Iona Winter

I came back from the Big Smoke to thunder and lightning—all very exciting. I could almost hear the plants (and the chooks) sighs of relief at the accompanying rain. The plum trees are laden with fruit (as are the pear and apple trees) BUT all the fruit is minuscule—a result of the drought I imagine.

I’ve been busy foraging for the fallen treasures, and clambering up ladders to gain more. Not greed, but preservation and storage. I used to watch the TV show The Good Life when I was a kid. I dreamed of having a life like they did, living off the land (which we kind of did anyway) but where they were also really happy and smiled a lot.

I should mention that I am really happy in my life now (for the record). And in an endeavour to be more self sufficient, I have become someone who scours the landscape for fallen things which other people don’t see. Like fruit (and wooden pellets – don’t ask me why).

The birds are way ahead of me, and a plethora of nibbled, manky, fallen fruit litters the ground beneath the trees—only good for compost. The chooks have long gone off the fallen plums, but it was a novelty for a short while. I guess there are only so many plums three chooks can eat.

However, there are a variety of things I can do with the plums. But only so many people I can gift the preserves to. Only so many people who like jam, relish and sauce. And only so much pantry space in which to store my culinary creations…you get the picture I am sure.

I feel guilty when I see food going to waste. I think, not only of starving children in foreign countries, but our kids here in Aotearoa who continue to go to school without kai in their pukus. I’ve noticed, and have prattled on (to whomever will listen) for years. Only recently (it seems) that (some) political parties have noticed and are speaking about this massive social issue. Why did it take them so long? This is not the land of milk and honey that it used to be—don’t get me started on the bees.

If there was a way I could send boxes of plums to schools (in the city from which I escaped) I would. Sadly I can’t. Last week, I took bottles of plum jam to my rellies up in the Big Smoke. I was charged $70 by the airline for having overweight baggage. While I like that term“overweight baggage” (it could apply to a multitude of things), I was not happy at being charged to share the love (of food).

The horror must have been evident on my face, when the airline check-in person suggested that I “dump” some of the weight. Dump? Hell no. Did she not realise that I’d slaved over a hot stove for several afternoons bottling the precious cargo! Dump? We are such a wasteful race us humans.

Today the wind is blowing and I’ll soon be off down to the chook yard (where the fruit trees live) to see what delicious bounty the wind and the trees have provided together. My cupboards will groan, but I am sure it will keep the people I love smiling for a year (or two).