Making friends and not bacon

Kunekune on parade

Last weekend Kay and I enjoyed a very pleasant visit to Martinborough, a small town in the Wairarapa that owes its continued prosperity to a proliferation of vineyards at which there has been a general recognition that survival depends on quality as well as some skilful brand marketing. The wines produce a sort of honeypot attraction for swarms of discretionary spending, weekend tourists from Wellington, as well as some rather canny folk who identified the desirability of the town for a second home before the prices soared.

It is a very pleasant place, even when the winter winds blow up from the coast. If you haven’t spent a few days there , you should.

Green gold

There are also some folk who have sought the rural life to balance their daily grind in the city, in spite of the time taken each day to commute. I know that attraction of the lifestyle block. I also know that some succeed and some find the countryside can eventually pall, particularly if there is a drought, or the vet has to be called because of inexperience or downright incompetence.

But there are others who take to the lifestyle easily, meet its challenges and (probably most important of all) have understanding neighbours on whom they can call for advice.

We had a coalescing of blogs, if one can call it that. My friend John (Musings from Martinborough) arranged a visit to the home of Moon over Martinborough, a lifestyle block and olive grove owned by two young Americans, Jared and Rick, whose previous experience of rural affairs was limited to say the least. I’ve enjoyed Jared’s blogs immensely. They are a frank appreciation of the newcomer’s inexperience and the satisfaction of achieving success, often in minor and mundane matters, such as overcoming the vagaries of a patent chook feeder.

Jared took us for a walk down across the fertile river flat below the terrace where the house and garden are. The grass was long and lush and cried out for several cattle beasts, but that is not far away. The olive trees were set out in the same spacing as the olive grove my son planted at his place at York in Western Australia some 15 years ago. The trees were healthy and well shaped, and I had visions of them loaded with fruit at harvest time.

Back up towards the terrace we met the kunekune pigs, happily munching grass and clover and enjoying a scratch behind the ears. I suspect these two unlovely creatures are safe from ending in the pot. By making friends they have probably avoided making bacon!

the heart doth swell in darkness grown

We wandered on to examine the wayward chook feeder (this story is one of Jared’s gems) and the garden, and finally took our leave with the purchase of some of this season’s pressing of Moon over Martinborough olive oil.

I tried some as soon as I got home to Paraparaumu on a bread rusk. Wow, it has character. I have been trying to work out a dish that would do it real justice

Postscript: There was something else that impressed me at the weekend. Liz loves her Martinborough garden, the fruit trees and the vegetables she grows. Not everyone can achieve broad beans that exceed two metres in height without falling over in the next wind! But I like her innovative mind. I’ve never before seen clothes pegs used to protect the cabbage hearts from the sun.

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