Graeme Kettle's integrated orchard and vegetable gardens at Oromahoe were enlightening. Rows of fruit trees were interspersed with a variety of summer vegetable crops. The whole area was mulched heavily. Squash and other vine-growing vegetables wound in and out between the trees.
Graeme has been experimenting with permaculture, biodynamics and hua parakore (Māori organics) for over 15 years. The success of which was evident.
Simon and Nadege's property in Waimate North was more ramshackle (in a good way). Every effort was made to use recycled materials for gardens and buildings. An irrigation stream flowed close to the main gardens, helping give this undulating property a Hobbiton feel.
Cultivated gardens and orchard trees blended into wildflower glades and areas of native plants.
In contrast, the properties in Whangārei were impressive because of how small they were. On the tiny townhouse sections, there was no lawn anywhere. The outside areas were entirely devoted to gardens and fruit trees, often planted close to fencelines.
Walking around on narrow concrete paths or paving, you kept marvelling at the variety and number of food-producing plants crammed into such small spaces. The Jones Cottage Garden in Kensington was the definition of a food forest.
One takeaway from the trail is that animals are important. Chickens were present in the majority of the properties. They're consumers of garden waste and vegetable scraps, hunters of insect pests, a source of treasured manure, and finally supplying edible protein.
And every effort was made to encourage beneficial insects into gardens through flowers and a no sprays approach.
Tips I'll be putting into practice, include making trellises for beans and tomatoes much higher than I have been. Getting hold of some bamboo, used on a couple of properties, looks like the way to go.
And I need to mulch more. The problem is getting hold of it. A mature garden can generate a usable amount, but even then, there's always more you could be piling onto gardens to suppress weeds and encourage good soil.
As Jonathan from Apocalypse Gardens near Hikurangi said when I commented on all the mulch: "It's like a giant worm farm."
He was getting some of his from a friendly plant nursery owner in exchange for eggs.
Walking around the edible gardens, and what I know from my experience, many time-hours were evident. Plus, there's the monetary cost, particularly in the early period when you're establishing your garden.
It can be a while before you break even. If you measured the work and expense in monetary terms, then you'd probably be better off doing a few shifts at KFC.
But to save money, or make money, isn't the only reason edible food gardeners do it. It's the quality of the work, the satisfaction of growing your own food, working with nature (even when that's frustrating), and the positive contribution to the environment.
And then, as many mentioned in their online descriptors, there's the pleasure of gifting your harvest to others. That feeling is priceless.
In The Dawn of Everything (2021), David Graeber and David Wengrow tell a fascinating story of early human history. Recent archaeological evidence suggests that people had a playful and experimental attitude to growing food when most of what they ate still came from hunting and gathering. Early domestication of plants in the Middle East may have been for cultural and religious reasons first, rather than out of necessity.
The first gardeners, most probably women, were playful manipulators of the natural world. Taking great delight from their successes, no doubt.
Today's edible food gardeners are harnessing a similar playful spirit. We're trying things out, learning from our failures, and expressing ourselves in the plants we choose to grow and where and how we grow them.
The play that edible garden pioneers are doing today is laying the foundations for a new localised food-growing culture.
