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Since returning from our holiday overseas, we’ve been aching to dive back into some classic outdoor Kiwi adventures!  Monique’s aunt and uncle are vacationing in Australia for the next three weeks, so they have left a vehicle with us during their absence.  Monique had the day off (as did Rus), so our original plan involved taking a day trip to one of the many ski fields.  When it became apparent that most ski fields require snow chains to climb the unpaved, untreated (and, hence, treacherous) access roads to their lodges, we decided to have a day hike instead.  Ultimately, we chose to go to popular Arthur’s Pass (about two hours northwest).  None of us knew exactly which track we would hike, so we donned our layers and boots to prepare for whatever we decided once we got to the visitor’s centre there.

It was forecast to rain in Christchurch, but by the time we left mid-morning, the sun was streaming through the clouds.  We drove towards the towering snow-covered Alps, surrounded by lush, green pasture.  Since Spring is right around the corner, the sheep are lambing, and we saw hundreds of adorable little baby lambs bouncing around in the grass.

Soon, we were weaving up into and then between the giant mountains.  What a sight!  Some had snow, some did not, but all were stunning.  Over rivers and one-lane bridges, we made our way to Arthur’s Pass.  Besides the roads and the occasional utility line, and despite the popularity of the route (which goes straight through to the other side of the country), it was hard to discern humans had ever been there.

Nearly two hours later, we arrived in the tiny village of Arthur’s Pass, which basically consisted of a couple of cafes, a visitor’s centre, a shop or two, a train station, and a handful of backpackers’ hotels.  As we pulled into the visitor’s centre for a trail map, we saw several Kea - a giant forest parrot only found in the alpine and forest areas of New Zealand.   We wanted a closer look and started toward one, but we need not have bothered; it flew over to us and landed on the roof of a car parked next to us!  There, it strutted and showed off, even trying to peck its way into the car!  Kea are notoriously smart birds, apparently not fearful of humans, and it was cool to see one so close up!

After we got bored with the Kea (or, rather, it got bored with us!), we went inside to seek out a trail guide.  Once we determined where we were going to go (Devil’s Punch Bowl Falls), we proceeded to a cafe to grab lunch before setting off.

The walk to Devil’s Punch Bowl Falls is short (less than an hour); we could see the falls from the road.  It is a bridal veil-type falls, a tall, thin stream of water that mists before reaching the bottom.  We walked through a damp, jungle-like forest - full of lichen, mosses, ferns, and moulds - toward the base of the falls.  Once we made it there, we took some pictures and watched the water trip and fall over the rocks.  Rus and I teetered into the river on some rocks and tasted the pure mountain water (for inquiring minds: it tasted clean with a slight “rock” aftertaste).  I tried holding my hand under the rushing water and could only manage a few seconds because it was so cold!

After we had our fill of the scenery there, it was time to make our next move.  We walked back the way we came and went back to the car.  We chose another trail a few kilometres up the road.  This one, called “Bealey Valley River Track”.  The signs said it would take four hours, which was about as much daylight as we had left, so we went for it.

I found the first part of this walk very interesting.  Again, the forests seemed almost tropical, as they were positively dripping and covered with all sorts of moisture-loving organisms.  What struck me as odd, however, was the fact that such an ecosystem could exist in such a cold climate (the temperature that day was about 7C/45F).  The difficulty level of this walk was harder than the first, with many steep “steps” and tricky climbs down.  Eventually, we made it to a river, flowing rapidly from the snow-melt.   We were in a giant ravine carved by the river, with the mountainsides tall and commanding above us.  There was an “Avalanche” warning sign, and we could see distinctly where previous avalanches had stripped the areas of trees and rocks.  In spots, the snow actually covered the rushing river.

Negotiating giant boulders and crunching through knee-deep snow, we made our way to another bridal-veil falls in the distance.  Clearly, no one was here before us as we would have seen tracks.  We had long since passed our last trail marker; however, we were only about 60 minutes into a supposed four-hour walk.  Or so we thought.  A light mist started to fall, and Monique - who was not wearing waterproof tramping boots - was falling behind.   We had been walking in frigid mountain water for the last hour; her feet were surely cold.  I was beginning to tire as the walk was borderline-treacherous.    Was there water rushing beneath the snow?  Would the rocks shift under our weight?  Could the melting snow give way in the higher altitudes and put us in danger?  It was beautiful up there, and I could not get enough of the fresh air.  Monique and I both agreed that we could easily sit and simply watch the rushing water for hours.  All of that aside, however, daylight (and our energy) would start fading soon, and it was best to turn around.  We abandoned our journey to the second water fall and made our way back.  As we we were descending, the sun shone through a cloud onto the mist and treated us with a colorful rainbow!

Once back at the car, we removed our gear and prepared to head back to Christchurch.  On our way through, we decided to drive up the access road to Mt. Cheeseman (our previously-selected ski field), to see just “how serious” they were about snow chains.  The road was one-lane, winding for kilometres, with no guard rails.  It was wet and muddy, and I was happy that we had a four-wheel drive vehicle.  We continued to climb until we saw snow and Monique felt uncomfortable proceeding any further; I supposed we needed snow chains after all!  We took some amazing pictures, turned around, and drove back down to the highway to go home.

Later that night, Rus discovered that the last sign we saw on the trail was actually the end of the trail; we had completed it in about half of the estimated time and were tramping up the river in unmarked territory.  Oops!

Winter has now melted into Spring (Fun Fact: 1 September is the official start of Spring in New Zealand), which means it is time to harvest our Winter garden.  While we were away in the States, all of the veges grew much larger and many of them produced.  We have already eaten four crowns of beautiful, fresh broccoli!  Currently, there is one head of cauliflower nearly ready to pick.  Also, all of the lemons on our lemon trees are bright yellow and ripe for picking!

In other news (and not unexpected given the particularly cold Autumn), all but one of the eighteen lettuce plants perished.  Also, the cabbages have not materialised like I expected; however, they are flourishing and simply might require few more weeks before harvest.  As a first-time grower of brassicas, I am not yet sure of the timing.  That being said, the weather in late-Winter has been spectacular - sunny, dry (for the most part!), in the mid-teens during the day and above-freezing at night.  Hopefully, this will be the boost the plants need to finish production before I have to pull them out - seeds for our Summer garden are already sowed inside!

All things considered, it was a good experience learning to grow (and growing new things!) in such a small space.  I am not yet sure we have broken even cost-wise on the garden setup, but I am sure we will come out ahead once we harvest the Summer garden.  Can’t wait to eat more fresh broccoli and try the fresh cauliflower!

With the advent of Spring upon us, and the winter snow melting in the Alps, Rus and I are eager to get back on the trails.  So this Tasty Tuesday’s inspiration comes from the latest edition of Wilderness magazine, with an excellent recipe called “Unlucky Fisherman’s Risotto”.  According to Wilderness, “There’s an unspoken rule of fishing in the backcountry: If you don’t catch anything, then you must be prepared to eat the bait”.

This particular recipe is (hopefully) a better-tasting version of the “real” version above.  It’s well-planned, well-measured, and “weight-sensitive” - suitable for carrying and cooking on a tramp!  Since Rus is my favourite tramping partner, he decided to assist with this week’s culinary adventure -  even choosing to cook it using our camp stove and camping pots - to test its true viability.  Was it a Delight or Disaster?

Ingredients

300g Arborio rice

100ml olive oil

1 onion, finely chopped

2 cloves of garlic, finely chopped

4 cubes chicken stock (or 1L)

150g chorizo sausage

1 courgette (small zucchini), chopped

1 red capsicum (bell pepper), diced

50g parmesan cheese, shaved

salt, pepper, parsley

Here’s what we did:

1. Chop ingredients as instructed

2. In a small pot, bring the chicken stock to a simmer, then cover to keep warm

3. Lightly fry the chorizo, onion, and garlic

4. Add oil and rice; stir for two minutes or until rice is well-coated in oil.

5. Pour in a cupful of stock and stir over a medium heat until it’s absorbed.

6. Add the rest of the stock a cupful at a time, stirring frequently.

7. Add the courgettes about half way through, and the capsicum with the last cupful of stock (to prevent over-cooking).

8. When all of the stock has been added, and the rice is soft, throw in the parmesan, season to taste, and garnish with parsley.

Prep time: 45 minutes; serves 4

So…how did it taste?  The chorizo did a brilliant job of flavouring the rice dish.  The capsicum and courgettes are nice additions, both for texture and depth.  The rice came out soft as expected, though we did not need to use the entire one-litre of chicken stock (instead, about 750mL).

Flatmates say:

Dylan, Arno, Leanne, and Simon all loved it.  Rus also liked it.  I thought it was great, especially as a hearty meal after a tramp; however, I could do without the parmesan, and I would skip the salt (the chicken stock provides plenty to make it tasty).  Monique was not available for testing.

I think this will become a regular recipe, from which we will begin experiments with different ingredients - both for tramping and dinners at home.  All around, this recipe was a DELIGHT!

After taking an eight-week hiatus to traverse the United States, visit family and friends, soak up the hot Northern Hemisphere Summer (and by default bypass Southern Hemisphere Winter), and get married, Rus and I are back “Down Under-er”.  The Starbuck Report (including the ever-popular “Tasty Tuesdays”) will return to its normal self shortly!

Whilst reading through my feed reader today, I came upon this quote.  I think it offers some nice perspective during this current period of (so-called) asset depreciation (i.e. 401Ks, IRAs, pensions, stocks, bonds, currency, property, etc.) regarding our actual valuables:

“There are only three real measures of wealth: health, food, and energy. Everything else is a means of exchange or a speculative store of temporary value.” - Charles Hugh Smith

For more real, relevant news (i.e. not the placating stuff you watch, hear, or read in the corporate media), check out Of Two Minds.

Reprinted from Alternet.org

I hold my hands in front of me to block my line of sight

It seems my eyes are growing tired of staring in the light

The more I see the more I feel the less I want to know

Because if you think to much you’ll blow your mind

You might just lose control and scream

-Lyrics to “Scream,” by Seven Nations (Kirk McLeod)

In Matt Taibbi’s vivid and provocative new article in Rolling Stone, “The Great American Bubble Machine,” the man absolutely screams. Evoking the image in Edvard Munch’s famous Norwegian painting, Taibbi sounds the alarm to American readers as he explores the sordid story of Goldman Sachs and Co. Tracing 90 years of political and market history, Taibbi colorfully describes the firm headquartered at 85 Broad Street as: “a great vampire squid wrapped around the face of humanity, relentlessly jamming its blood funnel into anything that smells like money.”

Such evocative imagery will surely be discounted by some as hysterical or exaggerated, particularly by those whose senses are deadened by the business press or CNBC-style babble. Rather than engage in a dissection of the details, I would like to explore why Taibbi is screaming and ask why he is screaming for all of us in a way we are not seeing elsewhere in the media. In addition to screaming for us, I wonder whether he is also screaming at us. One thing is certain: he is screaming in a way that a healthy press would do in a hysterical time. Goldman Sachs’ uncontested success blurring the boundaries between market and state is symbolic of a tremendous malfunction in finance, politics and civil society. That the firm is well-managed by all measures and that some fine, well-meaning individuals work there is beside the point. Taibbi is telling us that the rules are rigged. That we are being abused.

This is a time for vivid outrage.

Taibbi’s rage is filling an emotional void. It is a reaction to what is missing after this profound speculative episode that the IMF suggests will cost over $4 trillion in losses on balance sheets and untold trillions in lost output. It is fury over a crisis that is, by any measure, the most profoundly damaging episode since the 1930s (and the Bank for International Settlements Annual Report released this week strongly suggests that the burden on stockholders is far from over).

What is it that leads to screaming? A wonderful passage in John Kenneth Galbraith’s A Short History of Financial Euphoria helps explain. Dr. Galbraith seeks to identify the common elements that recur organically in the buildup and aftermath of every financial boom-bust episode:

“The final and common feature of the speculative episode-in stock markets, real estate, art, or junk bonds-is what happens after the inevitable crash. This, invariably, will be a time of anger and recrimination and also of profoundly unsubtle introspection. The anger will fix upon the individuals who were previously most admired for their financial imagination and acuity. Some of them, having been persuaded of their own exemption from confining orthodoxy, will, as noted, have gone beyond the law, and their fall and, occasionally, their incarceration will now be viewed with righteous satisfaction.

There will also be scrutiny of the previously much-praised financial instruments and practices-paper money; implausible securities issues; insider trading; market rigging; more recently, program and index trading that have facilitated and financed the speculation. There will be talk of regulation and reform.”

Note the elements: anger, recrimination, introspection, law breaking, incarceration, regulation and reform.

Despite the fact that our news media have been filled with financial stories from Bear Stearns failure in March ‘08 to the present, the elements listed above seem neglected, muted, or in short supply (Gretchen Morgenson is the exception that proves the rule). This is disturbing, particularly given the scale of losses that the taxpayer has been forced to absorb, along with disappearing funds for future roads, bridges, health care, schools and a tax drag on wealth creation. It is into the void created by the tepid media coverage of this horrid and costly episode that Mr. Taibbi has screamed.

There is an age-old tension that emerges in situations like this. You can feel it yourself. We know things are not right but do not exactly know why. Finance is complex. Since the progressive era, trust in “experts” has often been suggested as the best way for society to handle such complex phenomena. We are encouraged to delegate to the likes of leading academics, the Federal Reserve, the Treasury Secretary, and financiers themselves to keep an eye on the public interest. Public officials are explicitly employed to undertake this task on behalf of society. Those in the private sector often appeal to experts, encouraging public deference to their superior knowledge. Experts are thought to be the custodians of the nation’s health.

As theologian Reinhold Niebuhr once described in Moral Man and Immoral Society:

“The stupidity of the average man will permit the oligarch, whether economic or political, to hide his real purpose from effective control …. Since the increasing complexity of society makes it impossible to bring all those who are in charge of its intricate techniques and processes, and who are therefore in possession of social power, under complete control, it will always be necessary to rely partly upon the honesty and self-restraint of those who are not socially restrained.”

The problem now is that the experts and leaders from finance have failed us miserably. They have let us down and we know it. We do not trust in the system. No one thinks the Federal Reserve did a bang-up job in the years preceding this crisis. The failure is much more profound in the private sector, yet for the most part that failure goes unacknowledged. Even with losses and bailouts, we have to fight over bonus payments to those who feel entitled, despite the cost they have imposed on their stockholders and, more importantly, society.

What we are witnessing, as I have written elsewhere, is a perverse form of insurance pay off.

Let’s call it political insurance. Ordinarily when insurance is offered, a premium is paid and, over time, the provider of insurance sets the rate on the premium so that they make a bit of money despite periodic payouts for accidents. What we have here is different. The financial sector, and other large patronage donors, spend billions of dollars on lobbyists and campaign contributions. Politicians then run their expensive election marketing campaigns with the proceeds. And finally, the contributors buy downside loss protection from the politicians and their appointees.

Who provides that downside protection? You and me. The taxpayer. The body politic. We get used by this refracted process, and our system is mislabeled as a representative democracy. And, to add insult to injury, we are forced to endure the the horror of the awful marketing campaigns of politicians using the their payoff money to protect donors with our the tax base. The media is on the take, too, collecting advertising revenue from financial companies and from political campaigns. Far be it for them to step outside this circular flow of funds that impedes our political system from incorporating feedback from evidence of its own dysfunction.

We are amidst a crisis of political legitimacy. The leaders of our complex financial firms have failed. They have failed as stewards of our nation’s future. They have failed as protectors of our public Treasury. Now, with trillions guaranteed, hundreds of billions of bailouts paid, and very little in the way of investigation, firings, or prosecution of the perpetrators, we are all being asked to calm down, move on, and stop acting like populists (a pejorative term when used by elite media or financiers). In the mean time, the perpetrators of this disaster confidently pay their political soldiers for another round of lobbying/campaign contribution money. (For more details on the numbers and firms involved see “Sold Out: How Wall Street and Washington Betrayed America.” See also Thomas Ferguson’s fine work collected in his book, Golden Rule.)

Returning to Taibbi’s startling article, there are many reasons for the amplified language he chooses to confront us with in rendering the social experience of Goldman Sachs (an experience that is certainly not unique to that firm). Perhaps it is illumination that Goldman Sachs and the leaders of finance have failed us as stewards and experts and that makes him mad. Or it could be that he is angry at the American people for trusting the financiers and enduring this abuse with little visible reaction. Or that the Bush and Obama Administrations and Congress have shown such little interest in investigating what happened, who did wrong, or who should be fired after drawing on the public purse to the tune of several hundred billion dollars!

It is hard to know what is in a writer’s head and heart, but the Goldman Sachs piece is so intense in comparison to Taibbi’s recent offerings that I sense a message of personal revulsion. For clues to what may have triggered this revulsion, I look back to his writings when he first returned to America and the book that acquainted me with his work: Spanking the Donkey: Dispatches from the Dumb Season. The book concerns the absurd carnival of the 2004 Democratic primaries. In the introduction, Taibbi describes how he had worked in Russia as a journalist for 10 years. He details the atrocities he saw, along with his sense of sympathy and fascination for the terrible things before his eyes. In Russia, he was an observer and not an accomplice, but when he returned to the USA in 2002, Taibbi felt less detached looking at his home country: “We are a country that has a large majority that on some level knows something is terribly wrong, but can’t find any positive idea that it can follow and build upon…” He describes how he had no idea how to cover the presidental election but found the need to develop a strategy to move ahead: “…I did not see much that suggested to me that a groundswell of change is on the way. But I do believe there is a strategy to pursue in the meantime, and that is TO REFUSED TO BE LIED TO….” On the strength of that insight, Taibbi set out to write a book about lies — how to recognize them and stop believing in them.

Taibbi’s look at Goldman Sachs illuminates what is missing in our political energy as we prepare, as he suggests in the article, to get our lunch eaten again in the energy trading market. What’s missing is a recognition that we have been violated by experts and leaders. What’s needed is a proper cleansing of social misdeed through outrage.

It causes me great pain to think that this sensitive and brilliant young writer, who had a ringside seat for the grotesque rape of the body politic in 1990s Russia by rapacious private oligarchs, is sickened by what he sees in the USA now! Let me say that again. He watched the rape of the Russian people up close and he is sickened by what is happening in the USA right now.

Maybe when you see it happen in a foreign country, tragedy can be seen as comedy. Perhaps when it happens in your own country and devastates the people you love, things take on a darker tone. Or maybe it really is as objectively bad here as his scream indicates. Or at least becoming so. Whatever your interpretation, we all owe thanks to Taibbi for screaming. He is warning us, and it will do us all some good to feel his rage and connect it to the rage that resides within each of us.

Feeling Taibbi’s outrage will help us refuse to be lied to by the experts in media, politics and finance. It will help us see through them when they pretend that they have not let us down or play the same old dysfunctional political patronage game to insure that things do not change. It will help us force them to give up some of their advantage to restore some balance and better serve the American people.

Rus and I had been looking forward to a trip to Blenheim since we arrived in New Zealand.  About four hours north of Christchurch, with slightly warmer and sunnier weather, Blenheim is home to New Zealand’s largest vineyard region, the Marlborough region - and over sixty-five wineries.  The bleak, cold Christchurch weather prodded us north…

I booked our stay at St. Leonard’s Cottage, a homestead nestled amongst the vines in the heart of Blenheim’s wine country. We rented a car, packed it up, and was on our way mid-afternoon on Saturday.  The ride north on State Highway 1 is immensely beautiful and actually a pleasure to experience.  Once we were near Kaikoura, nearly two hours into our trip, the snow-capped mountains came into view, alongside the blue ocean to the right.  With daylight fading, this sight gave a new meaning of “purple mountains’ majesty”!

Soon it was dark (and I mean dark - no lights anywhere), and the rain began to fall.  We were hoping for a weekend of dry, sunny weather, but it was starting to look like the damp cold was following us.  We drove through the town centre and after a few missed turns here and there, we found the road where our accommodation was located.  Down a long, dark driveway, we came upon the house, an old single-story character estate built in the early 1800’s, and were immediately greeted by Paul and Daphne, our hosts.  Paul showed us to our self-contained cottage, called “The Shearer’s Quarters”.  It was one big room with a queen and a twin bed, a kitchenette complete with table and four chairs, sitting area, and full bath. It was fabulous!  Under the impression that St. Leonard’s was bed-and-breakfast, I asked when breakfast would be served. Daphne kindly informed us that breakfast was in the fridge in the cottage - fresh eggs from their hens, freshly-squeezed orange juice from the oranges in the orchard, and homemade jelly and marmalade to eat with toast; we could make breakfast ourselves at our leisure.  Yum!  I couldn’t wait for breakfast in the morning; however, in the meantime, it was time to venture out in search of dinner.   It was after 8:00PM, and we were hungry!

We got back in the care and drove back into town in search of a restaurant Paul and Daphne recommended.  Surprisingly, there was little activity going on in the town centre on a  Saturday night!  The cold and drizzly weather might have been a deterent.  Or, perhaps as harvest had recently ended, all of the grape-pickers returned to their homes.  Anyway, we were able to get a table at a wine bar called Scotch right away.  Rus and I both ordered steak and a bottle of pinot noir - from Marlborough, of course!  It was a beautiful wine called Clayridge. The steak was decent; not the best but still quite nice.  We each had a glass of wine and planned on taking the rest back to the room; however, we were informed by our server that we could not take the bottle with us (the rules in Blenheim are different from Christchurch, where one is permitted to take an unfinished bottle home).  So, since Rus was driving and not wanting to “waste” a perfectly good bottle of wine, we talked and people-watched at the restaurant for another hour whilst I finished the rest of the bottle of wine (tough job, huh?).  Afterwards, we made our way back to the cottage.

After a nice, hot shower, we climbed into the most comfortable bed we had experienced in New Zealand before drifting off to rest up for Sunday’s activities…

Ginger cookies (or “biscuits”, as they are often called) are popular treats here in New Zealand - often as an accompaniment with tea or coffee, or to help settle an upset stomach.

Rus made ginger beer again over the weekend, and we were thinking of ways to use up the ginger left over after steeping.  The answer?  Ginger cookies!  So will they be a Delight or a Disaster?

The first thing I did was to Google “ginger cookies recipe”.  After viewing several, I chose the one from Southern Food.  Once again, I had all of the ingredients at my disposal (except molasses, but I used a great substitute which I will mention later); these included ginger (I used 1/4 cup fresh ginger instead of dried ground), flour, brown sugar, cloves, cinnamon, sugar (I use raw), baking soda, egg, and butter.  I substituted a mixture of honey and pure maple syrup for the molasses and real, hand-churned butter instead of margarine.  In addition, I included 1 tsp. pure vanilla, 1 tsp. ground nutmeg, and 1/8 cup flax seed (I love to add flax seed to cookies because it adds fibre, nutrients, and heart-healthy omega-3s!  Naturally, and unfortunately, with all the butter and sugar, this still does not make the cookies magically turn into health food!).

Here is what I did:

1. Combine flour, soda, flax seed, and spices in a bowl and set aside.

2. Cream sugar and butter. Beat in egg, vanilla, and honey/maple syrup mixture until light and fluffy.  Add fresh ginger and mix.

3. Stir in flour mixture just until blended.

4. Chill for 2 hours or more (I chilled overnight for convenience purposes).

5. Preheat oven to 190C (375F).

6. Shape dough into small balls, roll in granulated sugar, and place on lightly greased baking sheets about two inches apart.

7. Flatten each ball with the bottom of a glass dipped in sugar.

8. Bake about 8 to 10 minutes, until set.

Results:

These cookies turned out beautifully from the beginning to end; they are easy to make.  The crispy edges were fabulous, giving way to a moist centre.  I thought the raw sugar on the outside would make them too sweet; however, to my pleasant surprise, it gave the cookies a crunchy texture and almost made them sparkle like glitter!   Overall, the spices were not overpowering.  Furthermore, and amazingly enough, I could barely discern all of the fresh ginger.  Regarding cookie size, the first batch was a bit too large for my liking (eight per cookie tray), so I made the balls smaller.  This adjustment yielded me fourteen cookies each of the next two batches.    The recipe says it will yield 96 cookies; I produced about a third of that number total.

Flatmates Say:

Monique, Ryan, Leanne, and Dylan loved them.  Arno does not like ginger, so I could not get his opinion on this one.

These were some of the best cookies I have ever made.  Since they do not taste too sweet or rich, it is easy to eat too many!  This Tasty Tuesday Ginger Cookie recipe was definitely a DELIGHT!

The ski fields have just opened, winter storms are forecast….and the cherry blossoms are blooming.

Yes, despite the official start of Winter nearly one week away, the Signs of Spring are everywhere!

The daffodil shoots have emerged from their long Winter’s slumber, the birds are singing (actually, I do not think they took a break), lilies are in bloom, rhododendrons are budding, the magnolias have gorgeous, pink flowers on them with many more to follow.  These examples are plants just around our yard, but in other areas, flower gardens, hedges, climbing vines, and trees are acting like Spring has already arrived.  Winters (except for this one, apparently) are generally mild enough to sustain blooming roses year round, and many native plants have beautiful flowers on them throughout the seasons.

Clearly, these plants must be confused, as I am.  What’s going on?  Climate change?  Transplants (no pun intended) from the Northern Hemisphere?  Perhaps, as new Kiwis, we are simply not used to seeing this level of Springtime explosion so early.

So, does this mean that we can declare Winter over before it even officially begins?

My fiancé and I are getting married in August and are currently planning a wedding.  It is an exciting time for us (and our mothers), and naturally, friends and strangers alike are curious about the details.  Some of the frequently asked questions during this process have revolved around “The Dress”.  What does it look like?  Where was it purchased, etc.?

In my humble opinion (which is more strongly influenced by my wallet than I would like to admit at the moment), spending thousands of dollars on a single-use wedding gown is unnecessary.  In general (and especially in the current economic climate), spending a small fortune on a dress is not in the realm of possibility for most brides-to-be.  That being said, my personal style relegated purchasing a bargain gown off the sale rack of a mass-producer down to a last resort.  Designers, I reluctantly admitted, were my best bet in fulfilling my dress criteria - with stratospheric price tags to match.   So my mission became: Where can a future bride source “The Dress” for a fraction of the designer price?

The obvious first choice is to buy a used gown, so I immediately fired up the MacBook and visited TradeMe and eBay.  My goal was to familiarise myself with designers that fit my personal style and to check availability.  (Hint: When searching “wedding dress” on either of these sites, it becomes quickly apparent why including a designer name in your search is much more efficient!) Had I found a pre-owned dress I liked in my size, I would have hit the jackpot; however, I saw many listings for beautiful dresses with tattered or dirty trains and hems - deal-breakers for me. Overall, these initial searches taught me three things:

1. I wanted a new dress.

2. I liked a designer called Pronovias.

3. There was no way in H-E-double-hockey sticks I could afford a new Pronovias.

Since dress sizes can be atypical, it can require a serious leap of faith purchasing “The Dress” on the internet with neither seeing it in person nor trying it on.  To combat both of these dilemmas (clearly not discouraged by my lack of funds), I scheduled a consultation at a local Pronovias boutique, Robyn Cliffe, to sample a few.  I tried on twelve gowns, and it cost me a $50 fee in exchange for proper fitting and styling.  Did you know that wedding gowns have “model years”, like cars?  They do; and, like cars, they are most expensive during the current model year.   Luckily for me and thrifty brides everywhere, unless the model year is in the 90’s or earlier, it is unlikely that dresses preceding the current model year will seem too dated.

Armed with the knowledge of my Pronovias gown size and a few that I liked, I returned to the internet.  Within a matter of days, I honed in on a new gown on eBay that met all of my criteria. It was listed by a supplier in Los Angeles that specialises in selling new, previous model-year Pronovias dresses.   A quick feedback check reassured me the seller was legit.  After a nail-biting auction (which saved another US$150 off the “Buy It Now” price) during which I was the sole bidder, I purchased “The Dress”, my wedding dress, 80% off its original price!  The dress arrived less than week later in ready-to-wear condition; no steaming required.  It fits perfectly, it looks beautiful, I am proud of it - and it was within the price range of mere mortals.

Mission: Accomplished!