A New Non-fiction Project (and how you can help)

So, I’m doing a thing …

I know a lot of you read my blog for the recipes or the garden tips.

Over the past couple of months I’ve finally done what I’ve been threatening to do for years. I’ve collected 60 of my recipes (some of which have appeared on my blog, and many which haven’t) and put them together with growing tips to create a book I’ve tentatively titled Soup to Soil.

Soup to Soil is a seasonal guide to cooking and gardening. Recipes, arranged seasonally, feature fruits and vegetables from the garden. Each recipe is followed by a growing and preserving guide for one of the ingredients in the recipe.

The first draft of the manuscript is complete, and now the hard work starts. Over the next year, I’ll be cooking, gardening and photographing in order to refine and document all the recipes and gardening information in the book.

My goal is a hardcover full of delicious recipes, helpful gardening tips, and beautiful photographs.

If you’d like to test some of the recipes for me, I’d love to have you join my recipe testing crew! Send me a message through my contact page.

Upcoming Release–Nettle and Ash

November 27 is release day for my next book, a young adult epic romantasy, Nettle and Ash! I can’t wait to share this story with the world–I had a blast writing it and designing the interior.

Nettle and Ash is available on preorder on my website (ebook and print) and on most online retailers (ebook only). I’ve put extra care into the print edition, including a flip-book animation of a flying dragon in the bottom corner of each page, so I highly recommend readers go for the print edition.

Here’s the blurb:

An epic enemies to lovers romantasy! Dark magic, tantalising romance, and high-stakes action!

In a land divided, eighteen-year-old Nettle has been honed to kill. Her rare death magic makes her the prized weapon of the queen. A weapon that will win wars.

Nettle hates killing and despises her own magic. But the more she pushes back against her mentor’s increasingly horrific training, the greater the punishment. So when her mentor is killed and Nettle is promoted to queen’s advisor, she argues for peace, not war.

When diplomacy fails and the queen’s full depravity is revealed, Nettle’s only options are to give in and become the monster the queen wants, or to start a rebellion to save the country from its ruler.

And with a little help from a handsome enemy, she might just be able to cast aside her shackles, overthrow the queen and find good in her own magic. A good that could unite nations.

Nettle and Ash is the first book in the Dragon Isles series. Stories in the series are standalone tales with intertwining plot lines.

Casey Saddle — Binser Saddle Route

My husband and I got a jump on the long holiday weekend, taking off on Friday to head to the mountains for our first tramping trip since last autumn. Knowing we’d be out of shape after winter, we chose the Casey Saddle — Binser Saddle route in Arthur’s Pass National Park, which is a long (41 km) overnighter, but relatively unchallenging. I’d done the Binser Saddle as a day hike years ago, and my husband had done the Casey Saddle as a day hike, but neither of us had done the full circuit.

Andrews Stream

So off we went Friday morning. Low cloud on the plains gave way to the most stunning day—clear skies and no wind.

The track starts with a relatively gentle climb up Andrews Valley through beech forest. There are some lovely big red beech among the mountain beech. The forest opens up through Hallelujah Flat, where there are mats of my favourite lichen, the coral lichen, Pulchrocladia retipora.

The scrub-covered Casey Saddle gives way to more beech forest, and then a weird and wonderful semi-open patch of stunted trees and shrubs.

Back in the forest, the track drops to Casey Hut, on the Poulter River.

Casey Hut is only six years old, rebuilt after the old hut burnt down in 2015. It’s the first of the new solar powered huts I’ve stayed in. I have to say that, while the hut is very nice, and I totally understand why DOC is installing solar lighting in new huts, I almost missed the candles and head torches of the usual hut experience.

Pulchrocladia retipora

We had a lovely evening hanging out with a party of four at the hut. As always, we had fun, wide-ranging conversations, discovered several common acquaintances, and reminisced about previous tramping trips. It was the best of hut experiences.

Despite a brand new hut with plenty of space, we chose to sleep in the tent, where we always sleep better. It was such a gorgeous night, we didn’t even put the rain fly up. Weka and ruru called during the night, but the trees overhead provided most of the night music—creaking and clacking in the breeze that kicked up in the evening.

Saturday morning, we were back on the trail before 7 am under another stunning blue sky. A three-hour slog down the Poulter River was fast, easy walking, but fairly dull. After crossing Pete Stream, we scrambled up a series of three bluffs out of the Poulter River bed and began the ascent over Binser Saddle.

I remembered Binser Saddle as being a bit of a slog the first time I did it. It was, but it was also more interesting than I remembered. The saddle itself is rather magical, with a relatively open forest and moss-covered ground. It was the perfect, restful lunch spot.

The descent to Mount White Road from Binser Saddle is relatively straightforward and quick, with a few short steep sections. But then there was the 2 km slog along the road back to the car—not a great way to end a hike. In hindsight, we should have parked at the Binser Saddle end and done the road walking at the beginning, just to avoid the road as the last bit of the day.

Overall, it was an enjoyable hike through classic beech forest and open river beds, but not one I need to repeat. It was a good way to ease back into the hiking season.

The Importance of Community

Western culture seems to lean more heavily into individualism all the time. We’re encouraged to look out for ourselves, celebrate our own uniqueness, prioritise our own needs, focus on increasing our own wealth, our own wellbeing.

It hasn’t made us happier.

In fact a 2015 study of happiness found that the pursuit of happiness in individualistic cultures left people feeling less well off than before. Conversely, they found that the pursuit of happiness within collectivistic cultures led to increased well being.

When we seek happiness as a group, we are better off. When we engage with others in a collective pursuit, we benefit.

The past week has been an excellent reminder of this for me. 

On Friday, I enjoyed a sailing excursion on the NZ Maritime Museum’s sailboat, Ted Ashby. The boat was manned by a crew of retired volunteers. Every one of the volunteers was having as much fun as the tourists on board. The fellow I chatted with gushed about how volunteering gave him the opportunity to hang out with other sailors, enjoy the water, sail on a historic boat (without the expense of owning it), and share his passion for sailing with others. He was happy because he was sharing his interests, his time, his energy.

On Saturday and Sunday, I attended the Storylines Children’s Writers and Illustrators’ National Hui. I enjoyed two days of talks and workshops, and chatted with dozens of other writers during breaks and meals. Although the weekend was exhausting for introverted me, I came away bursting with ideas, charged with purpose, and ready to tackle my own writing with renewed vigour, and with a feeling of support from countless others.

On Monday, the gardening group I’m a part of met for our bi-weekly catch-up. As always, our stroll through a member’s garden was accompanied by discussions of everyone’s successes and failures so far in this growing season. We discussed ideas, techniques, and frustrations. During the post-stroll cup of tea, conversation wandered freely to all aspects of rural life. People exchanged seeds, plants and produce, shared photos of recent projects, and commiserated about the weather. I know that whenever I’m in need of advice, plants, or anything, all I need do is reach out to the group. My glorious garden is a testament to the influence of the community. I could not have created it without them.

We cannot hope to succeed as individuals without a community of support around us. We cannot hope to thrive without others who thrive alongside us. We cannot hope for happiness without feeding the happiness of others.

Our leaders, our governments seem to have forgotten this. Collectively, we have forgotten this. We cannot simply take, we must give. We cannot expect support unless we provide it, too.

Life should not be about you. Life should not be about me. It should be about us. Together we are powerful, we are nurtured. We lift others up, and they pull us up with them.

I am blessed to be part of several communities of people who gather for mutual support around a particular passion. I’m also thankful to be part of a physical community made of the people who live in my town—a community that hosts a produce exchange and a little library, one that organises a trick-or-treat map of participating households, one that rallied with sidewalk messages and games, painted rocks, and window messages during Covid lockdown. 

What communities are you part of? What communities can you nurture? How can you chase happiness with others?

The Importance of Adventure

The magical water race.

A few days ago, on our nightly walk, my husband and I passed a couple of kids out after dark. They were fossicking around in the water race and had just caught an eel (barehanded!). We watched as the hapless fish wriggled in their hands before they released it back into the water. The kids’ excitement was as wriggly and sparkling as the eel.

We congratulated them on their catch and carried on with our walk, leaving them to their watery exploration.

And I couldn’t help smiling, thrilled that two kids were eeling after dark on a school night. I have no doubt they learned more in that 30-second encounter with an eel than they had all day at school.

Don’t get me wrong—school is important. But mucking around in the natural world, without adult supervision, is where lifelong passions germinate, where lasting learning takes place.

School simply can’t provide that. Thirty kids (or more) in a room with a responsible adult who’s being judged on how orderly the classroom is and how many reading levels the students have progressed is not a place experiential learning can thrive.

I know. I tried. I was lucky to have a little more leeway than a regular classroom teacher, but the constraints were insurmountable. I was still there—a sensible adult who was responsible for messes and injuries when they occurred. I was an impediment to the sort of wild learning I hoped to inspire.

And the tragic part is that school shouldn’t have to be the place where kids get experiences, but I was fully aware my students weren’t getting those experiences outside of school, where my generation got them.

No matter how hard I tried, in the confines of a classroom, with the need for accountability, safety, and justification, I could not make up for my students’ lack of solo ‘adventuring’.

So I was thrilled to see at least two kids bucking the trend, up to their knees in a stream with eel slime dripping off their fingers. And kudos to the parents who let them explore! 

Stop and Smell the Daffs

There’s a blast of winter forecast to blow in overnight, so I thought I should enjoy the blue sky day while I could. Ignoring all items on my to-do list, I had a wander around the garden …

Spring 2026: A review

I acquired my copy of this year’s spring season a week and a half ago, and so far it has performed largely as advertised. Spring 2026 has opened with the appropriate day length, and a healthy mix of sun and rain, so the basics are well covered.

The daffodils have begun blooming, although it remains to be seen just how spectacular they will become. The signs are promising. 

The pea and lettuce seedlings have also grown as expected for Spring, though the performance of the onions has been a bit of a disappointment.

The birds of Spring 2026 are abundant and noisy. Lots of house sparrows, which I know are cheap filler, like the peanuts in nut mixes (probably my fault for not buying the Deluxe Edition). But there have been some excellent white-faced herons, a few little owls, and a generous number of paradise shelducks. The pīwakawaka of Spring 2026 are also abundant and extra cheeky. Good value for money there.

Though I haven’t had this version of Spring for long, I am concerned about the abundance of wasps and the lack of honeybees. I hope that as the Spring progresses, these issues sort themselves out.

And of course, I wish there were a pollen-free version of Spring on offer. I would definitely buy that over the current model.

Overall, Spring 2026 is a reasonably solid, if somewhat average edition of the season.

Rate your experience:

★ ★ ★ ★☆

Lime Filled Cupcakes

For the first year ever, we have a citrus tree that is happy and producing copious fruit. Our Bears Lime sits in a half-barrel in a little heat pocket in front of the garden shed, and it is absolutely dripping in deliciousness right now. 

Lime is not a fruit I’m accustomed to having on hand. Limes often cost up to $49/kg in the grocery store, so to have an overabundance of them makes me feel like I’m incredibly wealthy.

Naturally, we’re putting lime into everything, sweet and savoury. A few weeks ago, I picked up a new cookbook, Bake Your Sweet Time, by Tat Effby. In the book is a key lime pie cake that I made a couple of weeks ago, in a bout of stress baking while dealing with the demise of both our vehicles within days of one another. It was excellent, and it got my brain spinning about the combination of cake and lime curd.

So on the weekend, I made lime cupcakes, filled with lime curd, and topped in a buttercream frosting.

Oh. My. God.

For days, I’ve been living in anticipation of the next time I can legitimately eat one of these delicious morsels. It’s taking all my willpower not to live on cupcakes alone, with these in the house.

Here’s the recipe, in case you have an overabundance of limes, too. Or even if you don’t. These might be worth spending $49/kg for limes.

Lime curd (make this at least a few hours ahead of time):
Combine in a medium saucepan:
3 large eggs
1/3 cup sugar
grated zest of 1 lime

Add:
1/2 cup fresh lime juice
3 Tbs butter, cut into cubes

Cook, whisking, over medium heat until the butter melts and the mixture thickens. Simmer gently for a few seconds, then remove from the heat.

Stir in:
1/2 tsp vanilla

Scrape into a bowl or jar, cover, and refrigerate. Keeps for about a week.

Cake (makes 18 cupcakes):
Whisk together in a small jug:
4 large eggs
60g vegetable oil
60g water

Combine in a large bowl:
200 g sugar
320 g all-purpose flour
1 Tbs baking powder
pinch of salt
grated zest of 4 limes

Add to the flour mixture:
120g butter, softened to the consistency of yogurt
60 g vegetable oil

Mix with an electric mixer on low until it looks like damp breadcrumbs.

With the mixer on high, slowly pour in half the egg mix. Beat for up to a minute, until the batter becomes thick, fluffy and lump free. Then trickle in the remainder of the egg mixture, beating until smooth.

Spoon the batter into paper-lined cupcake tins. Bake at 160℃ on fan bake (or 180℃ if you don’t have a fan bake option) for 22 minutes, or until a toothpick comes out clean. 

Take cupcakes out of the pan and allow to cool on a wire rack.

Frosting:
200g softened butter
1/4 tsp vanilla
2 cups icing (confectioners) sugar
1-2 Tbs hot water

Cream butter until light and fluffy. Add vanilla. Gradually beat in sugar, beating until smooth. Add just enough water to achieve a piping consistency.

To assemble:
Using a knife, 2 cm round biscuit cutter, or cupcake corer, cut a well in the centre of each cupcake, leaving plenty of cake around the edges and bottom so the cupcakes don’t disintegrate. Fill a piping bag fitted with a large round tip (or a small zipper bag with the corner cut off) with lime curd, and pipe each cupcake well full to the top with curd.

Fit a second piping bag with a large star tip, and fill it with frosting. Pipe frosting onto the top of each cupcake. The frosting does need to be piped on, because if you try to apply it with a knife, the curd mixes into the icing.

Because of the lime curd filling, I recommend storing these cupcakes in the fridge. Microwave individual cupcakes for 10 seconds to return them to room temperature before eating.

Enjoy!

Why Spring Matters

I wrote a blog post today, and realised I’ve written essentially the same post before. More than once. This same week of the year.

My post was about seeing signs of spring, despite winter weather.

And I thought, “Why does this matter? It happens every year.”

But that is exactly why it matters.

And, perhaps, that is exactly why I will mention it again, and again.

Especially now, when the fabric of what we consider ‘civilisation’ seems to be fraying. When world leaders have confused ‘lead’ with ‘greed’. When the air, water, and food we depend upon are increasingly poisoned. When the very planet that sustains us is threatened by our own actions.

We crave the familiar. We crave a sense of normalcy, a sense that, at the end of it all, we’ll be okay.

As a gardener and a keen observer of nature, I’m well aware that little is familiar anymore. It is too dry or too wet, warmer. New pests are encroaching, and planting and flowering dates are changing. 

But spring still follows winter, and every year plants anticipate and herald spring with swelling buds, emerging shoots. It is familiar. It is comforting.

Like the story tropes we love, the sitcom formulae we watch over and over again, we know there will be a good ending. We understand that all will be lost, but we can tell how close we are to the resolution, where all will be found again. 

That is what the month before spring is. Frosty, snowy, and often miserable, but the days grow inexorably longer, the sun a little higher every day. The plants begin to stir. The magpie sings in the darkness before dawn.

And the gardener experiences it all and knows that, whatever happens, we’ll be okay.