Donuts every day

January 19, 2012
Donuts for Lucy

Donuts for Lucy

Rick had been back from the States a week when our pet pig, Old Lady Lucy, got sick again. She had her time with him, her walks around the paddock and her belly rubs. Then she decided to go.

She lay down and stopped eating. When I syringed water into her mouth, she let it fall out the other side. I got her a new round of anti-inflammatories in a powder form, but I couldn’t get the drugs into her. She wouldn’t even eat the lovely, drug-infused jam sandwiches I made. She began whimpering in a new way.

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Olive harvest boot camp

May 16, 2011
First ripe Barnea olive

The first ripe Barnea

Our very first harvest was just around the corner, but Rick and I had no idea how to harvest and no equipment to do it. So that first year in Martinborough, I volunteered to help Helen at Olivo with their harvest. That way I could learn how to do it myself.

In late May I stood in the Olivo olive grove with Helen and her harvest team – Mavis, Scott and Bernard (pronounced BER-nerd here, not Ber-NARD the American way). Mavis was a thin, elderly woman. Scott and BERnard were clearly used to physical labor. I, it must be said, was not.

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The olive muse and Moore Wilson’s

September 21, 2010
Moore Wilson's

Moore Wilson's

I looked up at the enormous building and the huge green sign that said “Moore Wilson’s Fresh Market,” and I felt like Dorothy at the gates to the Emerald City.

In my arms I held a heavy cardboard box full of olive oil bottles that I’d carefully labeled the night before. At my side was our good neighbor Kiwi Bronwyn, carrying another box which contained more olive oil, a tablecloth, a bread knife, and some plates and bowls.

Rick stood right behind us, next to our little Nissan Pulsar. He’d just driven us over the Rimutaka Hill Road and into Wellington city for the day.

“Do you have everything?” he asked.

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Race to beat the frost

July 25, 2010
Frantoio olives, April 2010

Frantoio olives (click to enlarge)

Podcast available.

“They’re all still green,” Rick said.

We were standing in the middle of the olive grove on a cold morning in the middle of May. Nearly five hundred olive trees surrounded us, and there wasn’t a single ripe olive to be seen.

The frosts would be starting soon, but the grove simply wasn’t yet ready for harvesting. We didn’t know what to do.

Frost damage can completely destroy your crop, because it ruins the taste of your oil. We needed more time.

I looked around at all the green olives. “We have to delay the harvest. There’s no choice. We just have to hope the frost doesn’t get us.”

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Buying firewood is a sin

June 27, 2010
Gumboots at the back door

Gumboots and firewood

Podcast available.

Back in March, just as the fall weather was setting in, Rick and I were talking with our neighbors at a dinner party about getting firewood for the coming winter.

When you heat your home with a woodburner, getting wood in for the winter becomes an annual event, like the changing of the leaves and the onset of shorter, cooler days. Rick and I have been living in the country for over 3 years, and every year we’ve picked up the phone to have firewood delivered.

When I admitted to this, I received some strange looks from around the table that night. I didn’t understand. Had I said something wrong?

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A tractor named Sunshine

May 1, 2010
Sunshine the tractor

Sunshine

Podcast available.

“Buy a used tractor?” I said to Rick. “Do we need one?”

Three years ago, after finishing the paperwork to purchase 20 acres with an olive grove in Martinborough, Rick and I received an email from the real estate agent asking if we’d like to buy the vendor’s tractor as well.

In our city boy minds, a used tractor would break down and require mechanical know how. We wanted a new tractor, but we were already broke from the mortgage. We planned to wait a few years before investing in equipment.

So we sent an email back to the agent confidently telling him that we did not yet need a tractor.

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The gingerbread men

January 2, 2010
Gingerbread men

Our gingerbread persons (click to enlarge)

No matter where I’ve lived in the world, if I couldn’t get back to Michigan for Christmas, then a little bit of my boyhood Michigan Christmas has always come to me – in the form of a box of gingerbread men.

Whether we’ve been living in provincial Japan or crowded Tokyo, central Wellington or out here in our rural paradise of Martinborough, the gingerbread men have always come.

That is, until this year.

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Kiwi country Thanksgiving

December 5, 2009
Roast turkey

Our roast turkey

Rick called me at work on Thursday morning in a panic.

“Did you see the weather forecast for Saturday?” he said. “It’s horrible. Rain all day. Should we cancel Thanksgiving?”

For most people, the idea of canceling Thanksgiving on account of a little bit of rain would seem a ridiculous idea, but they’ve never been to one of our Thanksgiving parties.

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Moon’s an ONYA finalist

December 4, 2009
onya logo

Great news. I’ve just learned that ‘Moon over Martinborough’ is a finalist in the very exciting ONYA awards!

The ONYAs celebrate those who design, develop and create New Zealand’s best websites and applications.

One of the judges said, “Jared’s blog is engaging and entertaining; he is taking the Wairarapa to the World and doing so with aplomb…”

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The year there were no olives

October 31, 2009
Flower buds on a Barnea (click to enlarge)

Flower buds on a Barnea (click to enlarge)

The other day I took a walk through the olive grove to see how the trees are doing.

It was comforting to see the small, green flower buds of spring. It isn’t always this way.

Sometimes olives groves don’t behave according to plan.

When we bought this place the house had been empty for some time, and the grove hadn’t been pruned or sprayed for pests and disease in years.

So it wasn’t producing very much.

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The day the water stopped

October 10, 2009

Podcast available.

Rick and I had been living in the country for only a couple of months when Rick’s city friend Fiona came to visit.

Well in the olive grove

Fiona is like a graceful, exotic bird you feel compelled to pamper and adore, and Rick had promised her a relaxing country weekend far away from her stressful professional life. So it caused us great concern when, just hours after her arrival on Friday evening, our tap water suddenly stopped running.

I was in the kitchen preparing to cook dinner when I turned on the kitchen faucet and nothing came out. I checked the sink in the guest bathroom and found the same thing there.

Out on the deck I made the announcement.

“There’s no water.”

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Yurts and magic underwear

October 3, 2009

Podcast available.

Daisies in the garden

Daisies in the garden

Nothing is normal at our house. Even a simple dinner party comes alive with bizarre and friendly characters.

The reason for our most recent dinner party was simple. The neighborhood was crawling with Americans.

I was pulling out the wine glasses when our neighbors John and Aussie Brownyn arrived that night. John has taught me how to prune vines and Aussie Bronwyn taught me how to kill a chicken. I have a lot of respect and admiration for them both.

That week they had an American staying with them, and so did Rick and I. It was a great excuse to get everyone together. It doesn’t take much around here.

Our American, TJ, was setting the table. John and Aussie Bronwyn’s American, Lily, was walking in just behind them.

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Olive harvest on a misty day

June 6, 2009
Mist on the hills beyond the bottom paddock

Mist on the hills beyond the bottom paddock

The first of the city friends arrived on Friday night, driving over the Rimutaka Hill Road after work in the dark, ready to settle in for a three-day weekend full of food, friends, olives, and a lot of hard work.

There were big hello hugs all around and bags deposited in guest rooms.

We operate a B&B here, so the extra bedrooms come in handy at harvest time — and also throughout the year, when friends and family occupy the rooms between paying guests.

As they arrived, everyone was talking about the horrible weather that had been forecasted for the weekend.

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The gay Americans meet the neighbors

May 23, 2009

Podcast available.

House and the footbridge to the top paddock

House and the footbridge to the top paddock

A group of six of our city friends helped us move out to the country. That was back in October 2006. It was a beautiful day, and it felt like a party.

Nobody wanted to drive a rented truck over the treacherous Rimutaka Hill Road, so Rick and I hired movers to move our big things like the bed, sofa, washer and dryer. The rest of our stuff we piled into everyone’s cars and drove over the Hill together, convoy style.

Our city friends were all people we’d met since arriving in New Zealand two years before. They were an odd mix perhaps, but went together well – Kiwis and Brits, straight and gay, Quakers and not religious at all. To them we were the gay Americans from Tokyo, city boys through and through. What were we doing, they wondered, moving out to 20 acres in the country?

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The quest for blue eggs

May 13, 2009

I just wanted blue eggs. That’s the reason I’m out here in the dark this morning, as a bone-chilling autumn rain pelts me furiously on all sides. I’m carrying a red bucket in one hand and a flashlight in the other.

The girls in a line-up

The girls in a line-up

I trudge forward. Already it’s 6:15am. I have to be in the shower by 6:30 to get ready for work. I have to be quick.

Six months before, I decided I wanted chickens. But not just any chickens. I’d read about a breed called Araucana – an old South American breed that lays pale blue eggs.

Blue eggs! How fantastic! I imagined a bowl of farm-fresh, blue eggs on the kitchen counter as I chopped veggies for omelettes on a Sunday morning.

I never thought about the dark, cold mornings of fall and winter, or the icy rains.

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