You might readily recognize New Zealand by its stunning coastlines and rugged mountain ranges and other dazzling geological wonders. But I believe it’s the in between spaces—the rolling green hills dotted with grass-grazing livestock—that are the true heart of this country. It’s no secret where its infamous merino wool, natural meats, and unique floral honeys are sourced from. The agricultural tradition runs deep here and it seems that everyone is in some way connected to cultivating the land.
When I accepted an invitation to join Meg for Christmas in Taihape, a rural town in the central North Island, I knew little of the slice of paradise that was in store. Although I hadn’t spent much time on a working farm before, the lifestyle resonated from the get-go.
Being part of the sheep shearing action was remarkable. It takes real grit and skill to move these beautiful creatures through each stage.
I managed to sneak up on these sweet fleecy friends before they shyly bounded away!
Welcomed with warmth from a kitchen that emits marvelous aromas from dawn ‘til dusk, I was greeted by Kiwi, the farmhouse mama. Ever ensuring we were royally fed, each meal she conjured a spread of the most local meat I’ve ever enjoyed, potatoes and veggies picked fresh from the garden, bread baked daily from a sourdough starter that has been going strong since the ‘80s, all topped with preserves from last season’s harvest and slathered in homemade sauces whipped with eggs and yogurt from the backyard.
Les, the legendary farmer who oversees 1,000 acres and all the sheep and cattle that inhabit them, would return from a full day in the paddock, pile his plate high, and tell a story or two from his adventures with the animals. His thick, grizzly hands captivated me, moving with such delicate precision as he mustered the sheep and commanded Ra the sheepdog to round them up in the shed for shearing. Ever patient, he explained the design and function of each part of the process. He chooses to do things the old-fashioned way, not because he resists modernity, but because it’s tried and true and he knows it’s best—no shortcuts or mishaps.
Long summer days kept us busy with the never-ending farm chores and nearby places to explore. A run ‘round the mountain (Ruapehu is just an hour drive up the road), a dip in the river, a ride over the hillside—exerting just enough effort to keep us coming back to the kitchen table, ready to feast again.
Cowgirl Meg returning from a ride.
Hot afternoons are best spent cooling off with a plunge in the river.
I love the simplicity of life on the farm, attending to the day’s demands but otherwise unfussed. The real charm is that the company was well-practiced at being present. No reception meant there were minimal distractions and down time was filled with a pleasant combination of conversation and quiet. Entertainment came easily with a young tot in the mix who squealed with delight at the sight of the chickens, dogs, horses, and cat. Savoring each sacred moment in time without feeling the need to document and share it all (I broke this unspoken rule on a number of occasions as the token tourist among us). It allows for the kind of authenticity that doesn’t beat around the bush but is shamelessly real, without pretense.
Yet these salt-of-the-earth people who took me in as their own over the holidays are anything but insular. Keenly attuned to current events, Meg’s family had lots to teach me about near and faraway corners of the globe.
The farm embodies hearth in its gentle way of restoring the soul, grounding me in the soil beneath my soles with gratitude for all that it provides. Slowing me down so that I can hear the birdsong and take notice of the garden as it’s growing. It’s an idyllic way of being and it’s tough work, too, reminding me that good things take time, nurturing, and a whole lot of sweat. Their “come one, come all” hospitality manifested the tender comfort and genuine kindness that define home in its truest sense.
- Emily
