IWD Autumn Haiku

Like fruit, you say I 

bruise too easily, but you 

make me fall so hard.

To every thing there is a season

Mr Wigg by Inga Simpson

(Hachette) Pp. 292

Mr Wigg is a widow who potters about his orchard, preserving fruit, listening to cricket, mourning his wife, telling stories to and cooking with his grandchildren, and watching as his new neighbours plant vines on the old farm land. The tagline is, “A novel that celebrates the small things in life”, and there is a gentle feel to the prose as it follows the seasons with planting, pruning, harvesting and preserving. This is deceptive, however, as there are spectres looming at the edges of progress and destruction; Vietnam and family rifts; ageing and loss.

Mr Wigg sees his fruit trees as personalities and imagines that they talk to each other with personalities and petty jealousies. The orchard encapsulates all his memories and aspirations. Inga Simpson writes of the different fruit like a poetic greengrocer, but always in Mr Wigg’s words, conjuring them and their stories from the air and the soil. Who knew that the provenance of these common fruits would be interesting? It is, because Mr Wigg remains in awe of the fruits he grows, engaging the reader with his ruminating non-didactic style.

Fruit isn’t always sweet, and neither, for all its bucolic images of collecting eggs, pruning fruit trees and chopping wood, is farming. Mr Wigg’s son frequently visits him to remind him of the things he can no longer do with his Parkinson’s and forgetfulness. Mr Wigg used to help the blacksmith and now has his tools; making things in his shed with the honest labour of the land. He invents a fruit-drying machine, but when he attempts to build one from his sketches, he has an accident with the bench saw. He fights against modernisation because he enjoys the old ways; why should he use time-saving devices when he doesn’t know what to do with his extra time?

His attitudes are also archaic, and it is his inherent sexism which caused a family schism. It never occurred to him to interest his daughter in the running of the farm; always assuming his son would take over. When he gives the farm to his son and nothing to his daughter, she is understandably upset, and lawyers become involved.

His late wife dominates his thoughts, as one would expect. Their relationship was full of love but not without irritation. He captures the momentous (such as family conflict and illness) along with the mundane: “His wife had buttoned his shirt cuffs for him even before the Parkinson’s came on. His dress shirts, in particular, had such tiny buttonholes.” He initially struggles with the pointlessness of existence without her, but he comes to realise that, “Life had a way of going on whether you were interested or not, and then you found yourself taking pleasure in a few small things, and a few more.”

Future generations provide continuity, and his happiest moments are with his grandchildren, cooking and telling stories. “Not everything that is new is better”; but not everything that is new is bad, either.

Friday Five: Feathered Fruit Felons

Nearly all the fruit from our garden has been devoured by the birds. I don't really mind as we have more than enough for our own use (I managed to save sufficient peaches for the wheat beer), and I like being visited by our feathered friends.

5 Birds that eat our fruit:

1. Cockatoos eat the pine cones
2. Rainbow lorikeets eat the plums
3. Eastern rosellas eat the peaches
4. King parrots eat the apples
5. Wattlebirds eat the grapes

Friday Five: How Do You LIke Them Apples?

Let's hear it for apples - yes, that's right: a round of applause (ha!) for the versatile fruit. Admittedly it isn't the best name for a child (Gwyneth always seemed a little bonkers, bless her), but it is the fruit of legend - from the tree of knowledge in the garden of Eden to being the foodstuff of choice to shoot off one's chid's head with an arrow.

Never mind the computing associations, apples are meant to be given to teachers (bribes) and keep doctors at bay (blackmail?). They are bobbed at Halloween and the peel is tossed over the shoulder to form the initial of one's future spouse. As the big one is New York, I used to think that LA stood for Little Apple on the opposite American coast. My Dad once brought me back a cuddly racoon toy from a trip to California that I named thus.

Apples can be made into fabulous cider and scrumpy - we have all had 'experiences' with this stuff, that you don't realise is quite so strong until you try to stand up or walk in fresh air. When I used to go orienteering in the Adirondacks and the Appalachians in NY, there was often a stall with hot spicy apple juice at the finish - it almost made it worth it. When I recounted this to a friend, she used to make it and add a tot of rum - that definitely made it worth it!

Anyone who is lucky enough to have an apple tree in the garden knows what a delight it is to pluck the fresh fruit from the branch and bite straight into the flesh. Orchards are special places and The Cider House Rules is one of my favourite books. And there are other ways to eat apples to make them the true fruit of the gods.

Chaussons aux pommes

5 Great Ways to Eat Apples:

1. Chausson aux pommes - when I lived in France, the man of the house would go to the boulangerie every Saturday and return with paper bags full of Parisian pastries - among the croissants aux armandes, pains au chocolat, pains aux raisins and mille-feuilles (all of which were divine), the chaussons aux pommes were my absolute favourite. The very thought of them still makes me drool. And no, they don't taste the same if you call them apple turnovers.
2. Waldorf salad - apples, walnuts, celery (add grapes if you must) in a mayonnaise dressing served on a bed of lettuce - sheer crunchy goodness.
3. Soups - from curried celery to blue cheese or butternut pumpkin, the addition of apple helps enhance the flavour in these delicious autumn/winter warmers.
4. Cubed or sliced and dipped in cheese fondue - a charming and tasty social meal.
5. Apple crumble - always a favourite dessert.

Cheese fondue with apples

Friday Five: Gonna Eat a Lot of Peaches

There is a peach tree in our back graden and we have a glut of peaches at present. They are only ripe for a very short space of time before they fall from the tree, become rotten or get scoffed by the rosellas. Now, I really like peaches, but there are only so many I can eat au naturel in one sitting (about three) or even for breakfast with a handful of blueberries and a dollop of natural yoghurt.

I looked into bottling them but, although all reports say it's easy, it's also pretty time-consuming and you need the correct equipment. Him Outdoors is going to brew a peach weissbier this weekend, which uses a considerable amount of fruit. In the meantime, we've been eating a lot of peaches, in various different ways.

5 Ways with Peaches:

1. Peach and prosciutto bruschetta with basil oil
2. Upside-down peach tart
3. Lamb cutlets with glazed peaches
4. Peach polenta cake
5. Peach and coconut crumble

Friday Five: Summer

Apparently it's official: summer is here. It starts on the 1st of December, so I am told. So it seemed appropriate to do this:

5 Best Things About Summer:

1. Long evenings - it doesn't matter what you do with them (go for a bike ride; take the dog for a walk; meet friends in a beer garden; sit on the patio with a good book) - it's just nice not to come home from work and straight-away have to light the fire, close the curtains and turn the lights on. It feels like a time for leisure
2. Summer fruit - strawberries; raspberries; cherries; peaches; apricots; nectarines; plums - even better when you live in Central Otago!
3. Summer sport - although I now live in New Zealand, summer sport to me is always the sound of Wimbledon tennis on the tele (of course, it's shown in the middle of winter here) and test cricket. Every two years we alternate between the Olympic Games and the World Cup, so we get festivals of sporting passion - love it
4. Parliamentary Recess - at least a month without having to listen to pontificating politicians pretend to give celebrity soundbites - 'news' stories about kittens stuck up trees and the world's largest knitted rabbit are a small price to pay
5. Outdoor swimming - rivers; lakes; sea - it's so much better than swimming in a pool

Big Things

Our Gracious Hostess asked me for an explanation of the picture I posted a couple of weeks ago and I like to look after my readers, so I thought I would post about this peculiar phenomenon.

Believe it or not, this is a sculpture that is meant to depict a group of fruit in honour of Central Otago's reputation as the fruit bowl of the South Island. It is situated as you enter Cromwell, and was recently re-painted so the thing on the right of the picture would look more like a nectarine and less like a giant bum on a stick.

They like this sort of thing in New Zealand. When they want to draw attention to the 'main feature' of a town, they build a giant sculpture of it and stick it somewhere prominent. They are usually made of fibre glass but sometimes concrete, corrugated iron or other materials are used. Hence there are kiwi-fruit, carrots, paua shells, Wellington boots and, of course, sheep dotted around the countryside.

Once I was arranging to meet a friend in Gore and she suggested we meet at the old brown trout. Naturally, being English, I asked if this was a pub. 'No,' she replied laconically, 'It's an old brown trout.' It was, and still is I believe.

They also like these these maxi-ture sculptures in Australia. With their typical antipodean descriptive flair, they call them 'Big Things'. There are over 150 of them and some people take road trips to take photos in front of them and tick them all off their list. Yep, those Aussie larrikins... Among the Big Things are a variety of fruit and vegetables (mushrooms; avocados; bananas; pineapples; potatoes - you can bet that looks attractive), insects (mosquitoes; ants), household implements (taps; rolling pins; spanners) and - naturally - the odd bottle of rum or tinny.

So, that's the what, but as to the wherefore, your guess is as good as mine!

My newest favourite thing: cherries

Cherries are the heralds of summer. They are the rubies in the centre of the golden stone fruit bowl.

When children, and some adults, swing the ripe red pendulums from their ears and pretend to be wearing sumptuous earrings, you know the season has arrived.

Obviously, when they arrive depends on where you live. Here they arrive just in time for Christmas, but in the Northern Hemisphere I associate them with my sister’s birthday. The Weevil was born in July and we were often abroad in European orienteering countries for the event.

I have a childhood memory (of course, they are notoriously unreliable) of the Weevil skipping joyously along carrying a Black Forest gateaux (I suspect we may even have been in the Black Forest itself) and tripping; sending cream, cherries and chocolate shavings in all directions. The tears had nothing to do with the skimmed knees.

A stall in Arrowtown tempts you with luscious delights; the sellers have come from That Dam Fruit Stall in Cromwell. You can try varieties and pick a favourite punnet, if you are decisive.

Otherwise you struggle with your choice; red, white, pink or purple? Sweet or tart; ‘subacid’ or ‘bland’ – those last descriptions are not mine but come from the Horticultural Society. They probably provided the more prosaic number and letter naming system, while someone with a little more imagination came up with ‘Liberty Bell’, ‘Stardust’, ‘Columbia’ and ‘Staccato’.

Not only do they taste delicious, but apparently they are good for you. Cherries contain high quantities of the antioxidant anthocyanin, (also found in grapes and berries) so you can claim you are being healthy as you puff out your cheeks with the pips.

We would count them as children to see who we were going to marry; tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor, rich-man, poor-man, beggar-man, thief. There was never any mention of electrical engineers so I can only assume their powers of prediction are equally as good as any other form of divination.

If you’re not counting the pips, you can always spit them out. My mother will be pleased to know that I haven’t entered (or even witnessed) the cherry pip spitting championships, but there is a hotly contested regional round of the competition in Cromwell at the start of the season. They make their own entertainment in this area, you know.

And when the cherries have all gone, it's not too long to wait for the blushing blossoms to appear. Symbolising the ephemeral nature of life, they are bashed and buffeted by the winds but some survive.

They are revered in Japan and in 1912 the Japanese gave a gift of some 3000 trees to America to symbolise their blossoming friendship between nations. Is it even more symbolic that these ornamental trees bear no fruit? Whatever, they look simply beautiful.