New Zealand

Landscape Shaped by Food

/ Robinne Weiss / Leave a comment

DSC_0007 smI’ve thought a lot about the Canterbury landscape over the past year. I’ve been piecing a quilt of the plains inspired by the September 4 2010 earthquake. The huge jog the quake created in the otherwise dead-straight Telegraph Road made me think about its effect on the aerial view of the entire area—all those straight fence lines and hedges shifted. It took a few years for the ideas to come together enough to execute, but last year I began to work on it. I took a satellite image of the area I wanted, projected it onto my living room wall, and traced the landscape onto a quilt-sized piece of paper. Every field was numbered and mapped on a reference sheet—six hundred and two pieces, each one different. Along the Greendale Fault, I cut and shifted the quilt, exaggerating the real break a bit, and creating a subtle disruption in the patterns.

Though the quilt began with a focus on the quake, as I worked on it, I thought more and more about the agricultural landscape itself. For over 100 years, sheep and grain have been the staples of the region. They have left their impression on the landscape. The wedges formed by intersecting roads at Charing Cross were sliced by straight fences and hedges, forming paddocks and fields for sheep, oats, and barley. Today, dairy cows and the centre pivot irrigators that keep the cows’ paddocks lush have overlaid circles on the straight lines of the past. You can see places where the centre pivot has obliterated the geometry of the past, and others where the straight lines limit or slash through the centre pivot. The push and pull of the past and the present.

Satellite photo of the real thing.

Satellite photo of the real thing.

This landscape has fed people for over 600 years. When the first Maori arrived, the native forest provided food like moa and pigeons. As the forests were felled, the region’s rivers and wetlands continued to provide abundant fish and waterfowl. When Europeans arrived in the 1870s, they brought livestock and crops, which thrived on the plains. Though the landscape has changed dramatically, the use we make of it remains. Today, this landscape of food feeds not only locals, but also people in far-flung places like China, Europe, and the Americas. No doubt the landscape will change in the future. New lines will erase the old. But chances are good the new lines will be shaped by food.

South Lea Olive Oil

/ Robinne Weiss / 1 Comment

South Lea oliv oilA few days ago, we ran out of the expensive, gourmet olive oil we use on salads. It was OK, though, because I needed to get petrol anyway.

Yes, that’s right; we get our high-end olive oil at the local service station.

It just so happens that the owners of the petrol station, Peter and Frances Baylis, also own an olive farm. It’s a small operation. I don’t know how much they produce every year, but it’s not much. At olive harvest time in June and July, I make sure to ask Peter how the harvest has been (while I’m filling up the car). That way I know if there will be a shortage later in the year (last year I managed to get the very last bottle available). What they lack in volume they more than make up for on quality. Last years’ oil won a silver medal from Olives NZ (http://www.olivesnz.org.nz/awards/), and it wins our seal of approval every year.

One of the gals who works in the petrol station is always curious when I pick up a bottle of olive oil with my petrol.

“You really like this stuff, eh? What do you use it for?”

The way I like it best is mixed with fresh thyme and homemade bocconcini (bite-sized mozzarella balls). It’s also good on salads, drizzled on fresh bread.

In addition to just being really good, I like the idea I’m eating something produced locally by people I know. I’ve walked through the rows of the South Lea olive grove, and I know that the oil has travelled just a few short kilometres to my table. It’s almost as good as growing it myself (maybe better, because it’s less work).

What is your favourite local product?

Drought

/ Robinne Weiss / Leave a comment

DSC_0011 smIn Christchurch, the City Council and the media are only just now recognising what we gardeners and farmers have known for two months. It’s dry. And hot.

It’s the fate of those who grow plants and raise livestock to grow grimmer and grimmer as everyone else trips off to the beach for yet another perfect summer day.

The grass has been dead for at least a month, new plantings have succumbed despite our efforts to water them, and even well established shrubs are showing stress. The poplars—large trees that have been here for forever—are shedding leaves.

Every day begins and ends with watering—food crops are the first priority, then new plantings, then (maybe) established plants. We are thankful for every drop of water that spills over from the neighbour’s irrigator.

Still, not everything will make it, even if it starts raining tomorrow (which it won’t). The ground is hot dust, so dry the water pools on the surface rather than soaking in. So we choose what to water and what not to water, what will live and what will die. We haul extra food to the livestock, because they have little to eat in the paddock. We watch the sky for clouds and sniff the air for smoke (header fires aren’t uncommon out here, and they can spread rapidly). We rescue what we can…then shrug and head to the beach with everyone else.