interesting, mature woman. She help me see life more positively than I am apt to do. She showed me how to enjoy life for the good in it. She showed me how to acknowledge the bad things that happen, but also how you can then step out of the shadow and focus on the good stuff.
I miss Marcia so much. I think of her most days. I have also been brought face to face with my own mortality. After so many years of depression, I have been basically free of it for a couple of years, and I want to live longer, to live and enjoy life. Marcia was enjoying her life: she died at a time of her life when she was following dreams, making plans and living hopefully. I want to live like that. I hope I get the chance to live like that for a lot longer. But I also want to die like that - in the midst of a life lived in joy, hope and dreams.
A few days ago, a man a couple of years older than me died after his car left the road - the scariest road I have ever driven. I didn't know him well. I knew his widow via the online homeschool community, and enjoyed her online friendship, but lost touch after the email lists we were on broke down. I visited them in 1999 along with Steven, Simon and Jeffrey, staying in one of their various tourist accommodations. They were lovely people. They have 10 children and some grandchildren. They loved each other in a way that shone brightly and obviously. Now he is dead.
So, after three months of pondering about my life and what will happen between now and when I die, Tim's death has brought me to pondering the awful possibility of Mac dying before me, and what that would be like.
I realise that life is all I have right now. The present is all we have: I have to live joyfully, and I have to do anything I can to make Mac's life more joyful too. I must not take life for granted. Nor can I take Mac's life for granted.
Partners, parents, children, friends - don't take any of them for granted. If you love them, show it. Talk to them. Spend time with them. Make sure they are part of your life. Don't put them off until you aren't so busy with other things.
Love is a verb: do it. Live is a verb: do it.
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
Shopping at The Scullery
I have been without a food processor for over a year, and finally went shopping. I have had so many food processors over the years that haven't worked well, and which have died before what I consider their time. So this time I spent up large and bought a bright red masterpiece - I hope!
The previous evening I had collected some compost potatoes (you know,
the accidental spuds that grow out of the side of the compost heap long
before the planted ones are ready) and, with a sudden glimpse of
reality, realised that my old plastic Tupperware colander was way past
its use by date: cracked, scratched and stained. So while I was in The Scullery buying my Magimix, imagine my delight on finding this
enamelled colander, just like my mother had a million years ago.
Getting Growing
On 24 October I went on an Organic Farms NZ field trip to Earthtalk at Awhitu which is owned by Tanya Cumberland and Charmaine Pountney. When they first moved there they had Kay Baxter of Koanga do a permaculture design and, with a few modifications, they have followed it, resulting in a delightful property. They were great hosts, and I loved how they gave credit to all the people who have helped with the work over the years. Some places I visit or read about leave me feeling totally inadequate as it appears that just two people do amazing work while both still working away from home for at least 40 hours a week! Tanya and Charmaine talked gratefully of their helpers, professional and voluntary.
an old mangle used to squeeze out the juice
They offered us, among other things, a delicious drink of sugar cane juice and kaffir lime - and I came home with a piece of rooted cane to try and grow - here's hoping. But even if it grows, I fear the possums will get it. Note to self: need to buy more traps, and a gun.
sugar cane growing near the middle of the picture
It was most inspiring and so since my last report on the garden we have done a lot of work. Mac
and Steven, with a little 'help' from me, made me two compost bins out
of recycled pallets from the rubbish heap around the back of Bunnings. On Monday we got three more so will be able to finish my three bin
arrangement.
Mac has hoed and mowed, and I have weeded and scythed, and now the place is looking a lot tidier.
last of the broad beans
We have planted potatoes,
We've had a few strawberries - and so have the birds, so yesterday I put the netting over them.
It's all been pretty hard work, this reclamation from winter wildness.
Friday, November 2, 2012
October Reading
Craft
Making Journals By Hand by Jason ThompsonThis book has some lovely ideas, with some unusual techniques, but left me feeling creatively inadequate - or inadequately creative. I'm okay at making nice books with blank pages, but not so good at filling them creatively. I think I need more practice at that before getting this book out of the library again - but I will get it again sometime when I feel a little more confident.
The Decorated Page by Gwen Diehn
Again, a book that makes me feel inadequate about my ability to fill in the pages of a journal. However this one seems to have a lot of suggestions and ideas to get me working. I think I'll be buying this one, written by the same woman whose Real Life Journals I reviewed and bought, last month. Filled with suggestions and ideas of interesting ways to treat pages, I think I will make a book that has lots of pockets, from Real Life Journals , and then make pages inspired by The Decorated Page and put them inside the pockets. Then I will feel more willing to 'have a go', knowing I can discard failures without spoiling the book.
Poetry
As Far As I Know by Roger McGoughCollected Poems by Roger McGough
I bought McGough's newest book and that launched me on an orgy of reading his poems. They are a bit like salted peanuts - once I start, I find it hard to stop. My all-time favourite is in Collected Poems and is Let Me Die a Youngman's Death - I have loved it for decades, and every time I re-read it, be it a week later or years, I still have that jolt of recognition, that YES! moment. In his new book, McGough, now the 73 he talks of in that poem, revisits the theme with Not for Me a Youngman's Death. Even though I too am older, this poem, good as it is, doesn't resonate with me the way the earlier one does. My favourite from the latest book is The Wallet but I can't find a link for that so you'll have to buy the book.
Other Non-fiction
Growing a Farmer by Kurt TimmermeisterTimmermeister lives on what we would call a lifestyle block on Vashon Island off the coast of Seattle. The book is the story of his learning to live in the country, and his various attempts to make money from it. Although it isn't an instructional book, it is detailed enough to give an accurate idea of how much work is involved - and detailed enough for me to need to skim the sections on how to slaughter and butcher the animals! I enjoyed reading about someone living a lifestyle similar to ours, but in such a different place. I would have preferred a little more personal detail to make it feel a little more 'real'. but it is well written, and, overall, interesting and enjoyable.
Psychology For A Better World by Nikki Harre
Harre "wrote this book for people (like me!) who believe it is worth trying to make a better world in which both our species and the ecological systems we are part of can flourish." Harre is an associate professor at the University of Auckland where she has taught social and community psychology for twelve years. The book is about how to work successfully with ecological groups such as the Point Chevalier Transition Town group of which she is a part, and also how to make a difference in the other groups we belong to, such as our workplaces and families. It's easy to read, and not at all preachy, but is based on her experience as a psychologist. Interesting insights on group behaviour and how to manage it. You can buy the book for $15, or download it free in PDF form, from her website. You can also buy it from Amazon in Kindle format for $US2.99, but I wouldn't bother as the free PDF is perfectly readable on my Kindle as long as I turn it to landscape position.
River Cottage Veg Every Day by Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall
I can't say I've read all of this, but I do look at it a couple of times a week. So far everything I have made from this book has been yummy. Many of the dishes shown on the tv programme, River Cottage Veg, are in the book too, with occasional variations. It is a very beautiful book, beautifully presented, and worth every penny. Cent. Euro. Whatever!
Friday, October 19, 2012
Spring On The Land
Spring as always, it seems, has been wet, but this year it has also been cold, and windy to the extreme.
I made us an asparagus bed over winter, and planted crowns a couple of months ago. The have grown, but I didn't get around to putting wind break around the bed (the two times I went to buy some they were out of stock) and so the poor plants have been lain to rest - I don't think they'll be standing up again after today's winds.
I sowed three rows of peas: one has started growing perfectly, the other two have not germinated as well, nor as quickly even though they are right next to each other.
I finally got the strawberry and herb beds weeded
I've pulled borage out of the strawberries; strawberries from the chives, lemon balm and thyme; thyme out of the pineapple sage, sage out of
the Cape gooseberries - but I've pulled bloody sorrel out of everything!
Some weeds are just plants in the wrong place but sorrel is a weed
wherever I find it. And don't tell me to put it in my salads because
IT'S A WEED THERE TOO!
The rhubarb is growing well in it's new bed - rhubarb and apple crumble for dessert tomorrow night.
The tree onions and garlic are doing well, and the leeks are finally starting to grow - they just stayed the same size for months.
But now it's time for the big challenge - these four gardens.
There's broad beans by the bucketful if you look carefully. Very yummy when they are young and fresh.
Not just weeds but also miner's lettuce which, amazingly, actually tastes very like lettuce, and is not at all bitter like most of the other alternative salad greens. As I weeded today, a lot the miner's lettuce came out too, so that was our salad green tonight.
The parsley is on the way out, but that okay - it's everywhere in both the garden and the long grass. I'll leave one or two plants in to go to seed to make sure.
The brassicas are done.
But I had to leave this plant in the ground for my bees which were all over the yellow flowers.
The spent plants didn't go to waste though: the chooks were very happy with the feed of brassica leaves, slugs, snails and puha, and we'll get to enjoy nice rich, orange-yolked eggs.
The clucky chook wasn't so happy when I removed her from the nesting box and put her in the cage to cool off.
Back inside, the seedlings are growing nicely in our cheap greenhouse from Bunnings. (The curtains are only pulled for the photo.)
A couple of courgettes seedlings on the kitchen windowsill.
And to finish - a cup of home-grown peppermint tea with a teaspoonful of home-grown honey.
The clucky chook wasn't so happy when I removed her from the nesting box and put her in the cage to cool off.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)