Flower Friends

Today a treat arrived in my mail box. Catalogues from Wild Flower World 
 ( www.wildflowerworld.co.nz ) and Garden Post  ( www.gardenpost.co.nz).

My life is so quiet now - ordinary and still - that these catalogues seem to be a bright spark in my day. I rush indoors -brew some coffee on the coal range and get out the catalogues. Promises . Hope. The Future.  These help when my heart feels low and heavy.Hours spent alone in a small world.

This seasons catalogues are in readiness for a coming Spring - it is full of Dahlias, Begonias , Lilies and Gladioli. I am excited. I start to pick my favourites even if my bank account tells me my dreams are not a possibility. One can dream.

In my dreams I pick masses of Dahlias which I have recently become smitten with. The Dahlia Snowflake looks like sweet round pom poms of petals. 

                                                            Dahlia Snowflake


The Glory of Heemstede a lovely waterlily type with almost translucent clear yellow flowers. They sound divine. I remember reading  about them in a book by Christopher Llloyd as he writes about his garden in Dixter in Sussex. It is my new bedtime reading . I lie in bed and imagine not some handsome hero - but a white haired old man take me through his garden and teach me how to plant and grow the most divine flowers. He is a friend .
.

The Dahlia Fire pot looks stunning in the catalogue  salmon orange with yellow  centers that they say glow like a summer's fire. I imagine them growing  in a mass  in my little secret garden. The secret garden is my newest project. I am finding it harder lately to cope with the lack of privacy here - the peering of faces over fences and screaming children. My soul seems to crave the stillness and peace of being hidden and unseen. This is something the man is unable to understand and yet for me it is an almost frantic desperate need .

 So I have found a small area of my garden where I am making a quiet spot. - a tiny strip of land wedged between our house and my neighbours high fence and line of trees. They are seldom there and when the are - it is only the hum of quiet voices through the trees . I have collected mounds of chunky driftwood logs  and made raised beds . Filled with soil and compost from a nearby farm - ( a trailer load of well rotted compost in exchange for a box of beer - barter country style ) - it will become beds with masses of flowers and plants. I go through what I have in the garden - find plants to add to it - divide and split. They will fill up quickly.

I hope to add some Dahlia bulbs that I bought recently with some birthday money from my brother. I picked Dahlia Burlesca , Dahlia Rococo , Dahlia Rembrandt  and Dahlia Fuzzy Wuzzy. These came from Bulbs Direct in New Zealand . I am excited and cant wait for them to be ready to go into some warm soil.  For us it will likely be later in October.

                                                                 Dahlia Rococo

                                                               Dahlia Burlesca                                                                        

                                                             Dahlia Fuzzy Wuzzy

                                                          Dahlia Rembrandt

 I smile as I notice all the bulbs I have picked are shades of pink. I have grown Pinky in my years...a delayed childhood perhaps or maybe the colour of a survivor  like those pink ribbons women wear to say they beat cancer / will beat cancer . For me maybe the Pink is a colour to say I am still me and still here .

I have always wanted a garden - Planted many over the years only to have to uproot and leave them - never seeing the seeds planted grow or bulbs bloom. This garden now seems like my own. For keeps. Or so I hope. It has become a friend - someone to spend the day with and to talk to when I am low and the world does not understand. It is a party to which I am always invited. It is my solace.

Back to my catalogues and the prospect of choosing more friends from the flowers. I get an email to say another catalogue is on its way to me. Happy days.

Some days are just comfort food days. With the end looming for our freezer vegetables from last Summer I decided to get out the trusty old crockpot and make a stew of sorts. In went potatoes from our neighbours garden , carrots, pumpkin , swedes , cabbage and home grown leeks. It had somehow escaped me that one does not put on the crockpot later in the day. So and hour before Greg gets home - nothing is cooking yet. Out the crockpot and onto the coal range. I decided that some nice floury dumplings might be nice and I tried this recipe. they were easy and really yummy. Its a keeper for sure!!  Judging from the response from Greg - he thought so too
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here it is

 http://www.food.com/recipe/fluffy-little-clouds-old-fashioned-dumplings-for-stew-211082

Ingredients 

Servings 4 Yield 8 Dumplings 

• 4 ounces self raising flour
• 2 ounces shredded vegetable suet or 2 ounces grated frozen butter
• cold water, to mix
• salt
• pepper
• garlic granules (optional)
• dried herbs (optional)
• onion salt (optional)
• oregano (optional)
• chili powder (optional)
• chopped fresh herb (optional)

Directions

1. Put the flour, seasonings, & suet in a large mixing bowl, mix thoroughly.
2. (If you are adding herbs or extra seasonings, add them now & mix well.).
3. Add sufficient cold water - bit by bit - to make a pliable dough; it should not be too sticky, but just bound together.
4. Divide the dumpling mixture into 8 portions, and roll into small balls with floured hands.
5. Drop them into your soup, casserole or stew 20 minutes before the end of the cooking time, making sure that the soup, stew or casserole is very hot.
6. Put the lid on IMMEDIATELY and do NOT take the lid off until just before the end of the cooking time, about 15-18 minutes to check that they are nearly ready.
7. They should have doubled in size at least, and be very light & fluffy looking!
8. Ladle the soup, stew or casserole into warmed soup bowls & serve 2 dumplings per person.
9. Oven baked: place the dumplings on top of your stew or casserole and cook for about 30 minutes at 200C or 400F, or until well risen, golden brown & crusty.

What makes a friend.

I sometimes wonder at life and all that comes our way. Often friendships that once seemed so dear and so important to us - fade to nothing - at times not even memories. Sadly I have known friendships that have ended with cruelty and betrayal  and any thought of them are now only tinged with the grief and anger . So what makes a good friend . I have to say some of the most wonderful friendships I have had are not with people but with animals. The love they give is unconditional and there is so little judgement. How is it my dog seems so delighted to see me when I come home after being away for only hours and yet some people make no acknowledgement of you after you have been gone for years...Why is it when you cry and are at a loss for words- a cold nose says more than any human voice has ever attempted. My dog stays with me when I am too unwell to scramble over the rocks at the beach  even though she wants so much to explore. This past week we lost another friend - a dear old dog we both adored . Pip was a lovely soul - tough in her own way and yet full of love and fun. She was clever and used her cuteness to worm her way into hearts - who could not bear to scold her when she was waving a furry paw at you. Grief is so hard alone. The trees are in blossom now as Spring comes with her promises. Winter took away my friend. And with her a piece of my heart.

Lamb Mat on a recycled rice bag

I thought all of you might like to see this little hooked mat I made from a old basmati burlap rice bag..-- I took it apart and drew on the inside a picture of some lambs and hooked away...Here are some pictures in stages..

 The fabric sewn on the edges is just to help it fit my hooking frame better..They will be cut away after the rug is done.

 On its way.. a bit each day...

what shall I make next? I am thinking chickens since I spent a couple of hours at a lovely annual poultry show... hmmm maybe chickens?

Rug Hooking

Awhile back I stumbled upon some beautiful rugs on the internet - lovely primitive ones that were hand made by hooking thin strips of wool through burlap. I was facinated. This was a craft born out the need to make do and keep ones family warm and ward off cold stone floors. Many of the rich folk had beautiful carpets in their homes  but the poorer ones could only resort to sacks and such to keep their floors warm. Then some enterprising and crafty soul discovered that by hooking fabric through burlap - old clothing could be recycled into rugs. They used old sacks and drew out their own patterns and designs with coal from the fireplace- and an art was born..For a hook - an old nail bent and with a handle attached became a hook for hooking these rugs.

Since then a whole world of hooked rugs have been created from the simple to the ones that resemble fine paintings. Rug makers have resorted to dyeing wool to get just the right shade and using special frames and hooks to create their art.Life and loves and home and family became inspiration for the designs on these rugs.. some featured the family pet while others the old home stead or an event in life. These rugs told stories and put memories into form. They became history.

I started making rugs with the help of some online friends from a Yahoo group RugHookers.. I was talked through the art of hooking given advice and told what to do. My next door neighbour happily game me her cast off clothing which I cut into strips with my mat and rotary cutter. I used what I had and drew a simple cat pattern as my first rug. I struggled to find the right tools here in New Zealand and it almost moved me to tears when one day a huge box arrived from the USA with a rug hooking frame, hooks, burlap and enough wool to get me going. The generosity has not stopped with gifts of old magazines, photographs taken at rug fairs and even wool fabric. These were people who loved their craft and dearly wanted to make sure it continue and spread. I even hook with tools from a deceased member of the group who wanted to make sure her tools and hooks went to a new hooker. She would have been surprised to find it made its way to me all the way in New Zealand.

I love the craft and each memory has potential to become a handmade rug.. from the birth of puppies to the  antics of of our pet pig. I need to be frugal as that is what both Greg and I strive for - so I reuse rice bags and horse feed sacks. I hunt old woolen skirts and clothing in charity shops and stalk Greg's closets. I also draw my own patterns..

and each evening I hook just a little more of my rug...I hook  a warm rug for our floors to be enjoyed by cold toes and cold paws. I hook our life and our dreams..I hook our history.

optimism or failure?

This Blogpost has been written by Greg, the other half of Mystic Hills Ngaroma. I make this distinction because last time I randomly wrote a post without informing our followers I caused some confusion as the activity I wrote about didn't seem to fit with the normal activity on this site. How-ever, there are two of us and we have wildly differing interests at times and this blog is about me and my interest.

This is me, just so you know who's talking!

A few weeks ago I went on a long anticipated trip to Stewart Island to hunt for whitetail deer. Stewart Island is a smallish Island about 25km south of the South Island of New Zealand. Its really little more than some rocks and sand dunes in the way of the wind and waves of the Great Southern Ocean. There is a small settlement on the sheltered eastern side of the Island but the whole Island is now a National Park with the exception of small pockets of privately owned land. We of course flew onto a windswept beach on the exposed western side of the Island.
It is, to say the least, an amazing landscape. We landed in strong winds and eight days later we flew out in gale force winds and in between we had about eight hours where the wind died away enough to hear ourselves think. During that eight hours it snowed and then froze leaving a magical shoreline to wander along in the light of the full moon. I took very few photos as the sand and salt spray being blown everywhere was not an environment I wanted to expose my antique camera to. Even my rifle had to be cleaned, the barrel taped over and then loaded inside so as to avoid jamming everything full of sand as happened on the first day.

The morning, the only morning that dawned clear was when I photographed the scene below. I call it 'Optimism' but some would say it is a memorial to failure. True, the farming enterprise that is a remnant of is no more. It succumbed to the harsh environment and bleak isolation and difficult financial times some years ago, but this lonely post and stay spoke volumes to me of the courage, tenacity and hope of those who once braved the immense seas and violent weather of this lattitude to make their dream come true. And I ask,"have they really failed?" for now in it's place is a national park that is the pride and pleasure of so many.
Our national icon the Kiwi roams here in great numbers and are easily seen, whereas on the mainland they are struggling for existence.
It would be easy to think of the failed dreams of those who tried to wrest a living from this land, but it is just as easy to be grateful for those lived and loved and left a legacy for those who followed. I suspect that the descendants who still own a small pocket in the shelter of the dunes think of the current state of this land as a success not a failure.

As our Puppies Grow

I thought our readers may enjoy some updated pictures of our beautiful Bearded Collie puppies. Some have already moved on to wonderful new homes and with families who will love them . Here are pictures of what we affectionally call "Our Minnions of Evil " They are all so different and yet all from one litter!