Ngatha (food) for my soul

For the last 8 years I’ve had the rare and special privilege of visiting a remote community in northeast Arnhem Land called Mapuru, and getting to know the community there. As my body readjusts from daily tops of 34° to the central Victorian winter frosts again, I take a moment to reflect on my limited understanding of the relationship to food and place that I have experienced in the community there.

When we talk about ‘local food’ in the cities and hipster circles, it’s like it’s a new concept, something funky and edgy and somehow morally righteous. But we are seriously behind the times! If we want to learn about truly local and sustainable food in this country, then we need to learn from the indigenous people of our country who hold 60,000 years of existing experience, research, management and knowledge of local food.

The majority of the food we grow in Australia today is food of another land and climate. We’ve adapted them to grow here and suit the exotic tastes of our ancestors’ original homelands, but there is a huge diversity of food plants that already grow here and are native to Australian soils and climates that have been cultivated and eaten for thousands of years.

I can’t speak for my ancestors’ relationship to plants, growing and food because I am so many generations removed from them and that land, but my sense is that in modern times our relationship to food and the growing of it has become fairly superficial. Its about mass production and selling, about nutritional values and calorie counts, markets, transport and storage….

Over the years as I’ve been tip-toeing through the mangroves, sitting by the estuaries and walking through the forests around Mapuru, my adopted mothers, aunties, sisters, children and cousins up there have shown me and patiently tried to teach me another way of relating to each other and to Country. For them there is no separation between distinctions of plants, animals, places and people. Everything is connected in a vast and intricate web of kinship and relationship. An example of this is walking through the pandanus forest with my sister, axe in hand, bare feet stepping quietly and gently over the dried spiky leaves on the ground and her telling me gently how I am related to that place: “This place, you call it waku (son/daughter); that gunga (pandanus tree), you call it mari (grandmother); that green ant, you call it dhuway (husband); and that dog, he’s your ngapipi (uncle).”

After 8 years of getting to know my generous, patient and good humoured adopted family in Mapuru, the kinship system is something I am only just scratching the surface of understanding. It is so vast, all-encompassing and deep that we really have nothing to compare it to or understand it by in our Balanda (western) brains. But what I do understand is that it immediately connects every person to every other person and every other creature and thing on the planet. That connection is one of kinship and with each particular kinship relationship comes certain responsibilities and ways of caring for that family member. This includes the food that is eaten and the way it is cared for, cultivated and shared. It has ensured that over 60,000 years the land has been intricately cared for as a mother, sister, aunty, brother, grandfather, and uncle and in turn it has provided food and shelter to countless generations.

If I started calling carrots my grandmother and cabbages my child, most people around here would think that I was a sandwich short of a picnic, but I think there is some fundamental wisdom here for us to learn from. If we could even begin to just treat one thing—the soil—with the nurture we would give our own child….imagine.

Sas

Gung Hoe Growers
69 Danns Rd Harcourt

Springy Excitement

While we continue to look for the right person to join our organic farming alliance and lease the orchard from us, we’ve committed to keep the orchard going strongly as usual. We’re suddenly in the thick of spring, and it’s as fun and exciting as ever!

Beautiful Anzac peach flowers in spring
Beautiful Anzac peach flowers mark the start of spring

We spend most of our time being serious business people, but to be honest at the moment we’re feeling like little kids, wanting to jump up and down and wave our hands around and shout ‘Over here, come on, come and join us, this is fuuuun!’ (but we don’t want to look un-cool).

Hugh wearing his spray suit for putting out organic fungicides
Hugh and Oscar looking very excited about spring

We’re a little surprised that there’s been so much caution about taking on our orchard, but I guess until you’ve experienced the actual process of watching trees that you’ve nurtured produce money for you, it’s kind of easy to be nervous about the challenge of taking on something big and new, rather than excited about the joys of being involved in such an incredible process. Of course there are risks, and many low points when things go wrong and you feel responsible, but every year we feel like its an absolute privilege to caretake the trees as they do their thing.

Almonds coming into full bloom

Spring is such an active and changing time of year, the trees literally look different from day to day, almost hour to hour. We’re feeling very aware that whoever will be taking over the orchard from us is missing this beautiful and interesting time in the orchard-this is like the ‘engine room’ of the whole season, when we’re on high alert monitoring the weather and the trees so we can be as responsive as possible with our organic fungicides.  Getting them on at the right times is crucial, especially in wet weather like we’ve had the last couple of weeks, and can make a huge difference to the outcome of the season. It’s a time when we could be teaching our new orchardist(s) a lot!

Bee working hard in an Anzac peach flower
Bee working hard in an Anzac peach flower

The Anzac peaches are out in beautiful flower, and lots of the other peach and nectarine varieties are rapidly approaching budswell.

The first of the blood plums are about to flower (the first few flowers are just appearing), some almond varieties are in full flower, and the first variety of apricots burst into flower yesterday, virtually as we were watching them out the kitchen window. Every couple of hours a bit more of the deep crimson of the swollen buds burst into patches of pink along the row as the flowers opened. I know, it’s just nature and it happens every year, but we never get sick of watching it, it’s such a miracle to see little dry-looking buds turn into flowers, and then into fruit. This job never gets old!

Meanwhile other parts of the orchard are still in deep winter! We’ve only just finished planting trees (a winter job), we’ve just finished cutting last year’s grafts back to the bud (a winter job), and we’re still finishing the winter pruning, which we try to do while the trees are still dormant because it’s the the best way to get a nice strong growth response from the trees.

So we’re straddling two seasons, having fun, and waking up excitedly each morning to see what looks different!

Viva la spring!

Solitude and a reset…

Well its been an interesting fortnight, that’s for sure! How is everyone out there? The season has definitely started to turn—I see fat buds waiting for their chance to burst and the golden blush of the first wattles across the land. I (Mel) have been away in NSW, in a little bush shack. I had the company of two dogs—Scallywag and a kelpie named Pickle—an arrangement of chooks, bellbirds, bower birds, whip birds, wombats, poetry, the beach and a hearty fireplace. Oh! and my new favourite tipple—Maidenii Vermouth.

This year has still had its ripples from the years that came before it and I knew I needed Mel solo time. I was surrounded by green and lush and life, as well as slow, quiet, and a chance to really rest and give myself some time  (I’m aware this opportunity is a big privilege and precious and view it as such). I also had moments of exploration to nearby towns for op-shops and coffee and record hunting, discovering old friends and new. I sat with solitude and ate it up, and have taken away learnings, not the least being how important it is to care for yourself and even one step further—give yourself love (might sound hippy-dippy, but it’s straight down the line true!).

This poem penned by Judith Wright (Aussie lady yiew!) was the stand out to me of how the seasons around us change, but also how the seasons in ourselves change in their own, right, and beautiful time. As with nature, it is within us…I hope you can take a moment and read the words of The Cedars.

On the way back to Victoria I had an unfortunate meeting with a corner, wet roads, and some trees. It wasn’t a good experience and we’re (Scally and me) totally lucky we’re all ok. The towtruck guy amongst others said I “shoulda bought a lottery ticket” that day… So arriving home shaken and sore, we hit the ground running with the Harcourt Alliance vision day (not as flouncy as it sounds i promise you. We worked hard!) and it was bloody amazing and reassuring how each individual around that table was thinking along the same lines as their neighbour and as it continued the whole way round. An alliance of farmers and primary producers standing tall and strong. It was awesome.

And so I’m left here, at the end of another week (but what does Friday mean really….not much for those of our ilk) with a feeling of almost a reset. It’s weird, and I’m not holding my breath, but coming back and working in the dirt, surrounded by the possibility and people involved both here in Harcourt, but all over Australia, I have a renewed sense of gratitude that growing food is what I get to do. It’s bloody hard work, and we’re not there yet (who is though!) but for now, this is absolutely the best.

May your buds burst at just the right time (even if it doesn’t seem like it to you—trust them, they know better than us).

Mel x

Gung Hoe Growers
69 Danns Rd Harcourt