Struan Farm

On Debate around the Dinner Table

A few days ago during a drive I started to think about coming to terms with certain things as one ages. About how we are as people, both the good things and the bad; about what we do and have done well, and what we don't do or haven't done so well. About how and why we've become the people we are. It seems that one comes to accept, or be resigned to, oneself.

As the Black Lives Matter protests recently raged around the globe I remembered a speech that I gave at my graduation ceremony in June 1969 from Harding Twp. School in New Vernon, New Jersey, USA. It was entitled "Equal but Not Equal" and was about civil rights and the landmark Supreme Court decision ruling in the Brown vs. the Board of Education of Topeka (1954) case that segregated educational facilities were in violation of the US Constitution. It had been previously argued that if separate, segregated school facilities were comparable they were in fact acceptable and constitutional. This doctrine was called "Separate but Equal" and was deemed by the Supreme Court to be illegal. I've lost my copy of that speech, unfortunately, but I still have the programme, somewhat moth eaten, from that graduation ceremony. I also found the Citizenship Award/medal I received that night.

In 1968, in the aftermath of riots following the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. that April, President Johnson signed the Civil Rights Act 1968, outlawing discrimination in housing. That June, Bobby Kennedy, a candidate for US President, was assassinated in Los Angeles. If you haven't seen the Oliver Stone movie "Bobby" or read "Kennedy and King: The President, The Pastor and the Battle over Civil Rights" by Steven Levingston to learn and understand more about those turbulent times, I can recommend both to you.  I am now of the view that Bobby Kennedy would have been one of the great US presidents had he lived, far greater than his brother JFK. 

Thinking back through the lens of over forty years I'm struck by a few things. I went to a very small suburban primary school in what was at the time a very affluent white community. New Vernon was smaller than Piopio. In fact, there were no families of other races then that I recall. So my graduation speech, however passionate and sincere, must have seemed ironic or naive to some of the adults in the room, if entirely reflective of the time. I remember that it was well received, much to my relief, since I've never been a public speaker.  Following graduation I went on to attend a large regional high school that was quite diverse, and then a private women's college in New England, Smith, via scholarship and loans.

For whatever reason it seems I've always been and will always be a proponent of equal opportunity, justice and fairness for all.  A believer that anyone can do anything with a good education and a decent chance. Some of this stems from my own modest family background, which didn't include silver spoons, rather education, hard work and luck. Also equal opportunity laws that required employers to hire minorities, including women, at the time I graduated from college/university.  I doubt I would have ever had the 40 year career in banking I had without those laws (and quotas) coming into effect. They forced doors to open. Without them there was no incentive for employers to hire anyone but white men.

But that was then, this is now. It is obvious there are battles still to be waged for equality and fairness, with now several generations taking up this cause, both experienced, old campaigners and the young, hand in hand. We shall overcome.

What I'm still mulling over is how I came to be this way early on in life. There weren't many discussions about race at our house, although there were heated debates about politics over the dinner table. My mother was a Democrat and supporter of labour unions, while my father purported to be Republican. Let's just say he was aspirational and leave it at that, but I do remember some rather rowdy discussions. This was also during the Vietnam War.

Perhaps I am the product of robust debate around the dinner table in the 1960s and 1970s. Do you think this same kind of debate happens around dinner tables today? I hope it does, even if the meals are takeaways. 

 

 

On Diving Deep & Finding Buried Treasure

Yesterday I took a deep breath and dove deep. Into the big freezer in our garage here at Struan Farm, that is.

John purchased it a year or so ago so we'd have space to freeze and store roasted tomatoes, homemade soups and ice creams, surplus fruits like blackcurrants, blueberries and damsons, along with other bounty from the garden and orchard. There's quite a stockpile of the different nuts used to make our "world famous in Piopio" farmstay muesli, which is purchased in quantity wholesale or harvested from our own trees. And I tend to buy meat when it's on special.  Yes I know "stockpile" has become a dirty work and point of criticism during COVID-19 after fights over toilet paper, but there are those of us who've always been inclined to be prepared, virus or not.  I am of that ilk.

Due to recent sessions of lockdown baking the freezer looked to be reaching capacity. It was time for a bit of reorg, also to see what might be lurking at the bottom. John has been agitating for me to cook a huge pork roast that was in hiding down there somewhere, below the containers of berries and damsons and bags of nuts. There's also surplus powdered lamb's milk and colostrum waiting for next year's pets. Many treasures.

The good news is that I brought the pork roast up to the surface, along with two lamb forequarters and some beef cheeks. Enough to get us through the rest of Level 3 with other stuff in hand, hopefully. And I re-stacked everything, creating heaps more room for apple feijoa crumbles and shortcakes. Off to pre-heat the oven right now!

Lest We Forget

In honour of ANZAC Day. These are my father-in-law Maurie's military medals from WW2, including his Military Cross for bravery. You can see more information on his military service, and lay a poppy for him, in the Auckland Museum's Online Cenotaph here.

On Becoming "Vintage"

Today being my birthday, and a major milestone at that, I thought I'd share with you some photos of "vintage" hydrangeas from the gardens here at Struan Farm.

Awhile ago I read that florists coined this term for hydrangeas that are past their peak, but are still quite beautiful with their mottled colours despite some deterioration. Perhaps that just says it all, folks?

An Abundance of Apples

Those frequent readers of the Struan Farm blog and followers of our FB page and Twitter and Insta feeds will know that during the Level 4 Covid-19 lockdown I've been busy. Busy trying to use the autumn abundance from our orchard fruit and walnut trees. 

I continue to be amazed by the sheer volume of fruit and nuts just one tree produces. Truth be told I'm barely coping. I miss being able to share our surplus with the community via the Piopio Community Fruit & Veg Stand, which has closed temporarily due to the national emergency and health crisis.

So far I've made apple butter, many batches of apple crumbles, apple turnovers, Jamie Oliver's Orchard Eve's pudding (with apples and quince), and shortcakes with a combination of apples, figs, and feijoas. We've got a big freezer in the garage that is almost at capacity. There are empty freezers in the Homestead and Cottage that I'll take over if needed, since this surplus can't be wasted. We are managing to deliver bags to neighbours and friends. John drops bags at gates when he does his weekly run to the dairy.

But here's my challenge:

Monty continues to be laden with huge, beautiful apples!

Hopefully once we get through lockdown there will still be some we can share with local foodbanks and the community stand. I know, this isn't a problem in the current scheme of things. I thank those trees every day.

Learnings from Lockdown, Thus Far

Easter morning I awoke thinking about some of the lessons I've learned so far during the Level 4 Covid-19 lockdown here at Struan Farm. 

--John and I are indeed able to co-exist 24/7 for weeks on end. This was an unknown heading into lockdown. Until about two years ago he wasn't at the farm full time, commuting back and worth between Piopio and Auckland (or further afield up north) due to work responsibilities. Even after he has been here on a full time basis he's often been out at meetings. I've been left to do my thing(s) and being an independent sort have not been unhappy about that. We're lucky that the farm has space to walk, wander, garden, and be outside working. In lockdown we're not on top of one another.

--It's good to grow your own food. I'd known this previously, but after lockdown I'm even more convinced that everyone should be doing whatever they can to grow fruit and vegetables. Anyone can have a planter at the backdoor or on the deck with spinach, rocket or lettuce and a pot with a dwarf fruit tree. 

--It's good to have a stocked pantry and freezer. Marie Kondo, you've lost the argument after COVID-19. I've always had a reasonably stocked pantry due to the need to make muesli and bread for the farmstay and since I love to bake. To save money I buy meats when they're on special and put them in the freezer. Fortunately for us we had a decent supply of protein to get through four weeks, but we also eat vegetarian meals. In future I will buy more chicken and fish for the freezer to have variety on hand. As luck would have it I managed to get in an order for coffee from our supplier before lockdown happened. We normally have a reasonable stash of soap, cleaning products, TP and paper towels due to the farmstay, and that was used.

--John has won his argument that we should get hens, aka "chooks." The only things we needed to get from the local Piopio dairy during lockdown were eggs, butter, milk and random baking supplies. I bought a yogurt maker from Country Trading, who have continued operating during lockdown, along with packets of yogurt culture. 

--I learned you can freeze milk.

--It's good, maybe even essential, to create structure to the days. For me it's been about going out to gather apples, walnuts, feijoas, pears and look after the veggie garden and glasshouse. And the baking projects. For John it's been his Mayoral FB page and zoom calls with various local, regional and government people on emergency related issues. For us both, it's stopping to watch the 1 p.m. COVID briefings on TVOne by Dr. Ashley Bloomfield, Director-General of Health.

--We're now using Zoom to connect with friends and family overseas. Skype is pretty much history.

--I've learned that at this stage of my life I am basically a reader of non-fiction. One rainy lockdown day I dove eagerly into Barbara Mantel's fictional, award winning triology about Thomas Cromwell, and promptly found myself bogged down by its florid prose. More to the point, it wasn't interesting to me. I then picked up "Hungry," by Jeff Gordinier, about his travels with world famous chef Rene Redzepi, and finished that in one day.

--We now know how to wash our hands, for how long.

Last but not least, we are very fortunate to be living in New Zealand. There will be challenges ahead, particularly economic ones, but we are very lucky to be here rather than in other countries that are reeling from the severe consequences of virus decimating their countries and from the effects of that on their economies. We are thankful for that and certainly don't take things for granted.

We are all in this together moving forward. We know that.

 

Last but not Least

I've been trying to vary my days somewhat during lockdown to avoid boredom here at Struan Farm. Plus, there's not that much room left in the freezer for baking!

I'm not much of a sitter as you've probably figured out, but I have been reading, and dug out granddaughter Violet's needlepoint Christmas stocking.This is the last one I need to make, and I must confess to being somewhat relieved by that. Once one has one they all want them. Now.

Normally I restrict myself to working on these during the winter rains here in Piopio, but as we all know, these are unprecedented times.

The plan was for Violet and her family to be here for Christmas 2020, but things may change due to COVID-19. Either way I'll work to get this done this year so I can get onto other winter projects, both needlepoint and knitting related. 

 

Living in Lockdown

You might suspect we haven't been sitting around eating bonbons here at Struan Farm despite the lockdown, and you would be right.

As Mayor, John has been tied up on zoom video conference calls most weekdays with local, regional and central government people making sure the Waitomo community gets whatever assistance is required. He's also posting daily on his FB page to reach out and connect with people on various issues related to the COVID crisis and lockdown, and has committed to do that by 8 a.m. each morning.

My key jobs at the moment are (i) to proof read his FB posts before they're published; (ii) to stay out of the way during video calls, which John takes in our sitting room where there's a decent wifi signal; (iii) to come up with meals that are varied and healthy; and (iv) to contend with the huge amount of ripe fruit from the orchard. Right now it's apples and feijoas with figs about to happen. I'm also making sure the veggie seeds and seedlings I planted get watered and protected from those nasty white cabbage butterflies.

This weekend I knocked off a few apple crumbles, two of my "world famous in Piopio" (tongue firmly in cheek) Kai Safari Episode 13 apple feijoa fig shortcakes, and some Pantry Crumb Cakes, one made with grated apple and one with apple and feijoa. This last recipe is made with sour cream, and I had a pot of that about to go off in the fridge I didn't want to waste. Necessity being the mother of invention, or at least prompting recipe searches! Find @clarkbar's recipe here.

Everything is going into the freezer for later use or for sharing. 

 

On Time & Tomatoes

I'm doing my best to eke out this summer's tomato crop through the lockdown period here at Struan Farm and New Zealand. Indications from the daily briefings at 1 p.m. seem to be that lockdown could very well need to be extended, so we're not eating ourselves out of house and home but rather pacing the provisions on hand, including what we grow here. We're trying to avoid any trips further afield to the grocery store, opting if need be for our local dairy for milk and other minor essentials. Neither John nor I have left the property since lockdown.

I've pulled up and composted the tomato plants that have done their dash, with dead or slimey branches, but have left those with healthy ripening fruit. Once any fruit gets remotely pink (or yellow in the case of the Moonglow, Mini Orange or Tangellas) I pop them into the kitchen to finish ripening.

It's these little things that can lend an air of normalcy to our current situation.

On Positivity: Into the Bubble

Today is Day 1 of the Level 4 Covid-19 national lockdown here in New Zealand, John and I are hunkering down here at Struan Farm.

My first lockdown job today was vacuuming the house. Normally I just go for the "big chunks," housekeeping not exactly being the way I want to spend my time or my particular forte.

However I've decided to view this lockdown positively. Before The Hobbit filmed in Piopio, we cleaned the Homestead thoroughly in anticipation of a guest associated with the film production. John and I joked that we needed to clean for "Sir Ian," that our guest might be Sir Ian McKellen, aka Gandalf. As it turned out, the joke was on us: we DID end up accommodating Sir Ian! So I was very glad we undertook "the Sir Ian clean," and a very thorough clean has since been referred to as that in our household.

I haven't moved furniture to wash the wooden floors just yet, that will be another day. Along with tackling the linen closet and cleaning the fridge. We've got four weeks and pacing is required.

But the positive news to report is that I've found spiders and cobwebs I hadn't noticed previously, and discovered a cache of jelly beans in my "Jelly Bean Gingerbread House" stashed in a corner of the dining area for the grandkids. We'll hold those in reserve for more desperate times.

As Monty Python says "Always Look on the Bright Side of Life."

 

Kia Kaha: On Hunkering Down

My current mantra is "When the going gets tough, the tough get growing."

I've gotten increasingly nervous over the past few weeks as coronavirus has decimated various countries around the world following the initial outbreak in China, and made progressive inroads here in NZ, basically via people returning from overseas. 

Most people who know me know I'm a contingency planner. I'm a bit of a worrier in the best of times. Global pandemics shift me into overdrive. I haven't been hoarding, toilet paper or anything else, but I have bought more food than normal for the freezer and pantry. Anticipating, as someone with a compromised immunity, that at some point I might not be able to go out. 

That point arrived on Saturday, when the Prime Minister asked people like me to stay home, not to go out unless absolutely necessary.

So here's the good news. As part of my contingency planning I'd ordered vegetable seeds and purchased seedling plants last week. I've planted silverbeet, spinach, rocket/arugula, beetroot, lettuce, carrots, broccoli, cabbage, cauliflower, kale, spring onions and parsley. In Veggie World and in the glasshouse here at Struan Farm. (Note: the net curtains are to deter white cabbage butterflies from laying caterpillar eggs on the brassicas.)

Our Monty's Surprise apples are ripe, so we have heaps of apples, some peaches still, quince, ripening pears, fig, walnuts and feijoas. We won't starve. I've got books to read, one last needlepoint stocking to make, and knitting yarn and patterns. We can go out and walk around the farm, it's not the same as being stuck in an apartment or small house in town, we're very lucky.

And we'll share surplus fruit and veggies with the Piopio Community Fruit & Veg Stand, somehow, some way, of course!

Kia kaha, we're all in this together.

 

On Dogs, Guffy and Guffaws

John and I were having a discussion over dinner a few nights ago here at Struan Farm about our much loved, increasingly ancient dog, Clifford. We're at the point where we don't like leaving him on his own without one of us around, even if Mike's here to feed him.

He's 17 this year, which is rather hard to believe. He takes more naps, sleeps in the garage now, and doesn't chase rabbits and turkeys like he used to. Although he can smell eau de rabbit when they're around. And he manages to race to the workshop for breakfasts and dinners, still, as if he's starving. Lately he's been running out with me when I go to pick grapes, a fruit he loves along with nashi. He knows when John is about ready to turn on the BBQ by sheer instinct.

For some reason John and I got onto talking about other dogs in my past. Guffy was the only one of these that was my dog, the others were family dogs. John had never heard about Guffy before, didn't know what "Guffaw" meant. 

I ended up bringing Guffy home from the dog pound in Middletown, Connecticut while I was spending my junior year at Wesleyan University. A roommate in the town house where I lived off campus wanted to adopt a dog, and I went with her to the pound. She did get a dog, Pookah. Guffy made the smart move of licking my hand, I suspect he knew a soft touch when he saw one. He left the pound with me, Cheryl and Pookah. That town house was never the same. Another flatmate, Bonnie, had a dog named Ginger.

Guffy knew I saved his life and was eternally grateful. When I returned home from school that year my parents inherited another family pet. I remember I used to get rides home to New Jersey from a lovely guy named Brian who lived in Wharton, I helped pay for his petrol. He had a beautiful vintage Mustang that was his pride and joy, and although he was a complete sweetheart to me he wasn't so sure about the prospect of my dog barfing in his beloved car. So I sat with Guffy with a big towel on my lap the entire way home. Once home Guffy slept on the floor of my room, and barked at anyone who dared to open that door when I was sleeping, even my father. Who laughed at this fierce little mutt, appreciating his loyalty.

Guffy was my protector until he died many years later. His formal name was "Guffaw," which means a loud and boisterous laugh. The word has Scottish origins. I'm not sure why John had never heard of it before, but I'm working on his vocabulary, obviously.

Gobs of Grapes

With this continued drought I'm not doing much wandering around the flower gardens here at Struan Farm--it's simply too upsetting.

But a few days ago I did walk over to the grape arbor to check on the vines. Our purple grape "Festivee" is fruiting for the first time this year, after struggling to survive rabbit attacks its first year. And good news: while its grapes are few this season they're delicious. I'm glad I gave this vine the TLC it needed to recover.

But this post is really about the "White Diamond" grape on the other corner. It's laden! Clusters of beautiful green/white grapes hang down. They are hidden until one walks underneath, so I was totally surprised. The fruit isn't ripe just yet but we'll keep a finger on this pulse for sure.

This reminds me that we had a grape "arbor" at our house when I was growing up, near an old fashioned fieldstone BBQ. And we called it that. No home should be without its very own grape arbor.

On Slippery Slopes

I found myself musing about slippery slopes the other day here at Struan Farm. There are so many of them in life, and there seem to be more presenting themselves as I get older. (Note: these slippery slopes do not relate to ethical issues or fundamental beliefs, I know where I stand on those.)

You will know I'm a pretty high energy person who cracks into things and gets them done. I'm organised and tidy. I'm interested in things and learning new things.

What worries me a wee bit is that I'm finding my standards are slipping somewhat on a number of fronts. Perhaps I'm slowing down and slightly more overwhelmed by the sheer volume of physical work and pace I insist of myself. But I look at towels not hung up properly on the towel racks, sloppily made beds, piles of ironing and dusty tables and shake my head in abject disgust. One night last week I woke John up with a nightmare about dust landing all over me. My subconscious crying out that I need to clean the house, perhaps. But it isn't just housekeeping, which I know we all try to avoid for as long as possible. I can rationalise that away even if I am disappointed in myself as an imperfect homemaker, if there is in fact a perfect one. And yes, the farmstay has been flat out, with the cleaning and laundry, etc. etc. that entails.

I've not weeded the flower gardens here at Struan Farm for some time due to the drought. It's bone dry and the soil is either dust or concrete. I tell myself I haven't deadheaded roses or dahlias, as well as other perennials, so they aren't stressed out trying to re-bloom. While there may be an element of truth to this, this is an obvious slippery slope, an attempt on my part to justify why I haven't been out there with head down and bum up in the stinking hot dry heat.

And then there's my personal upkeep, something we've touched on previously. Clifford got this groom recently but I am still outstanding. I'm onto that this week and hope I've found a more convenient option so that hands and feet don't look like something out of a horror movie. Thus reinforcing this slope that's been slipping since last October.

It may be that slopes get slippery when there are other things one would rather be doing with only so many hours in the day. Things other than the assigned tasks at hand. Things that matter and make us feel good and contributing members of society rather than those things that just have to get done. 

Like picking other people's plums and apples to share with the community, perhaps? Okay yes. That would be one. Pickling jalapeños and making apple crumbles? Okay, yes, two more. Now you understand the nature of my problem. Am I too hard on myself? I guess that's the rhetorical question.

 

 

Belated, But Not Forgotten

My Valentine had to be away this past Friday. Duty called, a business meeting up in Auckland that ended quite late in the day, so no time to return to Struan Farm that evening. Can I just say this must have been scheduled by a man? No woman would do this on Valentine's Day!

John returned home on Saturday. And he brought me a lovely gift for Valentine's Day, the companion rusted steel disc of native trees by James Wright that goes with the one we have of native birds. It's now installed along the row of roses and totara posts in the garden, and looks amazing.

I'm very happy with belated, but not forgotten!

Overdue Maintenance

Both Clifford and I have been months overdue for our routine beauty therapy appointments. We were so busy September/October/November with John's mayoral campaign and election that I lost track of time, and couldn't get Clifford booked with his groomer until January. And at a time of year when he's shedding his heavy, hairy winter coat. He hasn't been comfortable with the hot weather, and certainly has not been a pretty sight here at Struan Farm. 

And as for Karen, I'd had appointments booked at East Day Spa, where I've gone for years, weeks in advance of my last trip to Auckland before Christmas. Only to have them cancelled the day before due to construction at the Spa. Grumpy doesn't even begin to describe how angry and disappointed I was, since my fingernails and feet were (and continue to be) a complete mess. And they didn't seem to understand that trips four hours away and associated appointments are planned well in advance, not permitting re-booking. But then they didn't seem particularly concerned about inconveniencing me, adding to my annoyance. Just saying: a voucher would have calmed the waters, especially for a long-standing customer!

Gardening and working outside aren't kind to beauty, at least of the well-maintained kind. I've tried to maintain a degree of minimum standards of grooming in spite of all the outside work I do, but suffice it to say my maintenance programme has been waning, with special thanks to East Day Spa for my lack of a much needed Christmas tidy up. 

The good news is that Clifford is now groomed and one happy dog. Toi's Mobile Dog Grooming van arrived a few days ago, Clifford entered the inner sanctum and emerged lighter, fluffier, cleaner and smiling!

Now let's hope Karen gets herself scrubbed up sometime too. 

Sending Signals

The Native American Indians sent signals with smoke. At Buckingham Palace the Royal Standard is flown when the Queen is present. And the Vatican sends out puffs of white smoke when a new pope is chosen. People signal things in different ways.

Here at Struan Farm John and I also have a signal. 

At our house John is almost always up with or before the birds, while Karen is not. She needs quite a bit more sleep than John does, several hours more of solid sleep. And she doesn't often get them. (Note: John takes naps, Karen doesn't.) So some mornings, usually on weekends, John creeps out to do early morning jobs to leave Karen to have another hour or two of sleep. The bedroom curtains are kept closed until Karen is up and ready for coffee and breakfast. When John sees those open he knows this signals breakfast time.

 

 

On Pine Cone Patrol

We're doing some major clean up work down at the river here at Struan Farm. John and Mike have taken over a paddock still owned officially by the neighbour, but on our side of the river.

The neighbour gave up on trying to run stock over the old swing bridge many years ago now and had let the paddock go to the pack. It's full of weeds: blackberry, wandering jew ("tradescantia zebrina"), Japanese walnut, and other spread-y, bad things. John still needs to negotiate buying it for a nominal sum, but either way it needs to be re-fenced and cleaned up before sheep can go in there to graze. That's happening. This also allows us to do more clean up along the roadside and river, get rid of bad weeds and plant natives.

I'm staying far away from the associated chemical sprays and major weed whacking involved in this project, but have had a look to provide encouragement. At one time this area was part of the original farm, and for many years John's dad looked after it even when it wasn't technically his to look after. Just because. But at a certain point the neighbour said he wanted to use it. Until he didn't because of the bridge. The bridge is still structurally sound, but it's not worth the trouble confirming that either way for a small out of the way paddock on a huge property (such are our health & safety regulations). 

The Mad Mower has now decided he needs to mow the track from the picnic area at the river below Jim's Hut to the rapids, sandy beach, and this new paddock. It will make it easier for farmstay guests to see where to walk along the river. But the Mad Mower had a problem: pine cones on the ground along the route, which cause digestion problems for his mower.

And so I was enlisted to pick up the pine cones, which we use as fire starters in the winter. Bags and bags have been collected and are in the shed. The way is now clear for the Mad Mower to do his thing and for the project to continue. That's the kind of wife I am!

 

Merry Christmas from Struan Farm

And the winner of Piopio's Next Top Model for 2019 is: PEACHES!

Wishing you all a Merry Christmas and good holiday break with family and friends from Struan Farm. The farmstay continues to be busy, with January almost fully booked out. Blogs will return sporadically as/when.

The Story of Jim's Hut, Continued

A number of farmstay guests staying in Jim's Hut down at the river here at Struan Farm have looked for Jim's rammer, the story of which we have on the wall, along with a photo of Jim. We've had to explain a number of times now that the rammer was given to Jim's grandson, James, when he visited us with his wife a year or so ago, staying in the Hut.

It was suggested that perhaps we update the story to explain why the rammer has gone missing. I've finally gotten around to doing that:

I'm thinking James will be happy he's now on the wall of Jim's Hut with the photo of his beloved "Koro."