Order from Chaos

September 24, 2016 / Robinne Weiss / Leave a comment

There’s something pleasing about the garden as I start to prepare the beds. I can’t prepare the whole garden at once—it’s simply too big—so I do it bed by bed. Two or four a weekend, until all thirty-two are done.

I’ve planned the garden over winter, so I know what will be planted in each bed. I choose which beds to prepare each weekend based on when each crop gets planted. So I end up with a patchwork of beds—some waist-high in weeds, others beautifully prepared and ready for planting, some already planted. Every weekend, the weeds are fewer and the tidy beds more numerous.

Little by little the work gets done, the garden gets planted, until that magical day in mid-November when it’s all done, and neat rows have replaced sprawling weeds.

Equinox

September 23, 2016 / Robinne Weiss / Leave a comment

Day and night balanced
Poised to tip the world into
Darkness or sunlight.

Sprouts

September 18, 2016 / Robinne Weiss / Leave a comment

It had been years since I grew sprouts. There wasn’t really a reason for my neglect of these easy-to-grow vegetables. I just didn’t do it.

But I was inspired by a poor winter garden and a glossy seed catalogue to try sprouts again. I ordered alfalfa and radishes for sprouting.

The alfalfa is what I remembered—earthy, a bit grassy. Good on a sandwich.

The radishes? They are fabulous! In a salad, on a sandwich, or in a stir-fry they add a crunchy zing. Just like…well…radishes, except they’re ready to eat in a week, and require no cleaning or slicing.

I’m sold. I’m sure, when the spring vegetables start to come in, I’ll forget all about sprouts, but for the moment, I’m making sure we have a regular supply of them.

Walk Away

September 16, 2016 / Robinne Weiss / Leave a comment

Working for yourself, you have to develop discipline. You’ve got to be able to knuckle down and do what needs to be done, as though there were a boss standing over your shoulder. You’ve got to clock in at work, and spend the day there.

But sometimes the best way to get something done is to walk away from it.

I spent the first three days of this week on the West Coast, doing some educational programmes for schools. The programmes took up the mornings, but by early afternoon, I was done.

Each afternoon, I thought to myself, “Right. I need to get some writing done now. I need to make use of my time.” And each afternoon, I sat at the computer for a few minutes, then went outside for a long walk.

I hardly wrote a word, and yet…

Those long walks were perhaps a more productive use of my time. I was in places I don’t get to go to very frequently, enjoying an environment wildly different from my office. A different part of my brain was being stimulated on those walks—a part that was more thoughtful, perhaps. More open to emotion and suggestion.

That part of my mind started churning with thoughts and ideas about a novel I wrote last year. I hadn’t thought about the story for months. Though I liked the book, its sequel wasn’t going well, and I had set it aside while I wrote something entirely different. Every time I considered working on it, I felt I was up against a wall. Something wasn’t quite right about my main character. I had missed something, and wasn’t sure what it was.

But as I walked the beach, my character walked with me. She told me about her dreams and aspirations. She told me about her childhood, and about what made her become the person she is. She explained to me why she can’t do what I’ve asked her to do in the second book, and why and how she will rebel against my expectations.

I scribbled pages of notes from our ‘conversation’, and I’m looking forward to getting back to her story and finishing it the way it should be finished.

So my ‘wasted’ time was not wasted after all. Had I sat in my hotel room and forced myself to put words on the page, I would never have found the right words for the page.

Sometimes the best thing you can do is walk away.

There and Back Again

September 15, 2016 / Robinne Weiss / Leave a comment

Looking up Otira Valley

I slowed into the first curve and began to smile. Within a few short kilometres, the smile had widened to a grin that would remain for nearly two hours.

I will never tire of the drive up and over the Southern Alps. Especially the homeward drive, from Kumara on the West Coast to Springfield on the Canterbury Plains. The first time I made the trip was at night under a full moon that sparkled off the river below and made the snowy peaks shine. How could I not fall in love with it?

I love the first half of the drive, up Otira Valley—the belted galloways grazing in the paddocks on the lower slopes, the rainforest crowding in on the road, the long vistas up-valley to snowy peaks in the distance.

And then, when the road becomes steep and the valley closes in, the craggy peaks loom so close, you have to press your face to the window to see the tops.

And the water! Impossibly long falls coursing down forested slopes, spurting from every little dip and fissure along the roadside, and even soaring out over the road on a concrete sluice.

And then there is the road itself—steep, and as curvy as ribbon candy. There’s the cantilevered half-bridge, and the viaduct that soars out into space over an enormous landslide.

There is the lookout at Death’s Corner, where you can stop and be fleeced by a gang of endangered alpine parrots.

And when you reach the top and plunge down the other side, a whole new set of marvels awaits in the dry, brown, tussock-covered mountains of the eastern ranges.

There are the mountains of scree that look like they’ve been dumped by some enormous gravel truck. There are the limestone outcrops standing like a geologic Stonehenge. There are more snowy peaks, rising out of mounds of alpine tussock. There are lakes hemmed in by massive landslides.

Rear view.

Coming home from the West Coast yesterday afternoon, I was still grinning as I drove through the last of the hills. When I glanced in the rear view mirror, I couldn’t help laughing out loud at the sun glinting off a rank of snow-laden peaks behind me.

Even after nearly twelve years here, I continue to live in wonder at my luck—that I am permitted to call this incredible land home.

Bealey Valley, Arthur’s Pass, New Zealand

September 14, 2016September 13, 2016 / Robinne Weiss / Leave a comment

Stop.
Soak up the still silence.

Except that it is neither still
Nor silent.

Wind tumbles
The leaves of the trees.

Overhead in the branches, sounds
The pebble-in-a-still-pool languor
Of the bellbird,
The electric zit-zit
Of the rifleman.

Nearby, a small stream
Hisses over the rocks.
And from farther away
Comes the deep rumble
Of the river
Shaking the stone
As it crashes
Headlong
Down the mountain.

The Last Hurrah

September 7, 2016 / Robinne Weiss / 3 Comments

We’re a week into spring, but winter wanted a farewell party, I suppose. The wind is howling and the rain falls sideways. Hail scatters like buckshot off the windows. The power has been out once already this evening, and we’re all expecting it to go off again.

But it’s September. We know this won’t last. We know that, no matter how cold the wind might blow, when the sun comes out tomorrow, it will be warm on our faces. We can, instead, enjoy the comforts of winter one last time—a blazing fire, a cup of tea, an excuse to do nothing but curl up with a book.

Farewell winter. See you next year.

A List of Garden Don’ts

September 6, 2016 / Robinne Weiss / 4 Comments

As I head into spring, I always try to bear in mind my list of garden don’ts…

Don’t put the compost pile next to the greenhouse. The rats and mice go straight from the compost to the greenhouse, where they devour everything in sight.
Don’t plant so many zucchinis. No. I mean it. One zucchini plant can feed a small village. Just don’t do it.
Don’t put the pumpkins near a path. You don’t need to do anything to them until long after all the other crops are finished, so tuck them away from heavy traffic areas. Otherwise, they’ll take over your paths. Same goes for potatoes, melons, and broad beans.
Don’t take zucchini to every social function you attend. See point number 2. Even your friends can’t eat all that zucchini.
Don’t plant corn where it will shade the tomatoes.
Don’t freeze your extra zucchini. See point number 2. If you must freeze zucchini, grate it first, and don’t freeze more than what you can use in two batches of zucchini bread.
Don’t plant horseradish. Anywhere. For any reason. It’s fine if you love horseradish. But don’t plant it. Get it from a friend who made the mistake of planting horseradish once ten years ago.
Don’t save extra zucchini in the fridge. See point number 2. There will be more tomorrow, and you won’t eat the ones in the fridge. Get a pig or goat instead and feed the zucchini to it.
Don’t water before you weed. It makes for unpleasant working conditions.
Don’t worry. Your local food bank probably accepts zucchini.

Hygge

September 4, 2016 / Robinne Weiss / Leave a comment

Definitely hygge

It was way too warm this evening to need a fire, but I lit one anyway. After two brutal days in the garden, I just wanted warmth and comfort.

Apparently, it’s very trendy. Just two days ago, they were discussing this very thing on National Radio—hygge—a Danish term (pronounced hooga) that means comfort, well-being, cosiness, and contentment all wrapped up in one word.

Taking care of yourself. Doing those things that bring happiness and comfort—a picnic on the beach, curling up with a good book and a cup of tea, enjoying a glass of wine with friends.

For me, curling up with a good book by the fire is hygge, and that’s what I’ll be doing this evening.

But hygge for me is also an evening stroll in the garden, after the day’s work is done. It’s half an hour at the piano. Lunch outdoors in the sun. Scones on Sunday morning. Milking in the dark at 5am under a sky full of stars. Morning coffee among the tassling corn in mid-summer.

What is hygge for you?