the helicopter pilot and the barrel racer

Willie Cook will marry Liz Hore today in the Cardrona Valley of New Zealand's South Island, sealing the deal on one of the most bad-ass and beautiful couples I know. Here at the Brown household we're sorry to miss the celebration. We'll be thinking of them all day long and know the barrel racer will make the most beautiful bride.

all you need part II

This is Part II of last year's New Years entry, entitled All You Need

I wrote Part I from my bed at 33 Ray Street, in Cromwell, New Zealand, the house my sister and brother-in-law are moving away from for a family adventure in Australia. So after a year of swimming with shrieking eels, singing lullabies to chickens, cruising the Amazon and chasing inspiration from the west coast to Williamsburg, the beat goes on. Here the Beatles and some of this year's photos recall the one ingredient that make mold-shattering years like 2008 so much fun. Happy 2009.

green kiwis: the chook house

Happy Earth Day.

Don't roll your eyes at me, read on, this one's got a music video too.

Nothing says domestic bliss like feeding your own chickens in your pajamas, as Bella demonstrates below. So Sara asked Doug for some chickens for Christmas.

As you'll know if you've been following this blog, Doug's no ordinary dad. If someone's kid wants to go fishing he'll help 'em hook an ancient eel with rabbit for bait
(see http://jaybird55.blogspot.com/2008/01/saturday_07.html), and so on.

So, when Sara said she wanted chickens Doug elected to give them to her in style and went about converting the family carport into a chook-house.



He built the house out of entirely reclaimed materials, mostly from the farm.


Here, progress continues. That old red door is one of my favorites.


So, after a few months of after-dinner construction, the house was ready for its first tenants. Sara, Bella and I hit the road for Roxburgh, home of:

We got our first chickens at McLean's, three saucy redheads from Roxburgh.


Sara just went for it and stuck them on their perch as if she'd been chicken farming her whole life.


On the ride home from MacLean's we asked Bella what she thought we should do to make the chickens feel welcome. Without hesitation, she answered, "sing them 'Twinkle Star.'" So that's what we're doing here. I think it's actually a nice thing to do for any house guest or new roommate--sort of breaks the ice.

Eventually we added four more to the family, as Sara felt having three that all looked alike was pretty boring.

The shot below shows the chook-house in the background in its frontyard context, just to give you an idea. This photo was actually taken for http://www.blogger.com/www.scoopitupgirl.com, which Moose is using to try to compete with me for the distinction of having the slowest-updating blog.

Today the New York Times ran a story about the gross carbon footprint of food imported from far away. The cover girl for the article was none other than the kiwi, which is enjoying a longer selling season now that the Italians have poached New Zealand's national fruit. http://www.nytimes.com/2008/04/26/business/worldbusiness/26food.html?_r=1&hp&oref=slogin

So Sara and Doug, my favorite kiwi-fruits, are totally spot-on as usual. Bella's not only collecting five eggs a day from "the girls," she's also bringing all the kitchen scraps out for them to eat. Neighboring kids like Harry (above) are totally into it too.


They're not doing it for the bragging rights (which are extensive), or even because Michael Pollan told them to: http://www.nytimes.com/2008/04/20/magazine/20wwln-lede-t.html?scp=2&sq=michael+pollan&st=nyt
It's just a labor of love and fun. What's more environmentally-friendly fun than hunting around for old hinges and singing lullabies to poultry? If you find something, especially something that I can do now that I'm back in Brooklyn, let me know.

cromifornia

Welcome to Cromwell, the stone fruit capital of the southern hemisphere!

Peach cobbler, peach crumble, peach ice cream, peach scones, peach muffins, peach smashes, even peaches with pancetta and pasta! (You can find this recipe in the food section of my new website: www.jenniavins.com) Shameless plug, I know, but it's not like I'm making money on it. It's just a weird and lovely recipe for your personal enjoyment.

Cromwell, where the Brown family (my sister and co.) and I reside is located as far inland as one can be on New Zealand's South Island. So about twenty years ago the enterprising townspeople (who originally came here for prospecting for gold) decided to go ahead and make themselves a lake, right in front of the old town. Skinner calls it Cromifornia, due to the booming development that has ensued since.

Here it is as seen from my mate Willy Cook's helicopter, which he took me for a ride in the other day. It's not only an awesome way to travel, but also handy for sheep-herding, which we did a bit of before sneakily setting her down in town for a coffee then walking away like,
"Whose chopper is that?"

Here they just call them "machines," which sounds even more bad-ass than calling them choppers.

Here's Bella with some ice cream in a coffee cup (melting popsicle crisis averted) in front of the Grain & Seed Cafe, which some of you may remember Sara owning, before there was a Bella.

That particular afternoon, Bella had her popsicle-in-a-cup and then we sat on the edge of the lake and threw stones in it, much like in the days of the gold prospectors, except they would have just thrown stones into the dust as there was no lake then.

Until recently (as southern summer is coming to an end) there was a farmer's market every Sunday in old town. At the market one could buy delicacies like local cherries, thyme honey, mini courgettes (kiwi for zucchini), bootleg hooch, lamb and mint sausages, freshly-caught blue cod, heaps of peaches, and freshly baked apricot rosemary focaccia. It's a wonder that one (though only one) of the pairs of jeans I brought still fit.

There's also music at the farmer's market, compliments of vineyard workers from Vanuatu.


The money sent home from New Zealand's vineyards (small by wine industry standards) is actually Vanuatu's largest source of income. Sara really likes to tell people that at home they have to take a plane to get to the supermarket, which is probably true. It's one of her favorite facts.

Anything you can't find at the farmer's market in Old Town is probably available at New World, incidentally, in the new part of town. Doug calls it Third World, but believe me, New Yorkers would drool just at the size of the aisles. And it's so CLEAN! The novelty of the foreign grocery store just never wears off. Sara won eighty bucks from her first lottery ticket of 2008 there the other day. This photo is really for the benefit of the New York peops, I know no one in the suburbs really cares about the grocery store.

Sigh...the point is, that it's gotten to be home over the last three months.
I go swimming in the lake, shopping at the store and ride my sweet bike around ringing my bell at birds, unwittingly trailing yarn from the knitting sitting in my basket. That's no metaphor, it actually happened the other morning, witnessed by a small mob of school-kids as well and our friend Clare before I realized I left half my charcoal grey worsted wool unraveling down the block behind me. I turned around and picked it up, but maybe I was meant to leave it so I can find my way back to these babes.

Bella is totally faking it here, by the way.