Waterfall wedding

I had the special privilege of being asked to be the celebrant for one of my students of many years ago. He grew up within metres of the native forest and knows the hiking tracks like the back of his hand. He told me all his life he had dreamed of being married by the twin waterfalls which were a couple of kilometres away from the family farm.

About twenty of us slipped and slid our way down to the site, crossing two rivers, before the bride was ushered in from behind a big tarpaulin to change into her gown. The air was cool and quiet with just the ever present rush of the waterfall in the background. The bush atmosphere mutes unnecessary noise and adds another dimension to any gathering of people.



Joe, the nephew, was the ring bearer.

After the ceremony, the little children threw themselves into the rather cool waterfall pool and teeth chattering were bundled up in towels before trekking our way back to the farm. Many of the oldies opted to use walking poles like this carved veteran of journeys around New Zealand. This venerable pole has assisted its owner on the Routeburn and Heaphy tracks and as of late, now the Eliza Mine track, to see a marriage in the bush. A bush, all the family love.

Summer fun

I am going to miss these wonderful warm summer days. Already there is a golden slant to the evening sun rays. A wee harbinger of Autumn days and cooler nights and probably more storms. This year they just keep surprising us with their ferocity. I am harvesting vegetables furiously too.

On the good evenings we have lazy evening meals outside and on one recent, glorious evening I was invited to fly up in the neighbour’s Chipmunk plane for a round of loop de loops, spins and rolls over our house and the harbour. Having never experienced G Forces, or pressure to the chest as you go up high, very quickly; I was too busy watching the earth appear above my head and marvelling at the toy like landscape below. I was on the biggest high for hours afterwards.

So when we can, we neighbours, share the good times. We are lucky to have a pine forest that loves a good get together. Bevan (81 in the shade) donated the smoking billy BBQ, Rog affixed the spark guard and the rest of us brought over salads and sweets to ‘pot luck’.

This is where our eldest daughter wants to be married in less than a year’s time. Smokey Billy will not be invited.

Ho Ho Hot

Season’s Greetings in at least 27 degrees Celsius heat. La Nina, the Pacific weather system that throws up humid, tropical, stormy, sticky weather throughout the month of December, taunting us with one beautiful summer’s day in three. She, dances on the stage throwing hot flooded hissy fits in drought ravaged Queensland, Australia and heavy downpours rotting crops in New Zealand. (Without the snakes and cane toads).
The morning of New Year’s Eve, I enjoyed a coffee and catch up with a dear friend, mindful of the afternoon forecast promising thunderstorms. The flies were sticky and people desultorily dawdling on the foot paths. I battled with traffic headed towards Waihi beachside village, a mecca for sun seeking visitors wanting adventure on the Coromandel Peninsula.

Columns of cars snaked slowly towards the sand, toy laden with must have beach gadgetry: jet skies, kayaks, newly popular paddle surf boards, mountain bikes and zodiac rubber boats. The occupants of the cars converge on the village clad in ill fitting baggy beiges and sloppy tops crafted in some Chinese sweat shop. The whole beach fashion world has gone sloppy and troppo. Dozy folk wander aimlessly around the shops weighing up the virtues of purchase of one lot of imported Indonesian tat against another, ‘so not to wear’, to work clothing.

However, there is hope. A clever shop, brightly painted, filled to the brim with aforesaid tat, has pebbled a path and signed a sign declaring a secret garden. With anticipation, plodding pedestrians push through the authentic antique Indonesian doors. They come upon a glorious Balinese tableau of numerous, spaciously planted and situated wooden dais with squishy embroidered pillows (yogic stance preferred), wavy flags and colourful pennants paying homage to Buddha. Tired old grandparents vie with toddlers piling pillows and the man and his wife throng into the little sliver of an oasis more befitting another world. A world more suited to the gamelan orchestra, incense and candles than Kiwi fish and chips, a pie and a beer.

Le Crowd

I have now hit a new benchmark; I catered for 50 people.
It went well. A lady had her 80th birthday here and Holly, the chef daughter, was conveniently absent by leading a tour of AFS students around the South Island and throwing herself off bridges, paragliding and helicopter flying around glaciers. So Mum had to deal with it!

Menu 
• Oriental beef balls
• Thai chicken cakes
• Tomato tartlets
• Blinis
• Salmon sandwiches

For some reason preparing the food turned into a comic opera. My initial tartlet cases were way too large so I down scaled and used mini muffin tins for the pastry. The weather was humid so the icky, sticky French butter pastry would not behave and we ended up with what Italians might call rustic torta.
The chicken was gross to deal with as usual, but the punters pronounced it the dish of the day. I tried three different blini recipes until I found the Lord blini of all. It was organic and grew over night in the chiller fridge into a frothy, deliciously light concoction whipped into perfection by adding egg whites.

Thai Chicken Cakes – makes 25

3 eggs lightly beaten
1 1/2 T finely chopped coriander
1 T fish sauce
1 -2 T oil
3 breast equivalent chicken mince
2 stalks lemon grass white part only, finely chopped
2 cloves garlic crushed
3 spring onions, chopped
1/4 cup lime juice
coriander leaves, stems chopped
2 T sweet chilli sauce
1 tsp fish sauce
1/3 cup coconut milk

Preheat oven – 200 degrees C and lightly grease 3 -4 (12 hole) shallow patty tins or muffin tins.

Combine eggs, coriander and fish sauce. Heat the oil in a frying pan and pour in the egg mixture. Cook for about 2 minutes each side until golden. Roll up and shred finely. Set aside.

Mix the mince, lemon grass, garlic, spring onion, lime juice, extra coriander, sauces, egg and coconut milk in a food processor – fine but not smooth.

Spoon into patty tins and top with a large sprig of coriander. Bake 15 minutes or until cooked through but rotate trays so all are evenly cooked. Serve warm and garnished.

Dipping Sauce – 10

½ cup lime juice
¼ cup fish sauce
2 tsp sugar – dissolved
Kaffir lime finely chopped
Sweet chilli sauce to taste

Blinis – makes 100 baby sized using a teaspoon measure

520g full milk in a pot until lukewarm
20gm yeast
2 egg yolks
3 egg whites

Milk in a bowl then carefully tip the yeast into the centre. Add yolks. Whisk. Add 300gms flour. Wrap and rest at least 30 minutes. Add stiffly peaked egg whites. Drop a teaspoon sized portion into a hot buttered griddle or frying pan. Turn when the surface goes a little dry.

As for the salmon, shame on you lazy fish factory workers! They had shaved the salmon into slices and removed some of the pin bones but made waste of a good eighth of the entire packet. Even the cat could not finish the scraps.

At the end of service, I went outside to talk to the barman husband of mine and observe toddlers swaggering around with our beautiful wine glasses perilously in hand and children in gorgeous garb rolling down the grassy slope, the dog of ours being a prize attention seeking brat and to top it off white chocolate cake decorations smeared everywhere. So we did not charge enough AGAIN.

Whitianga - Coromandel Peninsula

There are two places in New Zealand I love the most. One is home, Katikati. The other is where I was nearly born and raised – Whitianga.
Instead, in my youth, we endured a two day epic journey from Wellington, slipping and sliding inside a tiny car with their over tightly packed leather seats complete with the car windows drawn up. Father was always smoking. Repeatedly, we climbed in low gear, up and over the mountainous ridges civilised only by gravel roads. Every major other, and Christmas holiday, the trek up country began. A night’s stop in Hamilton at my dour, Presbyterian war veteran Grandparents' home did not sweeten the venture even if the strawberries may have helped (stolen by me from their garden and caught in the act on camera.) God Bless long legs!

Whitianga. Sea air, Phoenix Palm Boulevard, diesel sea trawler fuel, putt putt ferry between the wharf and Cook’s Beach ferry Landing, sand, moonlight on the water, dolphins in the harbour, the girls, in the pool, my Mum and Dad relaxing with us ... Such precious memories.

2010 Labour Weekend. We went with Roger’s friends and their better ‘halves’ annual weekend away trip. Magic views from our apartment, glorious weather, bought a fresh fish off the wharf, were given a bag of fresh mussels. What a fantastic locale to do; ‘The Lost Springs’ thermal attraction, Driving Creek Railway in Coromandel, Cook’s Beach and many other places. We ate too much and boys do tell terrible jokes!

Suffice to say we enjoyed the place so much we booked the same room, same weekend again for 2011. I wish my Mum and Dad could see it now. The roads are so much better but I fear the fishing is much worse.

Peacock’s Paradise

Another garden story but it is spring!
On the steps a girl and her grandfather feed the birds at the Katikati Bird Gardens. The girl is mine and over twenty years later, she still distrusts the white ducks.

The Bird Gardens are only a minute’s drive from home and I thought we would take Bob out for a Devonshire Tea. I heard the owner telling the Rotary club group that they have been open for 36 years now. For our family, that means memories of Nan pushing Holly in the pushchair, Gran pulling the girls in the garden trolley and two girls riding their bikes with Mum in the school holidays. The most memorable recalling the little fiend who had pushed Holly into the pond. Dad then hauling her out and wrapping her sodden, sobbing, self in a car rug.

Today at least two pious peacocks were shimmering in their displays to the rather indifferent pea hens. The telephone (imitator) bird was quieter than usual but the more vocal birds were full of spring’s delights.

However, like on our farm it appears wee ducklings have suffered at the perils of hawks, stouts and possibly stray cats.

An elegant country garden

A true gardener is a passionate collector of plants and knows their habits; when they are at their best and the colour combinations that enhance each element.

This morning, Holly and I were privileged to wander around our neighbour’s exquisite collection of trees, shrubs and flowers that encircle her country home. The chosen plants have been considered before planting and the garden plan was commissioned from one of New Zealand’s most respected gardeners. Trish Waugh, has won Gold at the prestigious Chelsea garden award.

What I love about Jean’s garden is its colour and form, all year round, but is best seen in the spring light. Jean praised the ‘ajuga’ for looking stately as the bluebells had faded in their glory.

She lovingly held the long leafed delicate maple and we all marvelled at the rhododendron blooms.

 Bevan, her husband, was mowing their carpet like lawn. This is a true garden with heart and soul.

Wild Goose love story

After the world’s largest storm we had last week, a white bedraggled goose appeared on the farm. One of the large white ‘Enid Blyton’ storybook type. It has shredded ribbon wings and looks untidy. It has taken on the role of looking after a lone mother duck and four ducklings. Honky will flap what were wings and usher the duck away from the drive and swim in the stream with it and honk at pukekos that get too close. It is quite the minder.

While I was watching the goose; I heard bumblebees. Thousands of fluffy bees are crawling over all the blossoms in the garden. After so much wild weather, we have appreciated a few delightful warm days and the birds and bees have too.

Historic Places

Today, I was on duty as a tour guide for one of the prettiest historic homes in New Zealand. It is a Category 1 Historic Place. www.theelms.org.nz
New Zealand was a colonial outpost of Britain in the early 19th Century. By the mid to late 19th Century, shiploads of European, mainly British people, started landing in New Zealand to start a new life. Amongst the earliest arrivals were the missionaries who thought they were given a divine right to ‘Christianise’, the local people and by hook or by crook, they tried to do just that.

the drawing room

There are indicators in the historic texts, that many of the Fundamentalist early Christian missionaries were a pretty dour lot; moralistic and hating the ‘Papists’, combing through bags of second hand clothing to give to the natives and removing anything with a dash of colour in the garment. For all of that, the little Georgian house, ‘The Elms’, near the centre of Tauranga city, has a lovely elegant atmosphere. The missionary families devoted their lives to the community and if you believe places have good or bad vibes, this holds a good lot. It has a richness of spirit, commented on by many visitors. I particularly like the beautiful swan neck kauri wood staircase, the lovely dining room and drawing room.

swan neck staircase no photos please oops!

A couple visited the grounds today, having come up from Christchurch as a respite from the recent earthquake aftershocks. They left smiling.

Rotten eggs

Our daughter had a lovely Canadian girl stay, for the weekend recently. She had not been to Katikati before and had only visited Rotorua, very briefly. Briefly, because her mother when visiting the town, hated the sulphurous smell so much, they cut their visit short. What a pity!

Rotorua, nicknamed Rota Vegas by the locals, has a plethora of attractions. Many, as I have alluded to, in previous posts, are total tourist rip off’s. But that is a mistake, because Rotorua is one hour’s drive from home, I happily take first time visitor’s over the scenic bush clad, back road and leisurely meander through the interesting sightseeing musts.

First impressions count and the street gardens are gorgeous! Thermally heated hot houses in the Government Gardens grow beautiful plants. The Government Gardens are quaint and endearing and have thermal therapeutic baths aside rolling bowling greens, off set with iconic colonial buildings.

Think theme park for real! A fear factor exists, with warning signs extolling the dangers of venturing off the official paths. Kiwi's all grew up with stories of the lady who went down to the garden shed in the dark, never to come back because a boiling hot slump hole bubbled up in her back yard over night. Or, the lady taking her dog for a walk in front of the Rotorua Lake and it went over the yellow and white crusty, geologically challenged termed wording, surface and did not, "Come back Rover". Urban legends belong to this city.

Trout fishing, thermal spas, lovely bush clad walks, Maori tourism experiences, colonial architecture, silly sheep and wild rides.

Spring Babies

Finally, I have completed the twins’ gowns. Our friend’s daughter is due tomorrow with babes of a good size – an instant family, one girl and one boy. Clever!

I have not made this pattern for twenty three years. My fingers are ‘thicker’ and my eyes did not do fine sewing at night. Fine cotton lawn with pure cotton thread and eyelet lace; constitute the ingredients. In the end I scalloped the hem and I have sourced a suitable box to present them.

I know there are Country Institutes and similar groups of ladies that sew and mend the world but I wonder if there should be more? (Bureaucracy prevents us having a ‘place of assembly’ here without paying a hefty resource consent fee to the local council.) Once, people of all ages made scarves and socks for the war effort and I think, given the recession and the terrible impact on victims of Christchurch’s earthquake, there deserves a place for a handmade item, to be given with warm wishes and a kind thought.

Spring has Sprung

The grass is riz, I wonder where dem birdies is? I know - they are on the farm honking and squawking, including; thirty broody Canada geese plus cormorants fishing for whitebait. It is that time of year when the birds wake you up just before you are ready to wake up.

I want to garden but the rain is back so the wedding swing seat has to remain lonely until another day. I shifted the bricks underneath and filled in the gap with a few hedging shrubs but it needs more tender loving care. It helps that dear neighbours are on growing rose cuttings and promising me hydrangea slips too.

So instead, I bake little walnut cookies and take some over to Henri in the Flying Shack for his afternoon tea. He is finishing up making grappa and I disturbed him axing tiny branches of old grape vine pruning’s to feed the fire under the copper. The smoke is delicate and fruity and wafts up into the pines where the herons roost.

Seal the Day

Mount Maunganui has a couple of rather large residents that slumber on the rocks at the base of the mountain. They are well camouflaged and I have never seen them do anything other than vaguely lift a flipper. They reside about five minutes walk around the base track from the ocean side on what must be one of the most convenient walkways in the North Island.

(It is convenient because a forty five minute saunter can conclude with delicious coffee from a choice of cafes.) As I have mentioned before, there are hot pools and many aquatic activities available in the area, most especially in the summer months. For us, it is only a half hour’s drive from home and easy parking.

Holly and I pretend to be exercising, by walking around the base track but it is a thin excuse before going to lunch at a relatively new restaurant further down the ocean beach. It is called Tay Street Beach Cafe www.taystreetbeachcafe.co.nz and I love their food. Holly ordered a lamb fillet salad with fried haloumi cheese, rocket greens, tomatoes and crumbed egg plant and I had ahi tuna with a crisp prawn spring roll, warm soba noodles and soy sesame dressing with oyster mushrooms. Divine!

Pre dinner prawns

Tonight the wind is howling, the cat curled up in a blanket on the couch, the fire is white hot and we have had a lovely dinner cooked by our daughter, Holly. (She has excused herself and is now down loading pictures of her amazing tour of Europe).

She cooked beer battered prawns as an entree. The secret is to use a flavoursome beer, preferably a dark one.

Beer Battered Prawns

Any amount of prawns you want to cook – defrost well and thoroughly dry, with a paper towel.

Holly pre made the batter at least an hour before she cooked the prawns.



1 cup self raising flour

½ cup cornflour

1 ½ cups full strength malt beer

Salt and peper to taste

Sift all flours into a bowl. Make a well in the middle of the flours. Slowly mix in the beer, stirring only as much as is necessary. Season. Rest before use, at least an hour.

Dredge the prawns in flour before adding them to the batter. Deep fry in hot oil (that is at least hot enough to drop a cube of bread in it first and it browns it within about 15 seconds), making the batter crisp and brown and drain on paper towels before serving. Sprinkle with seasonings of choice, before serving. A tiny pinch of ground cinnamon works well.

Apple Tart

Gaylia came to lunch yesterday and I made a French Apple Tart for dessert. We sat outside in the exquisite sunshine, solving all the world’s problems (and having a good laugh!). One of the best things about having a good friend is that you pick up from the last time you met, as if no time has passed.
I used up the last of my Granny Smith apples to make the topping. The crème patisserie is ideally made in advance and sits well in the fridge for up to two days. I do make my own sweet pastry but if it is not worth the fiddle, buy a prebaked one or make one with pre frozen, sweet, short pastry.

Assembling the tart is simple: into the cooked pastry shell goes the crème patisserie topped with thin sliced half rounds of apple. Cook in a moderate oven until the apples are just turning golden on the edges. Cool completely, then glaze with apricot jam. Eat outside when possible.

Magnificent Magnolia

What is the saying about old ladies and purple hats? My beloved grandmother wore a similar shade of purple in a velvet beret. Whenever, this magnolia blooms, I think of it as Nan’s tree.

There also appears to be more birds in the garden and on the farm, than a month ago. Three large cormorants have been fishing in the stream, ducks were ‘a – splashing’ and I watched little flocks of wax eyes nibbling the grasses, today.

July signals the beginning of spring blossoming and the promise of longer days. But, New Zealand’s fickle spring means we have a lot more dubious weather to endure. I believe when the magnolia is at its most glorious – look out, the big winds will start. So it seems. However, for the moment, the pregnant buds look so soft.

Salad all year round

It is the depth of winter in our sub tropical climate. The coldest temperature so far, has been; -2 degrees Celsius. The skies are amazing. Sunset tonight was a fiery deep pink. The day sky was a brilliant hard blue. The fire is lit and curtains drawn early. It is going to be a chilly night.

But, we have salad! No more nasty packets of mixed salad greens from the supermarket, for us. We have lived off our own freshly picked mix for many months. I threw seeds into the once were, rose bush containers, lightly sprinkled compost and water over the seeds and voila, they grew! We have Kings Seeds’ varieties of mesclun mix, rocket (arugula), fine herbs like cress and coriander and baby basil but that has turned up its toes with the super duper frosts we have had this week. I pick out the coriander for the Asian dishes we enjoy and add cress to egg omelettes.

My favourite salad dressing of the day is an equal quantity of freshly squeezed apple juice and orange juice and a smidgeon of wasabi paste, mixed into it.

For dinner, I am counter attacking chilly temperatures with the last of our Jalapeno chilli.

Plateau and the Chateau

One hour and a bit’s drive from the steaming cliffs of Turangi and you are on the Desert Road. The volcanic landscape and sheer desolation makes one appreciate man’s insignificant power in comparison to the forces of nature.

Mount Ruapehu, is the most active at present and the most popular skiing destination, with two ski fields on either side of the mountain. A magnificent hotel chateau is also located at the bottom of Mount Ruapehu, along with numerous other accommodation facilities, for skiers.

Mount Ngauruhoe, is the conical steep sided mountain in the middle of the trio of mighty peaks and to its right is Mount Tongariro.

At the far end of the Desert Road is New Zealand’s largest army base, Waiouru township. For us, Waiouru marks half way in our drive from Katikati to Wellington. Here, there is a magnificent army museum conveniently located on the outskirts of town. (I am proud to have personal connections associated with the museum and to say, I come from ‘Army Family’. So, I like stopping there, even if is just a wee stop, to visit the spotless facilities – you know what I mean!)

Middle Earth

Roger’s mother is not well, so we drove down the North Island, to Wellington. The drive, for two hours was in fog conditions until we arrived at the town of Turangi, a trout fisherman’s Mecca. The town is also a staging post before National Park. Much snow, skiing delights and tired skiers can retreat to the hot springs and soak wary limbs in the numerous thermal springs in the area.

However, one place is potentially not a retreat where I would sleep comfortably or anywhere near it. At the lookout,below the steaming cliffs, that tower over the road and the little picturesque village of Waihi (seen from afar!). The village flanks the western side of Lake Taupo, on a winter’s morning, for all its swirling, misty waters.

Apparently, a series of earthquakes and the threat of a major landslide had meant the village was evacuated a couple of years ago. The whole place has ‘Lord of the Rings’ written all over it. It is incredibly atmospheric and eerie in a timeless way. The fact casual visitors are not allowed to venture into the village makes it all the more intriguing.

Just for Laughs

“I only go to places to watch other people laugh - to see how silly they are.” I have just heard that on TV. Far out! Where do they live? Who are these people sensors?

Laughs – Roger sent me a transcript of a girl in Ireland ringing a demolition company – “Could you please, be blowing up my school, with all the teachers in it, I live in Dublin; they give us extra homework on Fridays and everything.” Hoax, for sure. But after my blog yesterday, life in paradise, violins humming – that evening’s NZ newspapers were full of bad people doing bad stuff, whatever age and more frequently, than they used to. God does not smite them down like he did in my day, or so it seems.

My favourite joke – a man drives into a town and he has a trailer hitched on - full of penguins. The car and trailer break down and a Good Samaritan stops. The parties agree; the kindly soul will take the penguins to the zoo. Two hours later, the man sees a line up of penguins outside the movie theatre. He stops and asks the Good Samaritan, “What is happening?” He replies, “Well you gave me enough money to take them to the zoo and the movies too!” Lame, I know, but clean.