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:

★ ★ ★ ★☆

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.

A Solstice Reckoning

If you’ve been following my blog over the past year, you’ll know that my husband and I have been engaged in a little project to record everything we harvest from the garden for an entire year—winter solstice to winter solstice.

basket of vegetables

Well, we passed the solstice earlier this week, and with it, our project has come to a close. My husband, data wrangler extraordinaire, did some calculations and created a graph of our harvest to help us visualise and understand our data (see below).

Some quick takeaways from the data:

  • We harvested a total of 771 kg of food (91 different crops) from the garden over the past year!
  • Our largest crop was pumpkins, at 115 kg.
  • We picked a whopping 97 kg of tomatoes over a 7-month-long season.
  • Our chooks laid 1047 eggs weighing a total of 53 kg!
  • Although I tried to be reasonable when planting zucchini, we still harvested 51 kg of them.
  • We harvested 40 kg of sweet corn after a terrible, late start to the season.
  • Our smallest crop was saffron—dried, the entire year’s harvest weighed less than 1 gram.

What an amazing year!

I’m not sure I fully grasped the sheer volume of food our garden produces, and I certainly didn’t think I’d be tallying up nearly 800 kg of food from this property six years ago when we arrived on what was then an absolutely stripped and sterile piece of land. It’s amazing what a lot of hard work and tonnes of manure can accomplish in six years!

I don’t know the monetary value of the year’s produce, but it hardly matters. The garden has fed us like royalty all year. Provided us food of a quality money can’t buy, not to mention all the weird and wonderful crops and varieties we grow that never appear in the grocery store and simply aren’t available unless you grow them yourself. In addition, I’ve given away countless eggs, zucchini, cucumbers, pumpkins, currants, quince, and more, helping to feed those around us as well. 

Eat your heart out, Elon Musk! Your trillion cannot possibly give you as much joy as my 771 kg of fresh produce.

Garden graph 2025-26
Each crop is represented as a ring of the graph. Each individual harvest is a dot, and the size of the dot indicates the size of harvest. The grey line shows the total weight of all produce harvested since the winter solstice. Only some crops are labeled on the graph.

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.

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.