Hi everyone
Its been a long time but the garden has been continuing, I assure you. A few weeks ago a local paper published an article about vegetable gardens being enjoyable, but not worthwhile on an economic basis. I wrote an email to the journalist, Rob Stock, and he was keen to meet me and have a tour of the yard. The article and video linked below is the result.
Hope you enjoy it
Tim
http://www.stuff.co.nz/business/money/73683788/families-can-make-a-mint-from-herb-vege-and-fruitgrowing
In my Grandmother's Kitchen
My daughter was sitting in our kitchen the other day when she suddenly broke into song.
"Deep, deep as the deepest sea is my Saviour's love" she sang, in that sweet-yet-wavering voice of a young child.
It instantly transported me back over fifteen years, as it was often sung by my grandmother. Her voice wavered too, though no longer with youth but the frailness of old age. I had the privilege of living with my grandparents as a university student (I will have to tell you more about my grandfather another day). Sometimes, lying in bed at night, I would listen to the homely sounds of my grandmother working in her kitchen. Then, as the evening grew late, she would often finish the day at her electric organ. Her soul would open up in song. Remembering it now, it's like the songs lifted her until she soared, age no longer a burden.
Back here in my kitchen, the remainder of this song flowed out, spanning the intervening years.
"I though so unworthy,
Still am a child of his care
For his word teaches me
That his love reaches me
Everywhere"
She loved that song.
Most of my memories of her were made in her kitchen. The kitchen was at the centre of their house and home, and feeding and caring for people was at the core of her life. Almost invariably, that's where we would farewell each other at the start of the day, and greet each other at the end. And her face would light up on my return, as if weeks or months had passed instead of only a few hours. I know she valued people. She valued me.
As we talked, my grandmother would playfully chide me - we were a different generation after all. I can still hear her voice as she responded to accounts of my days. "Oh, Timothy! You couldn't have!" she would exclaim, with a look of mock disbelief. "Oh, Timothy, you didn't, did you?", she would say, while sporting an all-of-face grin. At other times, she would expound, at length, on the evils of rock music, or abstract art. We didn't agree on everything, but I know that she loved me through and through.
One of my earliest memories of being at my grandparent's house is of their lolly jar. It was placed high up in the kitchen, but beside a step-ladder. My sister and I would wait until no one was in sight, and then quickly make our raids. But everything was as it was intended, and I remember my grandmother being very apologetic if it was ever out of stock.
I also remember my grandparents making all their own jam. I come from a long line of jam makers, each generation handing down the art to the next. Grandparents, parents, then me. Commandered to 'help pick', we would pile into my grandfather's mustard-yellow station wagon and drive out west to the strawberry fields. Hours later, baskets and bellies brimming with fruit we would drive home, joking about how "pick your own" growers should weigh people on arrival and departure as well. Sitting on a stool at the kitchen bench, Grandpa would prepare the strawberries for jamming, and Grandma would take charge of the stove. The heat from the jam would warm the kitchen, the smell of hot berries wafting through the house. Now, many years later, jam making for me isn't simply about home made spreads. More importantly its about preserving the memories, and my family's way of life.
My grandmother was extraordinary.
The embrace of her hugs, the size of them seemingly at odds with her diminutive frame.
The skin of her hands, wrinkled yet soft. Kind.
Her saintly patience and grace. Her mercy.
Her mischievous streak, that in the last few months of her life, only developed more.
Her joyful spirit
And that radiant look on her face when you greeted her. Perhaps she greeted people as Jesus would - with the joy of seeing a long lost child, even if you had just seen her at breakfast.
I didn't know it then, but perhaps my grandmother's also gave me glimpses of what heaven is like. At the centre of her life, always close. A place of warmth and complete acceptance. Deep joy. The surety of knowing exactly who she was.
Till we meet again Grandma - I had better sign off to let the tears flow
Tim
My grandmother was extraordinary.
The embrace of her hugs, the size of them seemingly at odds with her diminutive frame.
The skin of her hands, wrinkled yet soft. Kind.
Her saintly patience and grace. Her mercy.
Her mischievous streak, that in the last few months of her life, only developed more.
Her joyful spirit
And that radiant look on her face when you greeted her. Perhaps she greeted people as Jesus would - with the joy of seeing a long lost child, even if you had just seen her at breakfast.
I didn't know it then, but perhaps my grandmother's also gave me glimpses of what heaven is like. At the centre of her life, always close. A place of warmth and complete acceptance. Deep joy. The surety of knowing exactly who she was.
Till we meet again Grandma - I had better sign off to let the tears flow
Tim
Rose Mary Gordon Martin
Wedding Day 1945
Five Ways to Change The World (if you're a parent)
Parenthood. It's more demanding than my career. Broken sleep, school runs, preparing food, helping with homework, settling disputes, getting them dressed, tending to scrapes and bumps, and the list goes on. Not that I'm complaining. No, I wouldn't change it for the world. But sometimes I think that parenthood is putting the brakes on my desire to change this world.
Really, I keep on champing at the bit to get out there and do something big. Wherever "out there" is. I feel like I am ready to make a difference but unable to because of my circumstances. But then I am thankfully reminded of a critical truth, and it brings some much needed understanding and peace.
The best way for me to change the world is by being the best father that I can be. For if I change the world for the better, but in doing so forsake my family, then I have ultimately failed. And if I impart to my kids the faith and values that I see the world through, then I am helping shape the lives of another three world-changers. Everyday, I play a huge role in my children's world, be they one, two, or five years old. I know that I am closely observed by them, and every decision and action that I make can impact their physical, emotional, and spiritual development. These early years are so critical, and I for one need reminding of that. A lot. This is probably the only time in my life that I can have such a profound influence on other people. It's all about the importance of now.
So here are my top five ways to be a world-changer, if you're a parent.
Till next time
Tim
Do you have something to add? Disagree or have a question? Please use the comments section below.
Like this? Know someone this might help? Please click the links below to share it on your social network.
Really, I keep on champing at the bit to get out there and do something big. Wherever "out there" is. I feel like I am ready to make a difference but unable to because of my circumstances. But then I am thankfully reminded of a critical truth, and it brings some much needed understanding and peace.
The best way for me to change the world is by being the best father that I can be. For if I change the world for the better, but in doing so forsake my family, then I have ultimately failed. And if I impart to my kids the faith and values that I see the world through, then I am helping shape the lives of another three world-changers. Everyday, I play a huge role in my children's world, be they one, two, or five years old. I know that I am closely observed by them, and every decision and action that I make can impact their physical, emotional, and spiritual development. These early years are so critical, and I for one need reminding of that. A lot. This is probably the only time in my life that I can have such a profound influence on other people. It's all about the importance of now.
So here are my top five ways to be a world-changer, if you're a parent.
- Love them. The single most important aspect of parenting. Love them with a nurturing, unconditional love that lets them know that you are there for them, no matter what. If our kids know this, deeply, they are set to love well themselves.
- Challenge them. Kids need healthy challenges. Like muscles, they need to push boundaries to grow in strength and character. Obviously, challenges need to be age-appropriate. At the age of two, my oldest boy stubbornly trudged up a very steep hill, just to get to the top. Later I hope he will climb mountains with me.
- Be present. This one is critical, and the one I find the hardest. With the many distractions of modern life (mobile phones, TV, internet, email, Facebook, and dare I say it, blogs), I need to consciously slow down and make sure I am being present with my kids. Just them and me, full undivided attention. It says to them "you are valued", "you do matter", and "I do love you".
- Pray. I believe in the power of prayer. If you don't, then maybe you can take this point as the 'power of positive words'. Sometimes, as my children sleep, I place a hand on them and pray for their growing relationship with God. I speak over them the values that I long for them to have. Courage, compassion, justice, and mercy, to name a few.
- Follow your dreams. It's up to us to model this - how can we encourage our children to pursue what they were made to do, if we are don't do this ourselves? We need to lead by example, showing our children that anyone of us can lead a life that is more than the status quo.
Till next time
Tim
Do you have something to add? Disagree or have a question? Please use the comments section below.
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Stumble It! Winter tomatoes: the gardener's Holy Grail?
If you had told me a few weeks ago that you were trying to grow tomatoes outside during the winter, I would probably have looked at you incredulously and wished you luck. It just can't be done, because tomatoes are a tropical crop that we grow during our summers like an annual. But perhaps I have been wrong.
Yet again our first tomatoes ripened in early January, and the plants were all but done at the end of March. That's only three months of tomato production in a climate that is reliably frost-free for nine months of the year! So in a quest to conquer tomato production I went on a global research quest (courtesy of Google of course) to discover varieties that might significantly lengthen our tomato season. And the result of this was a crash course in tomatology, and some glimmers of hope for tomatoes in the cooler months.
The tomato is native to western South America and belongs to the genus Lycopersicon, which has around 10 species. Tomatoes are thought to have been first domesticated by the Aztecs over 2000 years ago, and tomatoes were widely cultivated in Mexico by the 1500s. Following the Spanish invasion of Central America, the tomato was then spread to Europe and the Phillipines, and subsequently, to the remainder of the world.
The existence of 10 species in the genus Lycopersicon is the critical factor that allowed the development of the phenomenal number of tomato varieties that exist today. All species in the genus can interbreed, with new varieties arising from crossings and chance mutations. Wild tomato varieties are still being used as a genetic resource to impart traits such as salt and drought tolerance (from a species native to the Galapagos Islands) and disease resistance. Specific varieties have also been developed to best fit the climate where they are grown, from localities as widely spread as Siberia, southern Canada, China, Ukraine, Ethiopia, and New Zealand. Seed catalogues in New Zealand list up to 166 tomato varieties (e.g. www.bristol.co.nz) but globally, estimates range from at least 10,000 varieties, to a mind-numbing 25,000 (US Department of Agriculture). So surely, somewhere out there, is a variety that will extend our fruiting season.
Tomatoes can be red, green, yellow, orange, purple, white, or green, and round, oblong, turban-shaped, or pleated. Size can range from the size of a currant, to a whopping 3.5 kg (a variety called "Delicious"). The variety of names is extraordinary, reflecting the wide geographic spread of tomato cultivation, and I suspect to some degree, breeder fanaticism. So step aside Beefsteak and Russian Red. Here's my pick for the best or most bizarre variety names (well, the ones that are for general audiences anyway...)
Stupice (maybe this tomato lacks intelligence?)
Stump of the World (absolutely no idea what was being aimed for here!)
Silvery Fir Tree (multi-use for timber?)
Amazon Chocolate (now that sounds good)
Green Sausage (sausage-shaped, and striped yellow and green)
Hawaiian Pineapple (massive tomato, yellowy green)
Missouri Love Apple
Heritage #624 ex Bob Lord (now there's a marketable name....)
Dancing with Smurfs (red with a blue cap)
Geza's Strawberry Potato (hey everyone, this year I'm growing Geza's Strawberry Potato Tomatoes....)
The most exhaustive list I have found so far, with links to further details of each variety, is on the website linked below:
http://t.tatianastomatobase.com:88/wiki/Category:Tomato_Variety_List
For me though, selecting tomato varieties is not just about length of season, but also taste, colour, size, and disease tolerance. I want naturally-healthy tomato plants that produce lots of good tasting fruit over a long season. After pouring through a multitude of websites, and learning about everything from tomato festivals to online tomato forums, I came up with a short-list. I will be trialing these and with a bit of luck, I might be able to grow tomatoes in the winter too.
My top picks are as follows:
Siberian
Subarctic Plenty
Oregon Spring
Paul Robeson
Stupice
Sunsets Red Horizon
Red Currant
Japanese Black Trifele (which hails from the Ukraine, of course)
So its now mid-autumn, and I'm sowing tomato seeds. Madness? I'll keep you posted.
Tim
................................................................................................................................
Current tasks in the garden (early-mid Autumn)
Harvesting now:
Capsicums
Mesclun
Swiss Chard
Strawberries
Raspberries
Rhubarb
White Welsh Onions
Apples
Peaches
Sowing now:
Lettuces
Tomatoes
Spring Onion
Mesclun
Transplanting now:
Broccoli
Cauliflower
Beetroot
Brussels Sprouts
Lettuces
Yet again our first tomatoes ripened in early January, and the plants were all but done at the end of March. That's only three months of tomato production in a climate that is reliably frost-free for nine months of the year! So in a quest to conquer tomato production I went on a global research quest (courtesy of Google of course) to discover varieties that might significantly lengthen our tomato season. And the result of this was a crash course in tomatology, and some glimmers of hope for tomatoes in the cooler months.
The tomato is native to western South America and belongs to the genus Lycopersicon, which has around 10 species. Tomatoes are thought to have been first domesticated by the Aztecs over 2000 years ago, and tomatoes were widely cultivated in Mexico by the 1500s. Following the Spanish invasion of Central America, the tomato was then spread to Europe and the Phillipines, and subsequently, to the remainder of the world.
The existence of 10 species in the genus Lycopersicon is the critical factor that allowed the development of the phenomenal number of tomato varieties that exist today. All species in the genus can interbreed, with new varieties arising from crossings and chance mutations. Wild tomato varieties are still being used as a genetic resource to impart traits such as salt and drought tolerance (from a species native to the Galapagos Islands) and disease resistance. Specific varieties have also been developed to best fit the climate where they are grown, from localities as widely spread as Siberia, southern Canada, China, Ukraine, Ethiopia, and New Zealand. Seed catalogues in New Zealand list up to 166 tomato varieties (e.g. www.bristol.co.nz) but globally, estimates range from at least 10,000 varieties, to a mind-numbing 25,000 (US Department of Agriculture). So surely, somewhere out there, is a variety that will extend our fruiting season.
Tomatoes can be red, green, yellow, orange, purple, white, or green, and round, oblong, turban-shaped, or pleated. Size can range from the size of a currant, to a whopping 3.5 kg (a variety called "Delicious"). The variety of names is extraordinary, reflecting the wide geographic spread of tomato cultivation, and I suspect to some degree, breeder fanaticism. So step aside Beefsteak and Russian Red. Here's my pick for the best or most bizarre variety names (well, the ones that are for general audiences anyway...)
Stupice (maybe this tomato lacks intelligence?)
Stump of the World (absolutely no idea what was being aimed for here!)
Silvery Fir Tree (multi-use for timber?)
Amazon Chocolate (now that sounds good)
Green Sausage (sausage-shaped, and striped yellow and green)
Hawaiian Pineapple (massive tomato, yellowy green)
Missouri Love Apple
Heritage #624 ex Bob Lord (now there's a marketable name....)
Dancing with Smurfs (red with a blue cap)
Geza's Strawberry Potato (hey everyone, this year I'm growing Geza's Strawberry Potato Tomatoes....)
The most exhaustive list I have found so far, with links to further details of each variety, is on the website linked below:
http://t.tatianastomatobase.com:88/wiki/Category:Tomato_Variety_List
For me though, selecting tomato varieties is not just about length of season, but also taste, colour, size, and disease tolerance. I want naturally-healthy tomato plants that produce lots of good tasting fruit over a long season. After pouring through a multitude of websites, and learning about everything from tomato festivals to online tomato forums, I came up with a short-list. I will be trialing these and with a bit of luck, I might be able to grow tomatoes in the winter too.
My top picks are as follows:
Siberian
Subarctic Plenty
Oregon Spring
Paul Robeson
Stupice
Sunsets Red Horizon
Red Currant
Japanese Black Trifele (which hails from the Ukraine, of course)
So its now mid-autumn, and I'm sowing tomato seeds. Madness? I'll keep you posted.
Tim
................................................................................................................................
Current tasks in the garden (early-mid Autumn)
Harvesting now:
Capsicums
Mesclun
Swiss Chard
Strawberries
Raspberries
Rhubarb
White Welsh Onions
Apples
Peaches
Sowing now:
Lettuces
Tomatoes
Spring Onion
Mesclun
Transplanting now:
Broccoli
Cauliflower
Beetroot
Brussels Sprouts
Lettuces
The Weed Oxymoron
My garden has many weeds, which draws me to ponder just what they really are. Common definitions of weeds often revolve around them being "unwanted plants" or "plants without value", so what is a weed is heavily dependent on context. For example, a walnut tree could be a valued plant if it was growing in an orchard, or an unwanted plant, and therefore a weed, if it grew on a sports field.
So this makes me wonder just how weedy my garden actually is. The more uses I have for weeds, the more they are wanted, and the less weeds, by definition, I have. I can passively weed the garden by doing nothing but changing my philosophy.
So there are really three types of plants in my garden, species that are intentionally propagated, species that were originally planted but now self-seed to form sustaining populations, and species that, through neglect or oversight, grow there unassisted. Some of the latter are true weeds, unwanted in any form, whilst others I am discovering, are not actually weeds at all.
Its midsummer at the moment. Most of our salad greens have turned bitter or bolted to seed, and it takes quite a bit of foraging to harvest a salad - a few remaining lettuce leaves, tat soi, chicory, the last of last winter's corn salad, and some sorrel. Yesterday, while picking such a salad I remembered the edible qualities of young dandelion leaves. Sweet, and I was soon to learn, rich in a multitude of minerals and vitamins, including folate, Vitamin A, Vitamin C, Magnesium, Calcium, and many others. Despite my best efforts, dandelions grow with wild abandon from the paths, garden edges, and forgotten corners of my garden. Tentatively tasting the young shoots I had the epiphany that this plant was actually an overlooked and under-utilised resource. I successfully unleashed the leaves on unsuspecting dinner guests, and a new vegetable was born. Dandelion has joined the growing list of "self-sown" vegetables on offer, and another weed is gone.
So what 'wanted weeds' are there in your garden?
So this makes me wonder just how weedy my garden actually is. The more uses I have for weeds, the more they are wanted, and the less weeds, by definition, I have. I can passively weed the garden by doing nothing but changing my philosophy.
So there are really three types of plants in my garden, species that are intentionally propagated, species that were originally planted but now self-seed to form sustaining populations, and species that, through neglect or oversight, grow there unassisted. Some of the latter are true weeds, unwanted in any form, whilst others I am discovering, are not actually weeds at all.
Its midsummer at the moment. Most of our salad greens have turned bitter or bolted to seed, and it takes quite a bit of foraging to harvest a salad - a few remaining lettuce leaves, tat soi, chicory, the last of last winter's corn salad, and some sorrel. Yesterday, while picking such a salad I remembered the edible qualities of young dandelion leaves. Sweet, and I was soon to learn, rich in a multitude of minerals and vitamins, including folate, Vitamin A, Vitamin C, Magnesium, Calcium, and many others. Despite my best efforts, dandelions grow with wild abandon from the paths, garden edges, and forgotten corners of my garden. Tentatively tasting the young shoots I had the epiphany that this plant was actually an overlooked and under-utilised resource. I successfully unleashed the leaves on unsuspecting dinner guests, and a new vegetable was born. Dandelion has joined the growing list of "self-sown" vegetables on offer, and another weed is gone.
So what 'wanted weeds' are there in your garden?
.JPG) |
| Dandelion on the garden path |
.JPG) |
| All of our swiss chard (silverbeet) is produced by letting them grow wherever they self-seed. |
.JPG) |
| I wasn't planning on growing pumpkin this year, but nature had other ideas. This pumpkin plant germinated from our compost. |
.JPG) |
| Self-sown tomato "Gold Nugget". We often get our late tomato crop (March-May) from self-sown plants that germinate in November-December. |
.JPG) |
| A self-sown parsnip that will now provide the seeds for a self-sown crop in the winter-spring of 2014 |
Summer
Summer, my favourite time of year. The heat, the sunshine, the sudden downpours in the afternoons that drench the ground and cool the air. The garden is lush and burgeoning with food, and the kids spend hour upon hour playing in the yard. The sprinkler often doubles as a garden watering device and child coolant.
Our tomatoes have rocketed up their stakes and now reach the eaves of our house. The beans are beaning, and the summer onslaught of seemingly endless courgettes has begun. The apple trees are laden, and we have a slow but steady trickle of strawberries and raspberries. Fresh-picked salads are a regular part of our diet, and we are working our way through the last of the potato crop. I delight in simple meals that have been completely home-grown and caught - early season potatoes, salad, and snapper caught off the west coast. We can even cook the fish in olive oil produced on family land in Northland. These meals may not cost much, but its dining that makes me feel like a king. Nature's riches are more profound than bank notes.
Within 6 m of the walls of our home there are lettuces, sweet corn, beans, tomatoes, squash, rockmelon, rhubarb, tomatillo, strawberries, swiss chard, capers, raspberries, onions, blackberries, boysenberries, grape, apples, peaches, cucumber, courgettes, kale, mizuna, tat soi, lemons, limes, oranges, Jerusalem artichoke, potatoes, rosemary, sage, parsley, thyme, basil, coriander, and avocado. Our yard is not large, but everything is crammed in, forming a visual riot of production. And whilst I yearn for a larger garden, our current home has taught me just how much you can do with what you have got.
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| Courgette "Gold Rush" |
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| Tomatillo - a Mexican fruit that tastes like a lime-infused tomato |
 |
| Dwarf beans |
 |
| Espaliered Fuji apples |
For me, producing food from the land is a blessing and a real privilege.
"The foolish man seeks happiness in the distance, the wise grows it under his feet."
James Oppenheim
I write therefore I....
Blogging. I am often driven to wrestle my thoughts onto paper and send them off into the electronic ether. Sometimes, I admit, it simply acts as therapy. It allows me to take hold of random thoughts, to view them at a distance, and to make sense of them. At other times, I think I am clear and decisive about what needs to be said - I feel an urge to say things that need to be expressed, to hopefully inspire or challenge, or to simply share knowledge.
I believe that writing can give people a voice. In a world of six billion people, it is easy to have a false sense of the insignificance of an individual. What effect can one person have? And how many people think like me? For when I see actions and events so contrary to the very core of my being, the frustration is that I can feel alone. But you reading this blog assures me that there are many people, be they in my home country, Russia, Germany, China, or Kenya, that relate to the thoughts I express here. Most of you I have never met, but I want to say I appreciate your readership.
Not that I view myself as perfect by any means of course. I am inconsistent. I can be thoughtless. I seek reconciliation between who I am and who I want to be, and often I fail. I need to remind myself that I can simply make the best use of who I am to make this world better. Even if it's just for one person, somehow, somewhere. And part of this journey for me is to write, and hopefully something I write might resonate with a reader.
For I wholeheartedly and firmly believe that everyone is deeply significant. We are all meant to be here and each one of us can achieve good that only we can achieve. We have all been made to be vital, creative, impacting people, who, through a deep and truthful sense of who we are, can change the world around us. First think me, then my neighbour, then the world. Person by person, city by city, nation by nation. Grandiose? Maybe. But people are meant to be visionary, it's a part of who we are. Like it or not we are completely and utterly changing our world. The question is, which way will we help it to go?
I believe that writing can give people a voice. In a world of six billion people, it is easy to have a false sense of the insignificance of an individual. What effect can one person have? And how many people think like me? For when I see actions and events so contrary to the very core of my being, the frustration is that I can feel alone. But you reading this blog assures me that there are many people, be they in my home country, Russia, Germany, China, or Kenya, that relate to the thoughts I express here. Most of you I have never met, but I want to say I appreciate your readership.
Not that I view myself as perfect by any means of course. I am inconsistent. I can be thoughtless. I seek reconciliation between who I am and who I want to be, and often I fail. I need to remind myself that I can simply make the best use of who I am to make this world better. Even if it's just for one person, somehow, somewhere. And part of this journey for me is to write, and hopefully something I write might resonate with a reader.
For I wholeheartedly and firmly believe that everyone is deeply significant. We are all meant to be here and each one of us can achieve good that only we can achieve. We have all been made to be vital, creative, impacting people, who, through a deep and truthful sense of who we are, can change the world around us. First think me, then my neighbour, then the world. Person by person, city by city, nation by nation. Grandiose? Maybe. But people are meant to be visionary, it's a part of who we are. Like it or not we are completely and utterly changing our world. The question is, which way will we help it to go?
Love and Freedom
My parents gave me great riches. Not the material kind of course, but an inheritance of far greater intrinsic value. Who I am, they played a key role in nurturing and forming. And that, I think, is a critical part of a parent's love for a child.
I don't think my mother and father raised me with preordained ideas as who I should be. They certainly didn't try to fulfill any of their lost dreams by foisting them on to me - I would have made a very poor nuclear physicist, my father's first academic love. And I wasn't pushed or prodded into any childhood hobbies. There were no piano lessons, no after-school school cricket, no French lessons. But I wasn't ignored or left in want of attention either. Instead, my parents sought to understand my natural leanings, and then to encourage these to their utmost.
And my natural leanings, to many, were in hindsight a bit odd. I wasn't a typical kid. Sure I occasionally played with action men, blowing them up by strapping fire-crackers to their chests. I even dabbled for one season in rugby, playing for Marist as a rather small and lazy-eyed nine-year old. But my lack of hand-eye coordination, still little improved, probably made it quite a relief that my real passions lay elsewhere. And there began a career that I still have today.
For as far back as primary school, the natural world around me enraptured my attention. My ideal Saturday would be to go to a local drain, so I could traipse through the water and muck finding pond snails, leeches, and water-boatmen. As a young child I didn't roam the neighborhood on my own of course - while other parents watched their kids from the sideline, mine watched me from the stream side. Then I would take them home and study them under a desk lamp, making scientific observations in a notebook on behaviour, habitat, or diet. And my interests didn't stop at bugs. I remember one day gathering my plant collection together in a row on the deck, then marching my entire family dutifully past them as I staged a "plant exhibition". I guess my sister was long-suffering also.
On a steady diet of "childrens" books, including the authors David Attenborough and Gerald Durrell, I saw myself as a true-blue animal collector. The only bounds my parents placed on this was a rat ban - one family member who can remain anonymous had, and still has, muriphobia. I milked these wide boundaries for all they were worth. I raised tadpoles to frogs in my bedroom, and had multiple fish tanks, axolotyls, rabbits, skinks, ringneck parakeets, finches, and cockatiels. And in addition to these the family pets added, at various points in time, dogs, cats, goats, possums, chickens, and bees. The schools I went to weren't exempt either. I kept a plant collection in my Standard 3 classroom, that I would diligently air outside at lunchtimes for extra light, and at intermediate school I kept a tank of golden bell frogs in the school library. This was probably in hindsight not a good call - I would spend many lunchtimes catching flies by the school compost heap, much to the ridicule of my ball-sport playing peers. Eventually the frog's incessant croaking made the librarian request their removal - "the library is a quiet place". I was not to be deterred. Tanks and their denizens continued to multiply and by the age of 14, I had a dedicated fish-room in the downstairs basement. I remember having shelves after shelves all stacked with tanks, and breeding creatures to feed to breeding creatures. I had whole food-chains going with predators and prey.
And yet my parent's still encouraged me. Not phased by the prospect of old age without a white-collared son to support them, they fostered this mad love of the living. There was no pressure at high school to take one subject over another - only to make sure I selected the subjects I loved. So I finished my schooling with an eclectic mix of English, Sciences, and Practical Art. I even had their encouragement to pursue a double degree in Fine Arts and Science though, as it turned out, the university couldn't cope with such a disparate conjoint degree. I remember my dad disparagingly discussing what the university would have done if Leonardo da Vinci had wanted to do the same!
And so childhood passions, fostered by loving parents, had the freedom to flourish into the interests of a lifetime. Entering university, I finally found "critical mass" of like-minded people. My hobbies were no longer strange and I pursued my academic interests unhindered through a BSc, MSc, and PhD. Perhaps my parents knew all along that a child will find success in the working world if they love what they do. Now for work, I sometimes find myself thrown back 30 years. Dredging through a drain to discover what lives there, or catching fish, I sometimes think "I am paid to do this??!!"
So this is a big public "thank you" to my parents for their incredible love and freedom. You allowed me to become who I was meant to be. I await the blossoming of my children's interests with anticipation.
I don't think my mother and father raised me with preordained ideas as who I should be. They certainly didn't try to fulfill any of their lost dreams by foisting them on to me - I would have made a very poor nuclear physicist, my father's first academic love. And I wasn't pushed or prodded into any childhood hobbies. There were no piano lessons, no after-school school cricket, no French lessons. But I wasn't ignored or left in want of attention either. Instead, my parents sought to understand my natural leanings, and then to encourage these to their utmost.
And my natural leanings, to many, were in hindsight a bit odd. I wasn't a typical kid. Sure I occasionally played with action men, blowing them up by strapping fire-crackers to their chests. I even dabbled for one season in rugby, playing for Marist as a rather small and lazy-eyed nine-year old. But my lack of hand-eye coordination, still little improved, probably made it quite a relief that my real passions lay elsewhere. And there began a career that I still have today.
For as far back as primary school, the natural world around me enraptured my attention. My ideal Saturday would be to go to a local drain, so I could traipse through the water and muck finding pond snails, leeches, and water-boatmen. As a young child I didn't roam the neighborhood on my own of course - while other parents watched their kids from the sideline, mine watched me from the stream side. Then I would take them home and study them under a desk lamp, making scientific observations in a notebook on behaviour, habitat, or diet. And my interests didn't stop at bugs. I remember one day gathering my plant collection together in a row on the deck, then marching my entire family dutifully past them as I staged a "plant exhibition". I guess my sister was long-suffering also.
On a steady diet of "childrens" books, including the authors David Attenborough and Gerald Durrell, I saw myself as a true-blue animal collector. The only bounds my parents placed on this was a rat ban - one family member who can remain anonymous had, and still has, muriphobia. I milked these wide boundaries for all they were worth. I raised tadpoles to frogs in my bedroom, and had multiple fish tanks, axolotyls, rabbits, skinks, ringneck parakeets, finches, and cockatiels. And in addition to these the family pets added, at various points in time, dogs, cats, goats, possums, chickens, and bees. The schools I went to weren't exempt either. I kept a plant collection in my Standard 3 classroom, that I would diligently air outside at lunchtimes for extra light, and at intermediate school I kept a tank of golden bell frogs in the school library. This was probably in hindsight not a good call - I would spend many lunchtimes catching flies by the school compost heap, much to the ridicule of my ball-sport playing peers. Eventually the frog's incessant croaking made the librarian request their removal - "the library is a quiet place". I was not to be deterred. Tanks and their denizens continued to multiply and by the age of 14, I had a dedicated fish-room in the downstairs basement. I remember having shelves after shelves all stacked with tanks, and breeding creatures to feed to breeding creatures. I had whole food-chains going with predators and prey.
And yet my parent's still encouraged me. Not phased by the prospect of old age without a white-collared son to support them, they fostered this mad love of the living. There was no pressure at high school to take one subject over another - only to make sure I selected the subjects I loved. So I finished my schooling with an eclectic mix of English, Sciences, and Practical Art. I even had their encouragement to pursue a double degree in Fine Arts and Science though, as it turned out, the university couldn't cope with such a disparate conjoint degree. I remember my dad disparagingly discussing what the university would have done if Leonardo da Vinci had wanted to do the same!
And so childhood passions, fostered by loving parents, had the freedom to flourish into the interests of a lifetime. Entering university, I finally found "critical mass" of like-minded people. My hobbies were no longer strange and I pursued my academic interests unhindered through a BSc, MSc, and PhD. Perhaps my parents knew all along that a child will find success in the working world if they love what they do. Now for work, I sometimes find myself thrown back 30 years. Dredging through a drain to discover what lives there, or catching fish, I sometimes think "I am paid to do this??!!"
So this is a big public "thank you" to my parents for their incredible love and freedom. You allowed me to become who I was meant to be. I await the blossoming of my children's interests with anticipation.
I grew a tree
I grew a tree. Not just any tree, but a Dunn's white gum (Eucalyptus dunnii). Heralding from southern Queensland and northern New South Wales, this spectacular gum tree grows to 50 m tall, with a smooth trunk, coloured white or grey. A friend of mine imported some seed from the Queensland Forestry Department, and knowing that I was plant-mad (even as a teenager), he gave some seed to me. So 19 years ago, at the age of 16, I sowed some seeds.
They were tiny, like short lengths of orangy-red hair. Small and light enough to disperse by simply being blown about in the wind. And after they germinated, I planted three small seedlings on a hillside near a stream, at a place called Takou Bay, Northland. In this far and often neglected corner of the family farm, the young trees grew, fighting through the gorse to reach the Northland sun. And each year, they faithfully converted soil nutrients, the sun's rays, and rain into an ever accumulating biomass of roots, trunk, branches and leaves. That little seed contained all the templates needed to be a Dunn's white gum. Yes, it's just the growth of a plant, a biological process that occurs in most places, across the globe, day after day. But for some reason I never cease to marvel at this miracle. That something so small can grow to colossal proportions.
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Already, for this Dunn's white gum, the youthful exuberance of rapid growth is giving way to maturity. It now stands tall in the landscape, providing shade and shelter, and flowers and seeds will soon be forthcoming. Many storms have assailed it, but have only succeeded in adding to its character. Gnarled branches and tree holes mark the location of past wounds, but only add to the tree's beauty.
Unbeknownst to me then, the place where this tree grows would become deeply rooted as a part of my life. I have sown, planted, harvested, and consumed from this land ever since, the very soils of the place becoming engrained in my skin and psyche. And as I think about the passage of time between then and now, I realise that the growth of trees is an incredibly apt marker for a man's passage of time. The trees and I, we grow old together.
They were tiny, like short lengths of orangy-red hair. Small and light enough to disperse by simply being blown about in the wind. And after they germinated, I planted three small seedlings on a hillside near a stream, at a place called Takou Bay, Northland. In this far and often neglected corner of the family farm, the young trees grew, fighting through the gorse to reach the Northland sun. And each year, they faithfully converted soil nutrients, the sun's rays, and rain into an ever accumulating biomass of roots, trunk, branches and leaves. That little seed contained all the templates needed to be a Dunn's white gum. Yes, it's just the growth of a plant, a biological process that occurs in most places, across the globe, day after day. But for some reason I never cease to marvel at this miracle. That something so small can grow to colossal proportions.
.JPG)
Already, for this Dunn's white gum, the youthful exuberance of rapid growth is giving way to maturity. It now stands tall in the landscape, providing shade and shelter, and flowers and seeds will soon be forthcoming. Many storms have assailed it, but have only succeeded in adding to its character. Gnarled branches and tree holes mark the location of past wounds, but only add to the tree's beauty.
Unbeknownst to me then, the place where this tree grows would become deeply rooted as a part of my life. I have sown, planted, harvested, and consumed from this land ever since, the very soils of the place becoming engrained in my skin and psyche. And as I think about the passage of time between then and now, I realise that the growth of trees is an incredibly apt marker for a man's passage of time. The trees and I, we grow old together.
Rain
The rain drenched me. Large drops, falling on my head, slipped down my face and fell to the dirt. It didn't chill me, it warmed me. The first real rain for several months, this drought-breaking rain was a gift, and it lifted my soul. Working alongside me was my son, Shepard, who at only 20 months old would already rather be outside with me, whatever the weather. His little body was soaked, but ever-determined, he wrestled with a full-size garden fork, turning the soil.
Sensing the opportunity of the moment, I had come outside to plant, and he had followed. The seemingly ever present heat of the sun had made transplanting a difficult task; small seedlings had wilted in the heat, despite judicious watering, their disturbed roots struggling to transport adequate water from roots to xylem to leaves. But today was different. The heat of the sun was tempered by rain; the water was drops of delightful coolness. A moment to plant.
So that is what we were doing. A father, a son, six lettuce plants, and a punnet of coriander. And thinking about today, now late at night and my family asleep, I sense something ordinarily mundane had become a lasting memory. Inked deeply into my mind like a cerebral tattoo. A moment of togetherness with a common purpose. And after a summer of parched earth and failing crops its enough to keep me going. The prospect of the autumn rains, a refreshed land, and a deepening relationship between a father and a much loved son.
Blessings,
Tim
Sensing the opportunity of the moment, I had come outside to plant, and he had followed. The seemingly ever present heat of the sun had made transplanting a difficult task; small seedlings had wilted in the heat, despite judicious watering, their disturbed roots struggling to transport adequate water from roots to xylem to leaves. But today was different. The heat of the sun was tempered by rain; the water was drops of delightful coolness. A moment to plant.
So that is what we were doing. A father, a son, six lettuce plants, and a punnet of coriander. And thinking about today, now late at night and my family asleep, I sense something ordinarily mundane had become a lasting memory. Inked deeply into my mind like a cerebral tattoo. A moment of togetherness with a common purpose. And after a summer of parched earth and failing crops its enough to keep me going. The prospect of the autumn rains, a refreshed land, and a deepening relationship between a father and a much loved son.
Blessings,
Tim
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