Enough is enough with wet summer

OPINION: Reader, this is a tale of despair, thwarted plans and abandoned hope, a lament that could equal War and Peace unless I get a grip, writes Patricia Soper in this week's And Another Thing.

It is a discourse about our summer weather or, more specifically, the lack of it. And before anyone says "but we're still better off than the northern hemisphere", I warn you that I am quite capable of inflicting bodily injuries on all the Pollyannas of this world. I categorically refuse to look on the bright side. Enough, in this instance, is more than enough.

From my kitchen window, streaming with condensation because I'm bottling beetroot, the garden is a testament to days of rain. Or is it weeks? It certainly seems like weeks, but the stressed mind can plays tricks. The only positive thing I can say is that my environs are green. Vines have grown metres; in fact, I could swear that I can actually see them inching along their support wires. Roses are also making determined bids for world records. One in particular has needed a metal pergola thingy placed over its abnormal height to stop it flopping everywhere. Good grief, it's meant to be a bush rose and it's nearly up to the roof; soon I'll be needing a machete before I venture outdoors.

The vegetables are loving the rain but that, too, is a double-edged sword. Processing broccoli and beans and existing in clouds of beetrooty steam is not much chop, and I have just been informed that the sugar snap peas are coming on apace. What he really means is, "have you got enough plastic bags on hand and are you happy to stand for hours slicing and blanching?"

A four-day stint in Christchurch proved cool and windy but relatively dry. En route I noticed that every tinpot creek was burbling out of its stony bed; even braided rivers were fast becoming solo in their flow. Central Otago, while not exactly lush, was certainly greener than usual. What does it all mean? While the battle over global warming rages between the prophets and the sceptics, Britain has run out of salt and grit for its roads and old folks are dying from cold in their homes.

It's all rather dispiriting. I don't know how others are passing the time. Personally, I feel marooned. For those who are interested, I'm reading a biography about Arthur Conan Doyle. It's a weighty tome but, thanks to my incarceration, I'm galloping through it at an unseemly rate.

Looking on the bright side (there must be one somewhere) I am regarding this summer as training for winter. Then, at least, I'll know what to wear.

» Athol-based Patricia Soper is a food and feature writer, columnist and retired public speaker.

- © Fairfax NZ News

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Dave   #1   11:49 am Jan 14 2010

Home sweet Home. Remember; Summer only starts on Febuary the 1st and finishes on feb the 25th.

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