The return of the 100 Day Project

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Way back in 2013 I completed a 100 Days Project, an immensely satisfying and challenging experience.  I learned a lot, and if you are interested you can read a little more about that experience here.  Some of the paintings I made as part of that process, I just love, others I’d prefer never saw the light of day again.  It’s a fact however, that none of them would have existed without the stimulus of this project.  Encouraged by my experience and the generous reactions I received, I have continued to paint quietly away on my own. But since the exhibition most of these tiny works have spent their time in a dark little tin in my desk drawer.

Fast forward to last week however, and I was in for a surprise.  Michaela Stoneman, the delightful curator of the Eltham Village Gallery in South Taranaki (among others) got in touch to ask if she could include my project in an exhibition she is planning of 100 Days Projects.   But of course!  And in view of the quality of the other projects selected I feel really very happy to be included.  Furthermore, the chancey to review my project has been quite uplifting and has me thinking hard about how I could use the images and what else I could attempt.  It’s also reminded me that the 100 Days project will kick off again in July, and perhaps I should get on that bus again.

Meanwhile, if you’re in Taranaki between 12 April and 6 May feel free to pop in to a lovely exhibition at the Eltham VIllage Gallery.


Back to the future with chooks (or how not to buy a hen house)

IMG_2772 (6)Over the last year I have been focusing on little changes that make our home feel a little more ‘homely’. I wish I could say that this has resulted in a massive decluttering and streamlining of our living areas, surfaces and bookshelves. Alas, this would be a big fat lie. Instead I am preparing the way for chooks.

When I was a very small child our family had two chooks, a large black orpington called Blackstack and Honey a bantam. They were charming and lived in an a-frame hutch at the bottle of our suburban garden. They would allow themselves to be held and to sit on the handlebars of our bikes to be wheeled quietly about. We would feed them warm mash in winter and sprinkle wheat about to their great hopping and darting excitement.

They taught me how to keep a hen quiet when lifting the sweet heavy heft of a fat bottomed chook.  I learned to take responsibility for looking after their food and water.  They were endlessly amusing to watch, and I have always associated the sound of their slow contented clucks and murmurs with a particularly happy time.  They were also productive, a warm, fresh egg in the hand straight from under the chicken was a child sized miracle, especially when one was a tiny banty sized egg.  And as a budding gardener it always seemed to be to complete a satisfying circle to be able to use their bedding and poo to make plants grow better.

Later, as a teen in lifestyle block land we had a flock of brown shavers.  Some of these hens were rescued layers with mutilated beaks who had to be taught to use the perch and to forage. This, more than anything, illustrated for us the great cruelty which is factory farming, and since then I have always paid above the odds for ethically farmed eggs.

While our brown shavers had less in the way of identifiable personalities, they had spirit. They would escape their pretty orchard occasionally and do their best to lay anywhere other than the warm dry, purpose designed shed provided for them. By the time a rogue clutch was discovered ( the biggest contained 22 eggs), it was often too late for the eggs. The smell of a recently broken rotten egg is physical confrontation with the fullest extent of stink.

Now for health, fertiliser and probably sentimental reasons I am looking to reintroduce hens to the back of our section. My mother-in-law and her siblings remember when they had to cart the household scraps up to the chooks in our backyard in central Auckland some seventy years ago. A meal of chicken was a rare treat then, with zero food miles on it.

Local bylaws now permit us to have as many as six hens. For sanity and neighbourly relations, perhaps it is a good thing that roosters are no longer an option.

So, housing was our first priority. A search on TradeMe showed there was very little between cheap and nasty Chinese manufactured hutches in poor thin fir wood and $800 palaces. So my first very idealistic idea was for the boys to build the hen house as a jolly togetherness project (hey, I never pretended to be clearsighted!). I even paid for and downloaded some plans from the net to take to Bunnings for pricing up.   After two weeks’ mucking around I was feeling like I should change my relationship status to ‘in a relationship with the nice but ineffectual guy at Bunnings Trade Desk”.   The eventual outcome was that it would cost me $1500 to build our own house and even Mr Bunnings recommended I head back to TradeMe.

Back at TradeMe I just happened upon a very nice little used plywood house which I bid for and won for $375 (worth about $900). All that remained was to take a trailer out to Karaka to pick it up which my beloved and my Dad very kindly consented to do.

IMG_2780 (2)A piece of advice to anybody looking to import a large structure for their back yard? Um, measure it. It had looked about right. Unfortunately the space through which it had to travel was approximately 10cm too narrow when you took the nesting boxes into account. My very kind and capable Dad then took it apart. Showers of ants, slaters and white tailed spiders jumped ship as he worked. We carried the pieces through, and then he nailed it back together. This was some distance above and beyond the call of duty. To his very great credit, not a single word of reproach was uttered. I think I owe him one for that alone.

Next:  Decorating the decile 10 chook house.




Dining on mince and slices of quince….

quince botanicalThe quince carries associations of medieval times and walled gardens which I find very intriguing. The fruit tree itself is sufficiently ornamental to make it a tempting choice for the garden. Spring’s prettiest pink and white blossom is followed in late summer by large hard yellow fruit, with a strong pineappley fragrance.

Usually when I have encountered quince, it has been in the form of neat little pottles of solid fruit paste. Quince paste is a lovely choice served with a sharp cheddar or a tangy blue. Dark apricot in colour, it has the sweetness and grittiness of a pear with a slightly more perfumed flavour.

Quince isn’t widely sold commercially, but I spotted a basket of pretty pale lemon quince for $5/kg at my neighbourhood fruit and veg shop and I was tempted to try a little something new.

Paris based cook and my go-to dessert guy David Lebovitz has a good recipe here and a gorgeously rustic quince tarte tatin recipe here . He also found that a lovely waste-not-want-not ruby red quince jelly emerges from reducing the poaching liquid, as quince is very high in the preserver’s best friend, pectin.

I discovered that raw, the fruit is far too hard and tart to eat.  In Turkey, the expression ayvayı yemek (literally “eat the quince”) means a bitter taste in the mouth or unpleasant situation to avoid. But peeled, cored and cut into sections quince can be poached slowly and at length in a sugar syrup with the spice of your choice, vanilla, cinnamon, star anise. The flesh is pale yellow to begin with, and develops a rich pink hue over cooking.

For my first foray into quince cookery, I poached three sliced quinces in a syrup made with brown sugar syrup and a sliced vanilla bean. Aside from the slight trickiness in peeling, cutting and coring such a hard fruit, it really was as easy as stewing apples. The amazing fragrance coming from the kitchen had all family members sitting up and taking notice.

Poached quince makes a delicious dessert with vanilla ice cream, crème fraiche or Greek yoghurt.  In the unlikely event that you have leftovers, it will make or a particularly decadent breakfast fruit with muesli.

Now, I’m starting to wonder where I could make room in my garden for a quince.

Botanical Image credit Wikipedia, artist Philip Miller

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Of roses and turkish delight

FullSizeRender (3)The first thing anyone does on receiving a bouquet of roses is to bury their face in them to breathe in the scent.  Beautiful roses with minimal scent are pure anticlimax. Pierre de Ronsard, I’m taking to you!

Nahema might well be accused of showing off at this time of year. But what might be quite an ordinary pale pink prettiness is lifted into the stratosphere of rose-y adoration by its strong scent, swooningly redolent of turkish delight.

Of all the roses available, Parfumier Guerlain created a perfume in 1979 named after this one which is still available today.  Guerlain records that the floral oriental fragrance was “inspired by the legend of a sultan who had twin daughters, the gentle and obedient Mahane and the fiery and passionate Nahéma. Built predominantly around rose notes, Nahéma was an early fragrance to feature damascones, a set of newly discovered aromachemicals with a profound fruity-rose character.”

This is Nahema’s first year in my garden.  Often roses flower well in the first year and then decline left unsprayed in Auckland’s humid climate.  Time will tell whether Nahema is up up to an organic mulch, water, squash aphids routine to earn a permanent place.  So far I am in thrall to its pretty and scented delights.

We all like different things

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When the student is ready the teacher appears right? With startling frequency, the kind and clever women at Slow Family Living (SFL) throw a quietly ticking inspiration bomb my way.

This week they snuck a new and deceptively simple phrase into my mind : “We all like different things”.

I’ve been turning it over in my head like a pebble, this one phrase crash course in acceptance. Of course we do all like different things. This often leads to conflict, but it’s the differences which make things interesting. And because we all like different things, we also all need different degrees of space, time, engagement and support.

It’s well worth reading Bernadette Noll’s article here to see how this might plays out amongst the competing forces in your own household. I was inspired to make a quick mock-up for my fridge. If you like it, let me know and I’ll send you one you can print out for yours.

November is the most beautiful month

November may be a capricious month, but be still my beating heart when the lengthening days conspire with the abundant rain and the garden begins to pulse and glow. Step on to the wet grass in the early morning to a verdant backdrop which soothes the eye in quivering emeralds and viridians. The roses come forth slowly at first, then tumble over each other in their enthusiasm. Sweetpeas twine around the foxglove spires and their fragrance thickens. The garden beds starred with bright borage blue. Each day throws forth a fresh excuse for a bouquet. Soon, as all the vases overflow, humbler containers are pressed into service in a riot of colour and life, grace and glory.


Best Hot Cross Buns ever

140509 Baked Hotcross bunsJ’accuse! A small storm rocked the fragrant world of hot cross bun making a few years ago when nationally beloved cook Jo Seagar called out the Edmonds Cookbook over the poor quality of its recipe.  Shockingly, this staple Kiwi household recipe bible had proven unreliable!  Many people, myself included, had tried using this recipe and come to the conclusion that hot cross buns were too difficult and we lacked the secret to make them work.  Of course that was bollocks.

Lots of people lack confidence in using yeast, which is a shame as it’s really not that hard as long as your yeast is active (i.e. working and not too old) and you give it sufficient time to prove (or ‘rise’).

Happily Jo Seagar came out front and centre with her own glorious recipe which you can find via the link at the bottom of this post.  Thanks to Jo and a wet Easter weekend, I restored my hot cross bun mojo.  A couple of hours and some hands on dough time and I had thirty substantial and delicious hot cross buns.  They were brown and glossy, with a lovely yeasty, spicy flavour.  Thumbs up – would trade again!

140509 Hit cross buns before cooking

Buns pre baking after final rise

Next time I think I would just ice the crosses rather than using the recommended flour and water mix which was lumpy and not easy to apply.

And lets just say that again: thirty buns. One of the things I like most about Jo Seagar’s recipes is that the quantities are always very generous.  This is a major consideration when you have a tribe of hungry boys to feed and still want a little to freeze for lunches.

Weirdly, hot cross buns have been appearing in the local supermarket from February this year in the same venal sort of seasonal creep we’ve seen with Easter eggs.  Generally those hot cross buns are pretty disappointing too, soft pale flabby things with an unpleasant aftertaste.  I guess someone’s buying them, but I find it devalues the tradition when seasonal trappings are available all year around.  Surely the way to maintain the special nature of our traditions is to respect them and not to exploit them.  One way to do this is to make them yourself.  It’s just once a year after all, and thanks to Jo Seagar they’re not only achieveable but rewarding.

You can find Jo Seagar’s hot cross bun recipe along with many other truly delicious and reliable edibles here:

A wet and windy walk on Waiheke


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Waiheke locals often refer smugly to their microclimate which means that even when Auckland is cloaked in damp clouds, just a short ferry ride away, the Waihetians are often basking in warm sunlight. But sometimes even Waiheke succumbs to a fit of the dismals, and once you’ve been to the Cinema, Solar Cafe and the video shop you’ve exhausted most of the possibilities, especially those which won’t cost a bomb with three kids in tow. When tempers start to fray, the only answer is to man up, rug up and get out into the wet and windy weather. Fortunately although the weather may be rough, it generally isn’t very cold.  And … Continue reading

The family bach

15 April 14 HekeruaOften in New Zealand we hear people referring fondly to their family bach, a little house near the sea to which they would return each summer, building up a pleasant store of memories and shared deprivations, year after year as they grew up.  And while we had a fairly privileged childhood which featured plenty of love and fun, a bach wasn’t part of my family culture until recently.

Then a few years ago, my parents found a steep, bushclad and inaccessible section at Hekerua Bay on Waiheke Island, a cleansing forty five minute ferry ride from Auckland. Never ones to back down on a challenge, the only answer was to build a house on it, a saga which deserves its own book.  The result was a very comfortable tree house, nestled in the bush above a small rocky cove.

tartan pipiFor lucky us it makes a very welcoming retreat not too far from where we live.  Still inaccessible by road, it requires a walk in down a long steep zig zag and a breath defying slog up wooden steps dragging your volumes of planned reading and bottles of wine.  As you can imagine, it was with great joy that we moved beyond the stage of bulky nappies and baby paraphernalia.

The advantage of a walk in, is that once there, we don’t want to leave.  We settle in.  We read, we walk, we swim, we kayak around the headland for a samosa from the Four Square at Little Oneroa.

Dried flax flower

It has to be admitted that the inter-generational holiday will require some flexibility and tolerance on all sides, especially when your family features three lively, and loud boys, with not a lot of space around the house to run around.    Full credit to my parents for 1. continuing to invite us, and, 2. putting up with the sheer force of energy, volume and confrontation that is our offspring.  But sometimes things will spiral upwards and that’s when we know that, rain or shine, it’s time to get outside.

For my children, Hekerua Bay has become their happy place.  It’s where they have spent endless hours on the pebbly beach, collected treasures, and walked miles (ok, sometimes against their will). They’ve developed strength, observation and independence while kayaking around the coastline and sea channels around us. Surrounded by native bush and water wildlife they have learned to confidently spot and identify native birds and trees and occasionally large marine mammals such as seals and orca.

In Maori ‘Hekerua’ means Double Bay.  For us it means double happy.

It’s just not that hard to be nice to your customers: Better living everyone!

This post was first published as an opinion piece on marketing blog Stoppress under the title “Why lawyers make bad marketers”.  But as the subject matter concerns this blog itself I have reposted it here.  Do you agree with me? What do you think Clorox New Zealand should have done?

snap lock bagsAs far as I’m aware, my blog has around four readers, most of them closely related to me. But I recently gained another! An intellectual property legal firm called AJ Park. They’re very good, and I’ve used them in a professional capacity myself.

It turns out that I referred once to a certain type of recloseable plastic bag you may well have in your own kitchen. AJ Park representing Clorox New Zealand Limited sent me a letter, asking me to change the way I have referred to their client’s product, suggesting ways I could ‘help’ their client to ‘safeguard their rights’. Thoughtfully they attached a highlighted photocopy of my blogpost and a list of suggested alternatives.

Honestly? Kudos! I’m impressed that anyone made it that far through my lemon cordial recipe, let alone an IP lawyer’s clerk clutching a highlighter. I suspect a little help from Google Alerts or a special lawyerly search tool.

Confession #1: I was once admitted to the bar in an excruciatingly silly horsehair wig. So, as a reformed lawyer, I do understand why companies want to be able to protect their property. If their brand name becomes the generic name for the product (which, actually, some might argue it has), it may be able to be removed as a trademark, and they lose the investment they’ve made in the product.

Confession #2: I also acted as a professional marketer for many more years than I care to admit or recall. So I know that while Clorox via AJ Park are probably doing what they feel they have to do to defend their brand, it is also just plain stupid in terms of brand perception and word of mouth marketing. Also, at $300+ per hour for a law firm partner’s time, it is also represents a very poor allocation of resource.

First, there’s the negative frisson in receiving an unexpected letter from a lawyer. Apologies to my many lovely lawyer friends, but joyful anticipation is not uppermost. A lawyer’s letterhead ups the ante in a heavy-handed way, no matter how anodyne the content. Not a feeling I’d want associated with my brand, especially smack bang in the middle of the target market. Let alone in the hands of a gobby blogger.

Secondly, however much Clorox may be in the right, actually nobody likes to be told what to do. As a marketer defending your legal rights, you need to keep this in mind in order to ensure the situation is managed to the product’s best overall advantage.

Now, I’m a fan of the product in question. I have snack sized, sandwich sized and storage sized bags in my kitchen drawer at all times, despite the fact that they are the most expensive and patently unsustainable. I have more money than sense, clearly. They just happen to be terribly useful. Until now, I haven’t seriously questioned this. And as a keen cook/baker with three kids, my future purchase potential is shamefully large.

But now, guess what I’m going to think about next time I’m in the kitchen consumables aisle? How seriously, do you think I’m going to be considering the alternatives. Quite, I’d say.

When a company sees someone using its product name, correctly or incorrectly, it is a great opportunity to recruit that person as an advocate, along with their potentially extensive social network. The last thing you’d want to do is shut down that conversation.

So, how could Clorox approach this differently? How might they ensure that fans who inadvertently use the wrong nomenclature continue to feel good about buying, using and recommending their product?

  • The message comes from the company—a product manager, or a marketer, a community manager or leader, not the lawyer.
  • It uses an appropriate medium. Unless there is a specific legal reason why the communication should be in a formal letter, it should take the form of a blog comment or email.
  • It is friendly.
  • It refers directly to the use of the product.
  • It finds some common ground.
  • It presents the client’s argument in the context of a benefit to the user, not to the brand owner.

With less effort, and considerably less expense, Clorox could have commented/emailed the following:

“Hi Jennifer, We love your blog (a little flattery never hurts, right?), and we are delighted you are finding our products so useful. We have an online community you might enjoy here, where keen cooks share ideas and recipes. We’re really flattered that you have mentioned our product by name and hope you will continue to recommend us. When you do, we would ask if you would please use our trademark*. The reason for this is that it helps us to fight bad copies of our product and ensure you are able to keep buying the quality product you’ve come to expect.”

A smart marketer who respects their target purchaser could choose to use any of the following tools in order to encourage a customer to become an advocate for their products, while correcting any misuse of trademarks:

  • Give a compliment.
  • Generate a conversation.
  • Provide sample products.
  • Offer discounts.
  • Incentivise friend get friend bonuses.
  • Ask them to like your Facebook page or join your online forum.
  • Invite to join your customer panel.

It’s just not that hard to be nice to your customers.

*For those who are interested in helping to safeguard Clorox New Zealand Limited’s valuable trademark rights, you may refer to a recloseable plastic bag as a ‘Snap Lock (R) bag”, a “SNAP LOCK (R) bag” or a “Snap Lock (R) bag”. If you’re feeling all relaxed and informal, you may apparently use the catchy phrase “SNAP LOCK resealable bag”.