The Whalers' Cottage

16/11/2025

16/11/2025

14/11/2025

This morning, during my usual quiet walk through the house with my first cup of tea, I spotted the first rabbit of the season grazing in the yard through the French door at the end of the hallway. I stood there for a moment, watching it in the early light—there's something about these slow morning observations that grounds me in where I am and what needs tending to.
While it's not unusual to find rabbits around here, and despite their undeniable cuteness, I'm reminded that living simply on the land means understanding the delicate balance we're part of. Rabbits are considered significant agricultural and ecological pests in New Zealand. They damage pasture lands, threaten our native plants, and can cause serious erosion problems—issues that directly affect those of us trying to live sustainably and in harmony with our environment.
Introduced back in the 19th century, they spread rapidly across the country and quickly became a major problem. They compete directly with livestock for grazing resources and have contributed to the spread of diseases like bovine tuberculosis—not through direct transmission, but through predators such as ferrets that hunt both rabbits and can then spread disease to cattle.

Looking at this seemingly innocent creature nibbling away at the grass, I know what needs to be done. This is one of those harder aspects of slow, intentional living that people don't always talk about—sometimes stewardship means making difficult choices. I'll have to hunt it down before the population gets out of hand. At least there's a silver lining in this cycle of life on the land—that rabbit will make a nourishing stew, nothing wasted, everything honoured.

13/11/2025

Since it was such a fine day, I decided to continue clearing the w**d-covered caged garden bed. I'm still a novice when it comes to planning and timing the planting of different vegetables in colder weather, especially compared to the warmer climate I come from. It seems I'm always getting the timing wrong – planting either too early or too late. There's definitely a learning curve involved, but I'm gradually picking up more helpful tips from the volunteers at the community garden, which has been invaluable.

12/11/2025

Tonight's dinner is steamed monkfish (stargazer) that was marked "quick sale" at the supermarket. In New Zealand, "quick sales" refer to significant discounts on items approaching their "best before" or "use by" dates, have damaged packaging, or are end-of-line products. These markdowns are common practice in supermarkets to reduce food waste and attract budget-conscious shoppers like me.

Living by the beach but always buying fish from the supermarket has felt a bit silly, so I've been trying my hand at fishing from the shore. There's something really special about catching your own dinner—it's not just about the food, but the whole experience of being outside, learning to read the tides, and feeling more connected to where I live.

I think I'm hooked (pun intended)! I'm planning to get more gear and make this a regular thing. There's a deep satisfaction that comes from preparing and eating what Mother Nature provides so freely, a sense of accomplishment and gratitude that you just can't get from a supermarket shelf. Each catch feels like a small victory, a reminder that some of life's best moments come from simple, timeless pleasures.

10/11/2025

The foxgloves are in full bloom across our farm right now, and they're not only absolutely stunning—they're really photogenic too!
I love watching how our sheep instinctively know to avoid them. They graze all around but never touch these beautiful plants. That's because every part of the foxglove is toxic, which is nature's clever way of protecting it from being eaten.
What's fascinating is that this same toxicity has a medicinal side. Foxgloves produce digoxin, a powerful heart medicine that's been used since the 1700s to help strengthen heart contractions and improve blood flow.
The tricky part? There's only a tiny difference between a helpful dose and a dangerous one. That's why, despite centuries of use, doctors today prefer more reliable alternatives with safer dosing.
Nature is amazing—beautiful to look at, dangerous to eat, and sometimes, when handled just right, able to heal. These elegant towers of flowers are a perfect reminder of that delicate balance!

08/11/2025

This evening's meal is beautifully uncomplicated: furikake sprinkled over warm rice with a raw egg stirred in. It's a popular Japanese rice seasoning that embodies the kind of simplicity I'm drawn to in daily life. The blend typically includes nori (dried seaw**d), sesame seeds, a touch of sugar, and salt. Many varieties incorporate dried fish—often bonito flakes, dried shrimp, or freeze-dried salmon—adding depth and umami to each bite.

There's something deeply satisfying about a meal like this. It requires minimal preparation, yet delivers genuine nourishment and flavour. While the rice is still steaming in my bowl, I crack open one of the eggs that Farmer Andy gifted me, watching as the heat gently begins to cook it while I stir it through the grains. The furikake follows—just a few shakes of seasoning—and suddenly this simple bowl becomes something nourishing and complete. The egg adds richness and protein, turning humble rice into a meal that truly sustains me.
This is the essence of living simply: finding richness not in complexity or abundance, but in the quality and intention behind small, everyday choices. A gift of fresh eggs from a neighbour, furikake from my pantry, rice from the cooker—these simple elements remind me that I don't need elaborate dishes to feel content. Just honest ingredients, thoughtfully combined, and the quiet generosity of people like Farmer Andy, all coming together in a peaceful moment at the end of the day.

06/11/2025

This morning, I came across a patch of vegetation standing in the middle of the paddock and found myself wondering why the grazing sheep had left it completely untouched. Curious, I walked closer to investigate, and the moment I got near enough, I immediately recognised it as an obnoxious w**d that goes by a string of aliases.
The most common name for Silybum marianum is milk thistle, so called because of the distinctive milky-white sap that oozes from its leaves when broken. But it's the name "blessed milk thistle" that carries the most intriguing story. According to Christian legend, the white veins marbling across its dark green leaves are said to have been created by drops of the Virgin Mary's milk that fell upon plant as she nursed the infant Jesus while fleeing to Egypt. This sacred association gave the plant its "blessed" status and led to other reverential names—Mary thistle and St. Mary's thistle—each one echoing this ancient tale.

The plant has collected quite a collection of names over the years, including the more straightforward "variegated thistle," which simply describes its mottled appearance. Yet standing there in my paddock, surrounded by its spiny defenses and telltale white-veined leaves, it was simply an unwelcome intruder that even the hungriest sheep knew better than to nibble. The blessing, it seemed, belonged entirely to the thistle.