Annual Geekout at Cass

Last weekend marked the 2026 Cass Mountain Research Station bioblitz.

The weather was perfect, and the views from Cass Hill were spectacular.

Twenty-four enthusiastic naturalists participated in the weekend—a mix of university students, former students and faculty, and others like me, with ties to those students and faculty. A great mix of expertise and enthusiasm.

The weather was gorgeous—sunny and calm. On Saturday, the group I was with followed a maze of pig trails out towards the northernmost tip of the research station, where the Cass River meets the Waimakariri River. Then we climbed the ridge to the top of Cass Hill. Along the way, our group recorded a variety of lichens, mosses, fungi, native and exotic plants, and insects. We scared up a pair of pigs, and watched a harrier lazily circle the ridge above us. 

We returned to the research station, scratched and sweaty, in the late afternoon to find it buzzing with the enthusiasm of our fellow naturalists returning from their own adventures.

Throughout the afternoon and evening, people shared photographs, examined specimens under the microscopes, and debated about identifications as we started to log our observations on iNaturalist.

By the end of the evening, we’d already passed our goal of increasing the total number of species recorded at Cass to 1000. 

On Sunday, I decided on a mission to find stick insects. There is only one record of a stick insect at Cass, from 2021, and they have not been recorded at the previous bioblitzes. I am convinced they’re more common than the records would suggest, because they are easily overlooked. They also have an irritating tendency to hang out in the forest canopy, far out of reach. 

In other locations, I’ve had good luck finding stick insects on forest edges, where the canopy is lower, and stick insects hang out at eye height. So I took a beating tray and a few other participants willing to tolerate my obsession, and slowly crept along the shrubby forest edges, peering at foliage and shaking branches. 

Alas, I found not a single stick insect, although I did record some lovely little spiders, a beautiful moth, and a few interesting plants. Undaunted, I will try again next time. The creatures are out there, I know.

Indeed, lots of living things are out there at Cass. Every time we’ve had a bioblitz, we’ve set what seems like an ambitious goal for recording new species at the research station. And every time, we blow our goal out of the water. In 2023, we were thrilled to exceed 500 species. In 2025, we sailed past 800. Last weekend, we added an amazing 119 new species to the list of life at Cass, bringing the total number of observed species there to 1093.

The more you look, the more you see. 

Unfortunately, I fear many of the native species at Cass are at risk. The population of feral pigs at the research station has exploded in recent years. Five or ten years ago, pig damage was confined to certain areas, but today there’s barely a square metre of the station not impacted by the rooting of pigs. Other mammals, too, have an impact on the native flora and fauna—rats, stoats and possums are all present there.

My worry was shared by many over the weekend, and we dreamed collectively of a predator fence around the station, combined with intensive pig, stoat, possum, and rat control. What a jewel the station could become! I wonder what our Bioblitz species counts would be like ten or twenty years after effective mammal control? 

For now, Cass Mountain Research Station remains as an incredible resource for scientists and others to study and explore. Our bioblitzes show there’s much out there to be learned.

Pause

It’s a golden, autumnal day today. Just right for enjoying.

Pause here
On the edge of winter
Among dry stalks
Rattling in the breeze.

Pause here
While the sun
Glances off
Golden leaves.

Pause here
To inhale
The smell of
Fading roses,
Cut grass.

Pause here
To feel Earth’s
Smooth slide
Through space.

Pause here.

Short walks on the Banks Peninsula

Last weekend, my husband and I spent a day on the Banks Peninsula doing three short walks we hadn’t done before.

Hay Reserve

Our first stop was Hay Reserve in Pigeon Bay. This short, family-friendly track circles through lowland old growth podocarp forest. It’s a slice of what the whole peninsula would have been like before human colonisation. Huge kahikatea and tōtara, supplejack looping through the branches, cabbage trees and ferns—so dense at spots, I almost wanted a head torch despite the bright sky overhead. If you’re a fan of big trees, Hay Reserve is a fantastic stroll.

Our next stop was Ellangowan Scenic Reserve, on Hickory Bay Road. Though poorly signed, it’s not difficult to find the track. It follows a two-track to a rocky ridge, with a fabulous 360-degree view of the peninsula, then drops back down through a beautiful patch of bush that includes some very old, though dwarfed native trees. Lower down, massive red beeches punctuate the forest. Just 2.4 km long, the track has it all—forest, views, rock scrambling. Definitely worth a visit if you’re out that way.

Pīwakawaka in Hay Reserve

Finally, we popped over to Akaroa, where we walked the Children’s Bay Walkway (with a detour to the creek waterfall). I can’t believe we’ve never done this walk (it would have been great when the kids were younger). The out-and-back, well-maintained track winds through a patchwork of farmland and forest. The creek waterfall was minimalist on the day we visited, but magical nonetheless. The really special thing about the walkway isn’t the landscape, though, but the fabulous sculptures along the way. No spoilers, but there are surprising creatures all the way to the end.

All three of these walks are relatively short and easy (though the Ellangowan Reserve track requires a bit of confidence on the ridge), and the three together made for a fun day, which naturally ended with a beer and chips in Akaroa.

Kererū in Ellangowan Reserve
Akaroa Harbour from Ellangowan Reserve

The Pumpkin Spice Cake to end all Pumpkin Spice Cakes

We have a lovely cookbook called Tartine, written by the owners of the bakery, Tartine, in San Fransisco.

pumpkin tea cake

I sometimes find this sort of cookbook frustrating, because the recipes are often linked very closely with the specific specialty ingredients available in that location. Which is great for a bakery—they should be using local ingredients. It makes it harder to reproduce those recipes, however, from the other side of the planet.

Tartine, however, is full of recipes that are remarkably simple to make, with ingredients available just about anywhere. I’ve enjoyed making several of the recipes from the book, and some of them are ones I return to regularly.

My husband first made their Pumpkin Tea Cake as the base of a birthday cake for me years ago. Since then, I’ve used the recipe similarly—baked in layers for special-occasion cakes.

But the recipe is technically for a loaf cake.

So last week I decided to make the recipe as it was meant to be made. Sort of. I did increase the quantities so that it would be the perfect amount for a Bundt cake, rather than a loaf. And I adjusted the spice quantities to taste. And I switched out some of the regular flour for wholemeal. Oh, and I reduced the sugar a bit. So yeah, maybe not exactly Tartine’s cake, but …

The result was the fluffiest, most divine Bundt cake ever. And it’s so easy to make that it may become my go-to cake for all occasions from here on out.

Here’s my version of the recipe. But do find yourself a copy of Tartine and try out the original, along with all the other lovely recipes in the book.

1 1/2 cups all purpose flour
1 cup wholemeal flour
2 1/4 tsp baking powder
3/4 tsp baking soda
2 Tbsp cinnamon
1 tsp freshly grated nutmeg
1/2 tsp cloves
1 3/4 cup pumpkin puree
1 1/2 cups vegetable oil
1 1/2 cups sugar
1 tsp salt
4 large eggs

Whisk together the flours, baking powder, baking soda, and spices in a mixing bowl. Set aside. In a large bowl, beat together the pumpkin, oil sugar and salt until well mixed. Then add the eggs, one at a time, beating well after each addition. Mix the dry ingredients into the pumpkin mixture, beating just until smooth.

Pour the batter into a greased Bundt pan and bake for 1 hour at 180℃ (325℉), until a toothpick inserted into the centre comes out clean. Allow to cool in the pan for 15 minutes before removing it from the pan and cooling completely on a wire rack.

The original recipe was sprinkled with sugar before baking, but this cake needs no embellishment at all. Eat it with a fork and knife, with a scoop of vanilla ice cream, or with your fingers, standing up in the kitchen. It’s delicious however you’d like it.

Autumn Garden Assessment

First week in April, and instead of having the heat pump on, I’m sitting here with all the windows open, because this year has been weird, weather-wise. It’s made for a challenging gardening year.

Seventeen pumpkins from one plant!

Last weekend, I brought in the last of the pumpkins and potatoes. I picked the popcorn, and I processed a heap of sweet corn. The garden is looking bare, though there’s still lots of vegetables coming out of it.

I thought it was time for my annual post-harvest assessment.

The weather was challenging for the spring crops, because it got summer-hot in November/December. Though I kept the garden well watered, the spring crops didn’t stand a chance. The pea harvest was marginal—enough for fresh eating, but not for freezing. Despite several plantings, I never did get spinach to grow—it bolted before I’d even planted out the seedlings. And the broccoli raab and pak choi bolted so fast, we never ate either of them—they went directly to the chickens.

I thought we were in good shape for the heat-loving crops, but in mid-December, summer seemingly ended. It got cool and rainy. There were some warm days, but they were few and far between. The tomatoes, eggplants and peppers languished. Powdery mildew cut down half my zucchini plants in February. I fought slugs, slaters and mould as tomatoes and peppers rotted before ripening. Beans rotted wherever they touched the ground. And aphids were rampant all year on all sorts of plants—the predators couldn’t keep up. 

All in all, it was a challenging summer.

We ate well (and still are), and the larder is full of food, but it was hard-won.

Things that did surprisingly well:

  • The volunteer pumpkins—the pumpkins I actually planted were marginal and were nailed by powdery mildew. But the two volunteer pumpkins—out on their own with good air flow around them—did well. One of them, in particular, was the most spectacular plant I’ve ever seen—the plant itself was enormous, and it produced 17 pumpkins with a total weight of 41.6 kg!
  • Rosella tomatoes—This black cherry tomato has been my favourite for flavour since I began planting it a few years ago. This year it proved itself as a tenacious variety, producing decently in both greenhouses and out in the garden, where most of the tomatoes languished.
  • Sweet corn—The corn got a terrible start, with poor germination and uneven growth. In mid-January, I expected to get no corn harvest. But somehow, the plants shot up after that, evened out, tasselled, and produced a gorgeous crop of big ears. Every single plant has at least two nice ears on it, and some plants have managed three. I honestly have no idea how it happened, but I’ll take the win.
  • Nutri-purple carrots—I’ve struggled for decades to grow nice, big purple carrots. This was my first try with the variety Nutri-purple, and they were fantastic. Long roots, healthy growth, and no aphids (the aphids were usually the downfall of other purple varieties I’ve tried).

Things that did poorly:

  • Window Box Red tomatoes—usually these little plants produce bumper crops in the pots in front of the house, but every one of them expired quickly in the cold this year, without producing a single fruit.
  • Fantastico tomatoes—This was a new cherry tomato variety for me this year, and I found the plants to be unmanageable (large sprawling plants that resisted any sort of pruning or training), slow to ripen, and not terribly tasty. At the moment, the fruits are finally ripening, but because it’s cool and wet, and the plants are sprawled on the ground, the slugs and slaters are getting most of them.

Of course, the gardening season never really ends here, and while we continue to eat the remaining summer crops, the winter crops are happily growing. I look forward to tallying up the full year’s production in a few months. Stay tuned for the final tally!

Happy Equinox!

Here we are at the autumnal equinox! Hard to believe my garden year is three-quarters over. But the days are feeling very short, and the vegetable garden is slowing down.

basket of vegetables

Despite the short days and cool weather, the harvest is really just getting going. I picked over 64 kg of pumpkins last weekend, and there are more to bring in. I’ve been harvesting dry beans for weeks, and will continue for another few weeks as they mature on the plants. Most haven’t been weighed in yet, because they’re still drying, but I’ve recorded over 4 kg so far, and I estimate my final total will be around 10 kg.

Sweet corn is at its peak at the moment, and one of these days soon, I’ll be picking and freezing a whole lot, because we can’t keep up with it, despite having corn on the cob pretty much every day for dinner (it’s a rough life…).

The popcorn still has a few weeks of maturing on the plant before it will be ready to harvest, and there are still two apple trees and a pear awaiting harvest.

Meanwhile, the summer crops continue to trickle in at a pace to keep us feasting.

In total so far, since the winter solstice, the garden has given us over 526 kilograms of fruit and vegetables and 490 eggs. 

Having not bought vegetables in about 20 years, I was curious about the monetary value of our garden, so I checked the prices of a few of the currently in-season vegetables at the grocery store. I was, quite frankly, shocked at how expensive fresh vegetables have become.

Some quick calculations …

Our garden has (so far) produced this year:

  • $388 worth of zucchini
  • $348 worth of tomatoes
  • $379 worth of potatoes
  • $30 worth of onions
  • $235 worth of pumpkin
  • $60 worth of chilli peppers
  • $192 worth of green beans
  • $287 worth of garlic
  • $47 worth of carrots
pumpkins

And most of these calculations are based on the price of conventionally grown (not organic) vegetables, because organic options weren’t available at the store.

Just that short list of vegetables adds up to over $2000, and it doesn’t include any of the expensive berry fruits we produce. And, of course, it doesn’t take into account that we grow things that you simply can’t buy in the grocery store—delicious, but non-commercial crops like ugniberries and quince, heirloom tomatoes that can’t survive shipping, colourful carrot varieties. Add to that the fact that our vegetables have been off the plant for minutes when we cook them, versus days or weeks for the sad specimens in the grocery store, and it is clear that the value of our garden can’t be measured by an instrument as blunt as price. Still, it’s good to know that the hundreds of dollars I spend each year on seeds, pea straw, and other garden supplies are more than paid back in food.

Just three months to go to complete our garden year. The tally continues as delicious fruit and vegetables roll in!

Happy autumn (or spring, if you’re in the northern hemisphere)!

Summer Soup 2026

Last Saturday was Summer Soup Day—the day I make vegetable soup to last through the winter. As usual, I started just after breakfast, around 7 am. Picking and chopping vegetables, with my husband’s help, took until nearly lunchtime.

We filled both of our largest stock pots (16-litres and 18-litres) with soup, and our 12-litre pot full of vegetable offcuts for stock. Just getting all that soup to a boil took nearly an hour, and then it had to be processed in the canner. It was a long day in the kitchen.

A long time to contemplate soup.

We’ve been making summer soup for close to twenty years, now. Each year it is slightly different. Each year reflects the summer’s weather and our garden wins and fails for the year. It truly is an encapsulation of the summer. 

This year, the summer soup was full of beautiful carrots—long and straight, including some fabulous purple carrots. The soup is a record of my successful raised carrot bed born of my frustration at previous carrot crop failures. 

This year’s soup contains blazing hot jalapeño from a plant a friend gave me, because my jalapeño plants (a variety called Jalapeño Early, which is milder) were devoured by slugs as seedlings.

This year, the summer soup is devoid of sweet peppers, reflecting the cool, wet weather that has delayed ripening and rotted peppers on the plants.

This year’s soup is rich in green beans, which are often long over by the time I make soup. Planting only runner beans this year, instead of mostly dwarf varieties, gave me a longer season.

This year, there’s less sweet corn in the summer soup than usual, the result of abysmal germination in my first sweet corn planting.

Despite the cool, wet weather, germination woes, and devouring slugs which have affected this year’s soup, it is delicious, as it is every year. It is a slice of summer’s bounty, bottled up to remind us of sunshine and warmth on days when both are scarce.

The tally at the end of the day was 25 litres of soup, and 6 litres of vegetable stock (plus the two dozen cupcakes I made while waiting for the jars to run through the canner). I pulled the final jars out of the canner at 8 pm. 

A long day, but worth every moment.

February in the Garden

We’ve had an overabundance of rain this summer, and not nearly enough heat and sunshine for many of the summer vegetables. Slugs and slaters are running rampant, and fungal pathogens are making an early appearance. 

Still, it takes more than too much rain to suppress the exuberance of late summer. The dahlias are blooming, the sweet corn and tomatoes are ripening, and the pears and apples are heavy on the trees. I picked over 40 kilograms of potatoes on Sunday, and we’ve been freezing tons of pasta sauce. It is a time of abundance, despite the summer’s setbacks.

So, I invite you to enjoy my late-summer garden with me on one of our few beautiful sunny days. 

Bleed Out

I used to live in St. Paul, Minnesota. It frustrates me to be unable to join the protests, the singing throngs in the streets of Minneapolis. To be on the other side of the world with a heart this heavy. Kia kaha Minnesota. Let your outrage bleed all the way to Washington DC.

Renee and Alex took the shots
But we all bleed out.
Out of homes and businesses,
Humanity puddles on icy pavement,
Floods the streets in protest.

When one bleeds out,
We all bleed out.
Compassion spills from keyboards 
Into the flow
Of online vitriol.
Humanity seeths,
Bristles with outrage.

My pen writes in blood
Blood spilled
Blood boiling
Blood coursing through
A heart
A heart
A heart
That bleeds out.

When one bleeds out,
We all bleed out.

Cake Season 2026–Cake #1

I can’t really call cake season crazy anymore. There are no children at home demanding quirky cakes in the shape of peripatus, octopi, hobbit holes, or the city of Wellington (all cakes I have, in fact made).

But I can still pull out the stops on the birthday cakes, and to be fair, the ‘adult’ cakes taste better than the kid cakes.

This year’s first birthday cake was a 4-layer lemon cake filled with a cornstarch-thickened blackcurrant jam and iced with mascarpone frosting. Fresh berries on top and a bit of blackcurrant-coloured frosting swiped on the sides of the cake were the only decorations.

For looks, I’d give it a 4. Pretty average, though it did look nice sliced on the plate. For flavour, it gets a 9—a good combination of tangy and sweet. 

This was the first time I’ve worked with mascarpone, and I have to say I expected more from it. Nothing wrong with it—it was easy to work with and made for a very nice, fluffy, not too sweet frosting. But flavour-wise, I prefer the bolder cream cheese frostings.

But that’s okay. This cake, with its generous blackcurrant filling, is deliciously bold, and there is absolutely nothing wrong with the mascarpone icing.

If you want to make your own, I baked my lemon cake in three 15-cm cake tins (they took about 45 minutes to bake, as opposed to the 30 minutes in the recipe). After baking, I sliced two of the cakes in half horizontally into two layers each. The third cake I froze for later.) 

The filling is the blackcurrant jam from my blackcurrant twists recipe—super simple and quick to make. I made it the day before and refrigerated it so it was nice and firm.

The mascarpone frosting recipe is from Of Batter and Dough—I used a full 500g package of mascarpone, eyeballed 400 ml of a 500 ml bottle of cream, and used the smaller quantity of sugar called for in the recipe.

For once, I also cut my layers flat, piped my icing on, and worked with a cold cake. This helped make the thickly-filled layers stack solidly.

And though I was a bit disappointed by the final look, the taste makes it definitely worth doing again.