For the love of sponges
A former editor recalls how he was smitten by deceptively simple creatures.
A former editor recalls how he was smitten by deceptively simple creatures.
The secret of recurring tuberculosis cracked in a Dunedin lab.
Like many children of the 1970s, I grew up on five-layer casseroles and meatloaf. But over the course of my childhood, my mum discovered a world of cuisine. I remember her first pasta, her experiments on ‘vegetarian’ visitors, and the time that the pet mince got mixed up in the freezer and became a lasagne of radical flavour and questionable nutrition. I remember the shocking green flesh of my first avocado, the oozing centre of my first Brie, new experiences with sun-dried tomatoes and olive oil on salads. It was a time of profound change in Kiwi kitchens, a time when the British traditions gave way to flirtations with Mediterranean fare. Food became something more than sustenance, and New Zealand cuisine began to acquire an identity of its own—as our new deputy editor, Rebekah White, discovered in her profile of Tui Flower for this issue. Our geography was changing too. The rolling pastures that used to bake brown in summer and sprout thick and verdant in autumn took on an evergreen quality thanks to superphosphate and an irrigation regime that’s doubled in area every 12 years since 1970. (More irrigation, particularly in dry areas, can triple the output of a farm.) My memories of fields of sheep—at the time outnumbering New Zealanders 25 to one—slowly faded as sheep numbers halved, replaced in part by the massive expansion of dairying. These changes have been driven by the economics of the free market, rather than rural planning, and the economy has responded positively to the high-input model. It was the primary industries that gave New Zealand buoyancy to emerge from the global recession before most other developed nations, and the government’s Economic Growth Agenda calls for agricultural exports to earn 40 per cent of GDP by 2025, hingeing on something approaching a trebling of current production value. But market-led change in the global context also results in some bizarre distortions. We import lettuces from Fiji, and export lettuces to Fiji. New Zealanders, on an isolated temperate archipelago, are the world’s largest consumers of bananas, a tropical fruit. Farmers in Canterbury are converting fields of cereals—crops suited to the dry, thin soils of the plains—to pastures for a dairy herd that can’t be productive there without untold volumes of water from pivot irrigators. High-intensity agriculture comes at a high price: pollution, eutrophication, fertiliser run-off, pesticides that contribute to colony collapse in honeybees. Our distance from international markets creates cost and concern and doesn’t insulate us as much as we would like from pest species and pathogens. We need only to consider the outbreaks of PSA, varroa, fruit flies and great white butterflies that have resulted in national emergencies and the collapse of entire market sectors to appreciate the vulnerability of monocultural cropping to a biosecurity breach. There are alternatives—organic, biodynamic, permaculture, hydroponic, intensive farm systems but detractors suggest they can’t achieve the volume or the efficiency to feed our nation and its economy, let alone sustain three-fold growth in international receipts. In the clamour of industry, shrill cries to eat less meat or buy organic produce are easily drowned out. The only truly effective means of altering the behaviour of a market is educating consumers and highlighting their responsibility for the shape and nature of the supply chain. But, like farmers, consumers feel bombarded by the issues. There’s a lot to consider when you shop: food miles, nutrition, animal welfare, traceability, industrial sustainability, international worker rights, product safety... A conscientious consumer can’t hold a fork without quivering with anxiety. Greg Bruce’s special feature in this edition is the fifth in New Zealand Geographic’s 25th-anniversary series on the issues that will shape our nation over the next quarter-century. Since humans first set foot here, food production has shaped the land and will likely have a greater impact on the structure, prosperity and natural values of the country than any other factor. Is there an alternative? How much will it cost? Can we afford to change? Can we afford not to?
It's not telepathy.
Totara thriving on farmland.
Most of New Zealand’s lowland areas are now devoted to food production. How we produce food for consumption, sale and export continues to shape our landscape and lives, but the 90 per cent of New Zealanders who live in cities have little contact with those processes and the social and environmental considerations they create. Can farmers improve yields and use resources more efficiently? Can consumers reconnect with the land and farm practices to make more informed choices and reduce waste? What is the future of our food?
It is a truth universally acknowledged that there are too many books and too little time. This is why you can stumble across a new and brilliant writer and wonder, “Where have you been all my life?” I had that thought a few weeks ago when I read an essay by Charles Bowden on nature photography.
Tui Flower taught a generation of New Zealanders to cook, and remains a champion of good, honest food.
Today is the 100th anniversary of the death of Martha, the last passenger pigeon. From billions to zero in 50 years—a cautionary tale about a phenomenal bird.
On the value of wilderness adventures, photography, and social memory.
Around New Zealand’s coastline by foot, raft, etc...
“Havent heard of that track before?”And well you might ask, as the Deception-Mingha forms the mountain run component of the celebrated Coast-to-Coast race. Top athletes complete it in around three hours. This route is a good step up for walkers wanting a “wilderness” experience. Though be warned, like any alpine route in New Zealand, it requires respect, preparation and awareness of local conditions. On the Deception side the track is rough and not regularly marked. However, in good conditions it is a reasonable route which most trampers take two days to complete. Enter the track by crossing the Otira River on the Morrison footbridge then follow the Deception River up the true right side across river flats. Cross to the true left and follow rock cairns through the lower gorge, re-crossing the river where necessary. The route involves many river crossings—up to ten significant crossings in the lower Deception alone—so is vulnerable to bad weather. Don’t attempt it in heavy rain or when heavy rain is forecast. Come prepared to wait out flood conditions. Continue to pick your way upwards, mostly in the riverbed though there are some small tracked portions under bush cover. There is a final steep climb over rough terrain to get up to the Goat Pass Hut (20 bunks), located a short distance below the pass itself. This is a good spot to overnight. From the hut the track improves significantly but still has many river crossings. The track crosses Goat Pass on boardwalk sections then descends towards the bushline into the Mingha Valley. The track departs the river course towards Dudley’s Knob to avoid a difficult gorge and continues down to the Lower Mingha flats. Look for a safe crossing of the Bealey River near its confluence with the Mingha River and continue down towards Greyney Shelter Campsite on SH 73. The track line rises to the road along the way. The area is also home to rare and protected blue duck/whio. DOC asks for sightings to be reported to staff at the Visitor Centre in Arthur’s Pass.
The message of one wartime propaganda poster hasn't dated.
150 years ago, they came seeking gold and found a fresh start in an uncompromising land. For many of the West Coast’s pioneers it was a regrettably short stay, while others would endure for generations
All is not great ’twixt the pond and the plate.
It won't be a bang, or a whimper: left to itself, our world will end in a hellish, fiery microwave.
Traditional forecasting techniques to predict a storm, and storm a pa.
The Architectural Centre and the Remaking of Wellington.
“Shrieking sisterhood” gets the vote.
Greg Bruce ponders the meaning of lunch
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