Fast Forward 2 Years...

It's funny, how things don't go to plan.... reading back over the previous post with me eagerly awaiting a perfect Christmas, I couldn't have got it more wrong!  The in-laws brought a nasty bug south with them and we spent Christmas morning at the urgent GP followed by a Boxing Day trip first thing in the morning to the urgent dispensary for drugs.  They remained ill for most of the rest of their stay of two weeks, sleeping all day and emerging to watch endless gameshows around 3.30pm at warp volume.  There was no Christmas lunch and definitely no Christmas cheer.  Once we had put them on the plane, Fergus, David & I did a high five and let out a collective sigh in relief!  The very next day I made a very belated Christmas day lunch for the pair of us which we devoured with happiness in our hearts.  It was a good try at a family Christmas... but sometimes you just have to suck it up, cupcake, and realize you are just not cut out for "family".  That said, we will get on with what we are good at - being a couple.

And here we are.  Not native Malburians, it's true, but well ensconced into the lifestyle of our chosen home doing lots of lovely couply things like walking through Autumn leaves, enjoying weekend getaways and winery lunches.  Last Christmas we went to Hans Herzog Winery for Christmas lunch and although I've had better (Rydges, Auckland in 2014 & 2015) it was wonderful that someone else did all the work. 

During the early part of 2016 both of us found employment.  Dave, full time, at Oyster Bay wines working as a vineyard operator, and me in a part time admin role at Marlborough Lines - the local electricity network provider.  My role is literally perfect for me - I work flexi hours with Fridays off and am able to start at 7am meaning I can finish by 1pm if I don't take lunch.  I love it.  Dave also starts at 7am and is done by 3pm which gives us time together in the afternoons - great when its swimming season!  It wasn't really on the cards for me to find work, but I saw the ad and applied and the rest as they say, is history.  Some things are just meant to be.  Financially we are doing ok.  We both only earn fairly average money, but we have what amounts to a third weekly wage coming in from our rental property which has never had a day untenanted since we bought it 2 years back and of course it is appreciating all time, as properties prices steadily increase in Marlborough.  We started playing on the share market a few years back and have made some reasonable returns there too.  We currently have shares in 4 areas - IT, powdered goats milk, cancer research & development, and an arthritis remedy that is supported by clinical trials.  It's been a learning curve and we have lost small amounts (three figures) but the gains in the four figure range, have outweighed the losses and it's been better than any money in the bank would do!

Fergus, our rescue cat, who was an uphill struggle for the first year and half has finally settled down and is now reasonably stable in his behavior towards us.  We believe him to be part Norwegian Forest Cat due to his large size and huge paws and little ear tufts.  Standing he can put his paws flat on the kitchen bench, and weighs in just shy of 7kg.  Absolutely cannot tolerate children at all (with ya there, Ferg!) and still gets angsty at sudden movements or perceived threats, but hasn't drawn blood for several months now.  It's taken more than two years but he now will smooch past us, gathering pats and strokes, instead of how he used to eensure he always gave us the widest berth.  He did bail up our a tradie who came to do some tiling while the pair of us were working.  Poor guy said he has never been afraid of a cat in all 35 years he has been tiling - until that moment!  Said that if Ferg had taken one more step towards him he would turned and fled the house!  Apparently our boy was snarling at him like a feral cat...  Go Ferg, the ultimate home defender. 

In the past two years we have achieved quite a few improvement here at our home - of course the major projects were installing the swimming pool and completely re-landscaping the garden which is over a third of an acre so that it's all easy care with loads of natives.  Our flax "bank" - formed from soil dug out to put in the pool - is now nicely mature with beautiful bronze and red flaxes that move organically in the breeze and provide great privacy as well as a wind break.  We have a gardener who comes every fortnight, and keeps things shipshape with minimum effort and we adore her!  The view out the window is parklike and very pleasing.  Other projects were the kitchen & scullery renovation, replacing the bath with a two person spa bath, cutting open the house to change our bedroom window for a ranch slider out to the terrace and pool, and installing our impressive 24 panel solar system with battery storage,  I would still like do to do more with the bathrooms, and we know that the carpet will be replaced when we no longer have our fur baby... which hopefully will be many years down the track.

It took more than two years for the repairs allowing SH1 to reopen allowing access down the coast to Christchurch - the impact to us was immense as we no longer had ALL that traffic going past our door!  The grand opening was Dec 15th, 2017, meaning we had a wonderful summer of peace and quiet while we relaxed by the pool.  Heavenly.

We've been lucky enough to have many trips away in the past two years as well.  Highlights have been our trip through the Rainbow Road in our 4x4 - an all day affair to Hanmer Springs to stay the night, and our trip to South Australia where we visited many wine regions, and stayed on a station in the outback of the Flinders Ranges.  Our explorations around Marlborough are ongoing, and we hope to go camping more next year. 

No idea what we are doing for Christmas yet.... could be under canvas!

Will You Take A Little Restorative (Christmas) Spirit…?

Here it comes again with its kaleidoscope of emotion, good old Christmas… Love or loathe it… I’ve done both.  I loved it with a vengeance when I was small and my Mum made it totally magical with her tales woven with tinsel and tiny woodland critters, the tree miraculously appearing overnight, stockings stuffed with treats, and wonderful feasts.   Various versions of this played out for most of my life until I lost her when I was 39 and she was 70.  And love turned to loathing.  With every passing year Dad became more difficult, more entrenched in misery and more determined to be anti-social.  Finding Christmas Cheer was about as doable as finding toes on a fish. 

Richard’s sad passing in December of 2008 understandably annihilated any attempt at Christmas – which was somewhat of a relief, no-one expected me to pretend that year…  In 2009 my spirits were lifting as I had just “met” David online and for the longest time I felt a flicker of hope for things to come.  A bit like the Little Match Girl, I still felt as if I was out in the cold, looking in at a lovely heart-warming scene but it did rather feel as if I might have a chance of sticking my foot in the door and pushing my way in!

In 2010 we had been married for 6 months, and nothing was going to get in the way of my Happy Christmas.  David’s parents came to stay, and Dad behaved.  It was a good Christmas.  But I still missed my Mum, wishing particularly hard that she could know my lovely husband. 

During 2011 David’s parents moved up to Whangarei from Auckland, and the plan was to have Christmas at their house, along with Dad.  Christmas Day dawned with Dad having a serious gastro episode of epic proportions (happened from time to time not helped by him being a colostomy patient) and all plans were shelved.  We spent the day cleaning, with a Christmas meal in the evening at my house that David’s mother had brought over during the day.  We were exhausted, worried and not particularly hungry given the nature of what we had been cleaning up…

There followed the Christmas’s of 2012 & 2013 – made memorable only by Dad’s determination to shun David’s parents who came to us due to Dad really not being up to going elsewhere by then.  They were not merry in any shape or form, try as we did, to squeeze out a bit of cheer.  Lovely Irish neighbour Rosemary joined us for our main meal at lunchtime after church in 2012, and the evening meal in 2013 which helped “lift” spirits somewhat… but it was still just an ordeal to be got through, for me.

In April 2014 Dad died, and without wanting to beat around the bush too much we finally had a lovely, Happy Christmas that December.  For the first time in 11 years I wasn’t required to try and compensate Dad for Mum not being there.  I was allowed to just miss my Mum, without the weight of trying to relieve someone else’s grief that wouldn’t have a bar of it.

We refused to stay at home or go to David’s parents – and escaped to a five star hotel in the heart of Auckland where we swam in the pool, went to Midnight Mass at St Pat’s Cathedral, then a Carol Service at a Gay Friendly (and therefore massively enlightened) Anglican Cathedral on Christmas Day followed by a fabulous festive lunch with all the trimmings.  Another swim and a walk along the waterfront, a cheap and authentic meal at a Japanese Noodle Bar and a glass of bubbly in the hotel’s elegant bar rounded out the day, before flying south to our cottage on Boxing Day.  The whole season was festive that year although there was just this tiny amount of guilt because we knew that David’s parents would have liked to have shared our day…

Christmas 2015 was very much overshadowed by the fact that we had just sold the farm, and the huge amount of work that was needed to facilitate the exit.  However we already had plans in place and we proceeded with them - Christmas in Auckland at a hotel again, but this time with David’s parents.  It was nice enough, but if I’m honest I still felt stressed, trying to ensure they had the best time they could.  I wasn’t well either, and could barely manage the walk to St Matthews in the City on Christmas Eve for the 7pm Carol Service.  I let Dave go to Mass later with his Mum, without me.  The lunch was lovely, wonderful again not to have to do any work!  And watching silly programmes in our suite later was fun.  But I was very happy once again to board a plane on Boxing Day for the South… even though we knew there was a momentous amount to be done with the impending move upon our return in January!

And now we live in the South, albeit the north of the South, not the deep South.  We have worked hard ever since we moved here in late April at creating a comfortable home that makes the most of hot, dry summers… and this year we will swim in the pool in our own garden on Christmas Day and every other darn day!  I’m hoping for leisurely drinks in the sun on the terrace and low stress meals involving the barbeque.  And I’m set to enjoy a guilt-free family Christmas with David’s parents arriving on the 21^st for two weeks… For the first time in three years I’ve put up my tree, and decorated the house.  There will be sausage rolls and mince pies aplenty.  Italian Panetone and bubbles before breakfast… maybe a church service, maybe not.  Leftovers to pick on, and beach towels & bathers hung out to dry… and in the ensuing days, day trips to Nelson or Picton, friends dropping in, lunches at nearby wineries with the most difficult thing being choosing which one…

Ho, ho, ho!  Merry Christmas, Everyone!

A Quiet Life In Town



The time came to leave Foxglove Cottage to head for our new home in Renwick.  Tearing myself from its comforting embrace was painful indeed as we backed the car out before the break of dawn on April 16^th.  Our 700km drive was broken by a night in Kaikoura – in a no-frills motel, overlooking the sea.  Next day we set off after breakfast and arrived at our new home to be let in by the real estate agent. Exciting!  And just a teeny bit daunting.  Nothing felt like home…

 

We flew back up North the very next day, to oversee the loading of the huge truck that was bringing our possessions south, and to spend a few days staying with Dave’s parents and catch up with friends.  All too soon it was time to set off again, in our respective vehicles one of which would be left in Auckland for the time being.  The first leg was from Whangarei to Taupo, the second to Wellington, and then early on the third day we drove onto the BlueBridge Ferry to cross the Cook Strait, a three and a half hour journey, followed by a forty minute drive to Renwick.  We were “home” once more.  Four days later the truck arrived with everything, chaos descended and reigned for many weeks… but finally it was all stowed away, furniture was in place, paintings hung, books put on shelves.  And it finally did feel more like home. 

Discovering our new surroundings, getting to know how to get where we wanted to go, exploring the shops, and best of all – trying the local winery restaurants became our new normal.  And oh, are we spoiled for choice here in the way of wineries… Renwick is set in the heart of the wine district and it’s so very easy to drop in for lunch at any one of them.  Most definitely my kind of place.  The scenery is stunning – surrounded in the far distance by mountains which are covered by snow from about late May until early November, rivers criss-crossing the valleys.  The autumn colour was breathtaking.  Crisp, cool mornings cried out for long walks. Winter days were spent wrapped up well, walking at the beach or beside a river.  Mostly they were cloudless and gorgeous.  On bleak, grey days when the cold bit deep, I lit the fire and made “proper” hot chocolate for us and read my book…

In June we gained an engaging addition to our little household – Fergus, a mature black and white rescue cat.  He sheds fur everywhere and prefers his litter tray over going outdoors to the toilet (sigh!) but we love him a lot, and wouldn’t be without him.  He’s full of personality, and so gentle.  We think he might be part Rag Doll – he is so floppy and relaxed most of the day, and doesn’t really “do” outdoors but loves being fireside or draped over a lap. 

Another big decision had to be made – to sell Foxglove… such a hard thing to accept but the right thing to do, and we let our friend Jill, the local agent, show it to a lady from Auckland, who of course fell in love with it.  We settled in early October, having driven down once more to clean it out, stopping there for three nights.  Driving away for the final time wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be – I think I said goodbye back in April, and had detached myself, focussing instead on the job in hand.  I still feel a sadness that it’s gone but love the fact that Anne, the buyer, is living there permanently and adores the wee cottage that we brought back to life.

Meanwhile we have put our stamp firmly on our new home – updating the kitchen with wide, sweeping benches and extra storage, converting the laundry into a scullery with tons of shelving, replacing a window in our bedroom with a slider opening out onto the newly extended terrace.  The garden has had the most significant makeover, with all the flower beds and 30 odd roses removed, and replaced with natives –  trees, shrubs, grasses and flaxes.  The centrepiece is a magnificent swimming pool edged with grey pavers and at one end a sheltered paved area with pergola that one day will have star jasmine spilling over it.  For me, it is truly a dream realised.

Life continues to change and evolve, David has finished up with the company he spent 10 years with in Auckland and is enjoying taking a break.  Not sure what will happen with work, but I’m sure it will all fall into place.  Right now, we are both determined, after years of stressful times, to simply relax and just breathe… Walking every day for us both, a regular cardio workout three times a week for Dave. Gone is the stress of trying to find parking in town, at the supermarket, and worst of all at the hospital.  There’s plenty of time to cook real food and focus on healthy habits. 

Perversely, having replaced our acres in the country with a house in town, we are building a new life along quieter lines…

 

Self Reliance... A Good Thing, Indeed

David came back from his last working week in Auckland with a little something for me. 

A really nasty bug - thanks honey!  He began with a cough, then branched out into sneezing and ended up full of mucus, and of course within a week I started to come down with it too.  It sort of sneaks up on you, you think you’re just going to have a bit of a sniffle but the crescendo builds slowly to a fully fledged, “can’t get out of bed, don’t talk to me it hurts” horror.  Naturally I was at my worst when it was time for him to head back up to Auckland, whilst he had the benefit of my loving care during the peak of his spell.  Predictable.

Most people would have been off to the doc’s for a hefty dose of antibiotics.  But not being most people, I prefer to cope without them where possible.  There are several things you can do for yourself when you know you’ve developed an infection – the presence of discoloured (green, brown, reddish) mucus being the indicator without a doubt.  I employ all of them.  First mix the juice of an onion with 2 tablespoons of water, 2 tablespoons of honey, and the juice of a lemon.  Gently warm it on the stove, and sip over 4 hours.  I’ve found this ALONE so powerful that it wipes out an infection within 12 hours.  Antibiotics won’t do that.  It has never failed for me.  Next, the good old salt gargle.  You know how you can kill weeds with a salt spray?  Well, it does the same to the nasties in your throat, tonsils and upper respiratory tract.  Just don’t swallow.  And last but not least, a few drops of Eucalyptus oil in some very hot water in a bowl and a tea towel over your head to make a tent and INHALE.  Makes you cough a bit, but take those vapours right on down to your lungs where they will work wonders decongesting.   At all times drink a shed-load of water… keeping those fluids up is vital.  Yes - you will have to get up a thousand times a night to pee, just accept it!

The other thing you can do to help yourself is move.  Tempting as it is to retreat to bed for days, I allow myself ONE day only.  After that it’s up and about even if I stay in my pj’s and dressing gown.  The trick is judging which is going to be the worst day, and using your Stay In Bed Card accordingly. 
I managed to get my remedies underway before Dave left, and had no trace of infection the morning after drinking my onion juice concoction.  The day before I had been spitting up green muck tinged with blood. 

But I was too woolly headed and weak to make the two hour round drive to the airport, meaning he has had to take the car, leaving it in the long stay car park down there.  So I am on foot this week.  Just as well I’m coming right!  After 8 days without my morning walk, I finally felt well enough yesterday to head out.  Wrapping up well in layers of merino I headed out, and although my legs felt a bit weak still, I really enjoyed being outdoors, and in particular the rural stretch of my walk, noticing how the leaves have really started to turn gold since my last time.  Today I did the walk in a much quicker time – shaving 15 mins off easily, and I felt much better.  I called in at the grocery store and bought some eggs and milk, and posted a couple of letters.  If I really needed them, the doctors rooms are a five minute walk up the road too.  And the chemist, a ten minute walk the other way.   All very doable.

Cooking is easy when you really only need some protein to build you up – watch that dairy, if you have a cold – avoid, avoid, avoid!  The first few days I had scrambled eggs for dinner, soft and soothing going down that poor, inflamed throat.  Yesterday I cooked a fillet steak which I had marinated all day in a mixture of garlic (another super star) homemade plum sauce (also full of garlic – just as well I am on my own!) and some low-sodium organic tamari.  All I had with it was some gently steamed broccoli.  Gorgeous.  For tonight, I have pulled a chicken casserole out of the freezer – leftovers from a few weeks ago when I cooked up a big feed using chicken breast and chick peas with bacon, red onions and capsicum, tomatoes and of course, more garlic!  I am so much better already, that by the time Dave arrives home he won’t believe I was particularly sick!  Ah well!

Living alone, even if just for a week at a stretch will teach you self reliance – if you let it.  No stock piling up all those little jobs to hand over when your significant other is home.  Fix that table that has a dodgy leg, change the blown light bulb, get the wood in from the shed, change the washer on the leaking tap.  Unless you literally don’t have the strength for a task, consider them gender-neutral.  Don’t be my mother-in-law who doesn’t even know how to put petrol in their car.  In many ways, I see myself as being lucky to have lived alone for years on the farm where you soon learn to have a go at whatever needs doing – and that’s quite a bit on a rural property especially where there’s livestock involved.  Yes, I have many times blessed my farmer neighbour, Kev, for his assistance when a job is too tough – but many other times I have coped by myself and am stronger for it. 

A car-less week and a chest infection?  Pfffffffft!  Walk in the park... 

 

Cottage Life, Village Life

We’ve been nearly three months here at Foxglove Cottage, with another month more to go.  Life has settled pleasingly into routine, something I was desperate for after months of frenetic activity leading up to our exit of Riverdale.  When Dave is away up in Auckland every second week it’s quiet here – my thoughts flow all the better and I find time to write each day.  I am a better correspondent than I have been for years.  My time belongs to me and me only, my meals become simple affairs of cheese and an apple. 

Back in early December we planted a variety of lettuce, herbs, and spinach greens – they have finished now, having fed us throughout the summer each and every day.  As they go to seed, I’m pulling them up and replacing them with flowering bulbs.  I hope we get to see them flower in spring, but the chances are our Cottage will be on the market by then.  I think I’ll feel the pain of parting intensely.  We hope to replace it with something closer to our new home, something we can use easily and share with others.  There is no doubt that this wee home has been a very special place.  Just five rooms – a kitchen, bathroom, lounge cum dining room, and two bedrooms – housework is a cinch, done in a flash with no need to change power points with the hoover.  No ensuite, but the steps needed to reach the bathroom would probably only number a couple more.  Every inch of space is used judiciously to maximise storage.  I’ve even started using the car boot as extra space.

I could have connected, I suppose, with the local folk more than I have… but I’ve found myself drifting to solitude as is my way.  It’s nice though, to walk through town and greet half a dozen people by name.  I like to dip in and out.  I’ve never particularly enjoyed drop in visitors – I think I need to psyche myself up for social encounters.  So I keep my waves and smiles friendly, but rarely stop for more than a few words. 

I walk every morning – most days just as the light is starting to paint the day.  I walk out of my driveway and cross State Highway 8, then turn off right and head up past the old indoor pool, now decommissioned and awaiting a fate on which no-one can agree.  On past the hospital and medical centre, beautiful gardens designed and opened by Maggie Barry of TV Garden Show fame.  Past the old Nurses Home, now an impressive heritage red brick private residence surrounded by holly hedges with drifts of roses spilling through and for sale.

I turn here and start a gentle descent past the school and sports fields, a few more cottages and then the immaculately kept Holiday Camping Ground with its rust coloured wooden chalets, beautiful lawns and groves of redwood trees.  A month ago it was packed with happy campers, now it is more the chalets that are in demand for shearers maybe, or folk just passing through.   A number of large, modern caravans are permanently parked, awaiting the weekends when their doors and windows are thrown open and their owners sit back in deck chairs with a book and a glass of wine. 

The landscape then gives way to fields filled with sheep mostly, who baa mournfully as I pass by, but one holds 6 lovely, plump belted Galloways whom I greet each morning – I miss my cattle, I find.  I turn another corner and on my right is the oxidisation pond (more a small lake really) of the town’s biofiltro plant.  A long, low, seemingly unmanned building turns sewage into pleasant and usable water, something that obviously works exceedingly well, as there is never any odour, the pond and surrounding beach is littered with water birds splashing, quacking and generally enjoying life. 

On my left three sheep paddocks run up to the cemetery which is sited along the top of a hill, sometimes I take the steep path that leads to it, and walk along the ridge – it’s a place so filled with peace that its tangible.  I wish the Crawfords good morning as I pass their shared grave, where Isabella laid for 30 long years before her husband John joined her in 1914, and tell them that we are loving their little cottage. 

Other times I stay on the road, which winds through a valley with a trickling stream beside me, tall oak trees towering overhead giving welcome shade on a sunny Otago day.  Moss grows on the road through here, and it’s very quiet with the headstones just visible on the hilltop.  It’s rare to see a vehicle pass, but once a rough looking, unshaven man slowed his ute to a stop behind me and I did wonder briefly if I was about to be strangled with my designer, felted snood (in a pretty shade of lavender blue purchased recently at the weavers gallery in town) but it turned out he was just checking his sheep. 

At a bend in the road there sits two decidedly sinister houses.  One, an old cottage, was clearly once very similar to ours, but derelict now with grey tattered curtains fluttering out of sightless, gaping windows.  The second is almost completely enclosed by trees which loom over it and looks as if it too, is partly dilapidated although I do see people staying there from time to time.  I call this pair the Haunted Houses, they both have a creepy feel to them, but the one in the trees is the worst by far.

And then I emerge from the tree-lined road on to the Highway again, past the policeman’s house and tiny station, and along a gravel track back towards town, passing a row of houses – one sporting an old coach from the staging days.  Past the Peace Garden where the war memorial stands, and round a bend to drop down into the main street with its veranda clad shops and cafes.  I wave to the man at Wrightson’s (farm supplies) who starts at 7am, and then the ladies in the Four Square (mini mart) – looking across the road to see if I can catch a glimpse of Liz who is setting up her café for the day.  I call “Good Morning” through the mesh door to Jan the butcher, who usually has the Stones playing loudly as she cuts up a pig.  Sometimes I stop for a chat with Kelly who at 6ft 7 looms above me - he works for the council and performs many tasks from emptying the bins, servicing the public toilets, mowing the roadside strips and keeping the streets free from litter around town.  Once a month when mowing the berm outside our cottage, he swings in and mows our lawns for us.  It’s a true case of “not what you know”…

On past the Museum and the Athenaeum Hall, a peek in the window of the beautiful homeware shop, Olea, and past the strange shop selling nothing but smoked eggs and then it’s time to turn to the corner and head back along Whitehaven Street where five blocks along, my little cottage waits…

There is tang in the air most mornings now, and the need for a light jacket at times.  In the last few days I’ve noticed the leaves are just starting to get the first yellowish tinge to them, and the crab apples on the tree beside the cottage are beginning to glow a rosy red.   Soon it will be decidedly autumn, and our time here will be at an end.  And between you and I, part of my heart will remain, I think…

Ode to Riverdale...

And so the farm has gone.

What started as hopes and dreams for the four of us back in 1986 has reached its conclusion.  Sometimes things need to be over though.  It’s right and good that they should be.  Those four are split asunder, divorced and dead, leaving me as the last man standing so to speak. 

During my solo years I came and went, went and came – it was my safety net, always there.  I returned with a new husband whose dreams also centred around the land and we built a wonderful new home there that I poured my heart into and we lived in together until his death just four short years later. 

My beautiful mother adored the farm, and coaxed much from its soils during her time.  She died after 13 years there, and her ashes lie in her old garden, overgrown and holding her safe.

The land sustained me when I had not much else to live on, and even gave me an income, appealing to paying guests.  It’s groves of trees, and dark waters gave me shelter, solace and offered concealment on days when I didn’t want to be found. 

And then another husband came, stealing my heart rapidly.  He too felt the draw of this patch of earth, and gave much to improving it.  I shared my heart-home with him, most happily for 6 years, the best years. 

Dad’s dreams became his warders, as he turned inwards on himself and complained of being imprisoned within its boundaries.  Of course, his confines were all of his own creation.  And yet, as is often the way, he felt the fear of leaving its embrace when his time came calling… but in the end there was no other choice and he left for hospital, to return again as ashes.  Forever resting in its peaceful arms, hopefully he has stopped thinking about it as incarceration. 

We lived on happily with our friends the turkeys, bunnies and hares, plus the many birds that we loved until the time came to leave.  Our 6 years in what to me will always be paradise. Leaving was hard, but the process made completely easy by fate which stepped in and smoothed the path so much – as if by intervention.  Divine or motherly maybe? 

And so we left.  It was our time to go, to hand it on.  More dreams rest now in those verdant green glades, the dark waters still sliding past carrying wishes west, out towards the hungry sea…

The Art of Cheese

Last year we met a very accomplished gentleman by the name of Graham, whom not only was fully proficient at building furniture and kitchen cabinetry, tiling, replacing windows and demolishing floors but amongst these and other talents he also knew how to make a mean cheese.  After sampling several of his handcrafted cheeses, washed down by some of his equally delicious handcrafted ales, I might add, we were inspired to jump on the cheese wagon ourselves. 

Katherine in action

And so I gave Dave the gift of a day long cheese course for Christmas.  Naturally I also gave myself one, and one Saturday in late summer we headed off to the Epsom Community Centre for a day with Katherine Mowbray, author of the book "Cutting the Curd", who demonstrated, in very interesting and able fashion, how to make fresh cheese, liptour, quark, gouda, and camembert.  It goes without saying we ate well at the lunch break.

 

At the conclusion of the course we bought some of the basic gear, some cultures and bacteria, thermometer etc and her book, which we took home and perused at leisure before heading to the shops the next day to buy "the hardware" - stock pots and sieves, draining spoons, racks, cheese cloth, pipettes, curd knife etc.  And a handy little gas burner to give a higher degree of control than electric hobs can offer.  We were ready!

 

 

Another few weeks passed before we could find an entire day free to designate to cheese but arrive it did, and we made our first cheese, a Neuf Chatel.  We'd had this one at Graham's place, and loved its pungent (strong some would say) runny centre that oozed out with a decadance that should almost cause alarm but somehow was just perfect.  Our first two were quite gorgeous, they didn't stand a chance really - we ate them at two and three weeks.  The extra week really added a punch to that pungency!  Sublime. 

Next up, our next big cheese was Camembert.  So impressed were we with the ease of method and result, that we almost immediately (2 weeks later) repeated the exercise with more most excellent cheese.  Interspersed between these were a selection of "quick & easy's" - cream cheese, haloumi, and ricotta.  The cream cheese has been a consistant crowd pleaser, and has a permanent spot in our fridge these days, for swirling through soups, spreading on scones with homemade jam or just melting over broccoli.

The Blues

Time for something different, so we decided to try Blue Stilton type.  Quite a bit more work, but its shaping up really well, and in two months will be nicely whiffy, if the book is to be believed.... meanwhile we have started to stockpile camemberts ready for our onslaught of overseas visitors who have all decided that October is THE month to visit New Zealand....

 

The Camembert - batch two

 



Homemade Pumpkin & Coconut Soup with a dollop of Cream Cheese
and Basil with my own Soda Bread