A Typical Day on Morning Star Farm

Breakfast is an event in which the whole family partakes. Dave, landlord and friend, usually joins in as well. Never a grand affair it is a jovial one. Breakfast time activities can range from playing a game or reading a book to singing songs and spilling breakfast all down the front of ones self in an effort to keep Little Wing out of the bowl. This later activity is usually reserved for the youngest. Breakfast its self consists of porridge—a concoction of oats and water with berries or flavoring added in at times—it is then topped off with home made honey, yogurt and milk. Or you can have cereal. As is the Kiwi and British style tea with milk and sugar is the standard accompaniment. Breakfast is the one meal eaten inside of the home. There is no formal call to breakfast. Spoon and I taking our reprieve inside a large bus opposite the home can hear the family waking up. Lilly’s high-pitched baby voice resonates most clearly, as do the footsteps of anyone walking across the bare wooden floors. We wander over slowly and separately to join the family in the traditional breaking of the fast.

For breakfast this morning I had a bowl of Wheat-Bix, a compressed wheat flake biscuit that when moistened turns to mush. To wash it down a cup of tea and to round out my breakfast some yogurt with honey and bran flakes. Fynn and I played Sword Quest, a book that would be the gorilla in the evolution of video games. Lilly stood on a stool next to the hot stovetop and played with scissors. There surely must be special order of angels looking after children and I think these children have more than one each.

Getting off to work is no hustled task either. After breakfast a period of rest and degestation, consisting of more games or reading time. Currently Out of Africa is my book of choice. A gift from my older sister it is a fitting read for my current situation and setting. This place too is at once wild and civilized. Rules and mannerisms, quite different from my own take some getting use to and a degree of pondering to understand their significance. I wonder at the inevitable feeling of superiority that accompanies a person settling a new land. This is something difficult to shake loose and no doubt leads to many complaints about the newcomers. I try hard not to be one of these. By ten thirty we head for the hills.

Ragwort is a tall weed. With leaves like carrot tops and bright yellow flowers that bloom in bunches it is beautiful to look at and harmless to people, but it is deadly to livestock. We set about the 40 acres pulling all we come across.

With their bright blooms the weeds are easy to spot and thanks to frequent and recent rains they are easy to pull out, but beyond all that it is a difficult task. The hills are pocked with hoof prints. Little flat land makes it easy and likely to twist an ankle if the utmost care is not taken when walking. The icing on the devil’s cake is the favorite growing grounds of ragwort. Deep within the spiny branches of gorse and nestled in the vines of prickly wild blackberries the impudent weed makes its home. My arms and legs, covered in scrapes and pokes, look like a bad case of acne after a catfight. The children caper through the hills keeping themselves occupied with songs and make believe worlds. From time to time the come back, navigating their way through the mountains of gorse, to Emily’s side. After a couple hours one or both of the kids will grow tired and we head back home to lunch.

We dine in the outdoors on a table made of a slab of kauri. It sits close to the ground and measures five feet by two and a half. Stumps are seats and the grass underfoot our napkins. Lunch too doesn’t vary much. Sandwiches made with “chutney”—a word here meaning anything chopped up and preserved. From plums to cucumbers all things can make chutney. Additionally we lay on avocado, cheese—of a type I am not familiar with though it is white and mild in flavor--, tomatoes and, popular amongst the children, butter. We munch on carrots and fresh picked plums. Another pot of tea is prepared to wash down the mid day meal.

By now it has grown quite hot and the beating sun sends everyone indoors. Lately the children have taken to watching a movie, though strictly against the rules before three in the afternoon. We laze about the hottest part of the day. Swims in the inlet aren’t possible as the tide has gone out and won’t be back in until late in the evening. As four o’clock approaches Morningstar Farms begins to stir once again. Now tasks can arrange from cutting back tall grasses and weeds to building a porch for the outdoor shower and bush bath. A bush bath is a wonderful thing, and I think unique to New Zealand. The farm’s bath is a claw foot tub over a fire pit. Light the fire in the pit and the bath warms up. It is simple in concept and execution. We are erecting a fence of downed fern trunks around it for added privacy.

As another avenue of employment we are put to work clearing land near an old out building. I try to work the sieve. It is a comedy of errors bordering on a comedy of horrors as time and time again I nearly achieve taking my leg off. The sieve is an awkward and difficult tool to master. It seems it is not so much a twisting at the waist as a pulling across the body. Time and time again I try to achieve the result of cutting even one blade of grass but the only thing making contact is the handle as the blade glides harmlessly by, its curve gently moving the offending weeds out of the way.

What would take mere moments with conventional tools can take days and even weeks with human power. Slowly we cut back the tall grasses and invasive berry vines. The once choked fruit trees sigh in the pleasure of freedom.

Dinnertime comes around. Emily is quite the cook and so far most meals are vegetarian consisting of items from the garden. Garlic, harvested and dried, hangs from the porch providing the yearly supply. Last night’s dinner casserole featured parsnips. Beetroot, zucchini, capsicum—bell pepper, and an assortment of leafy greens and peas make their way to the dinner table. We set a net in the inlet with hopes of a catch with the incoming tide. Flounder and mullet frequent these waters. Mullet is particularly fond of inlets as it favors brackish waters.
These days we are exhausted after dinner and head off to bed almost immediately after. Though some nights the musician hidden in each family member comes out and they gather to play and sing. I slink off to the computer; my creative outlet as invaluable to me as theirs to them.

January 18, 2007