Connecting generations
Growing food wasn’t a novelty when Horonuku Colin Reihana was growing up – if you didn’t, you didn’t eat. His granddaughter – former New Zealand Gardener of the Year Jade Moana (Nga¯ti Tu¯wharetoa, Nga¯i Tahu, Nga¯puhi, Ka¯ti Ma¯moe) – shares what he’s ta
Ihave so many fond memories of my first time trying kai straight from the garden as a very young child. I would sit in my maternal grandfather Keith’s vege patch, not moving until my belly was full of fresh peas.
I’d shell and eat the pea pods until my little fingers were exhausted, but carry on because I had never tasted something so sweet and delicious in my life.
But for my grandparents, food growing was not a novelty. If you didn’t grow it, you didn’t eat.
In a time before supermarkets and fast food stores were everywhere, trading and market gardens helped to sustain communities.
Some families were so large compared to today that home gardens took up most of the room on their properties.
Everyone contributed, old and young, to the home’s food and preparation.
When I ask my grandfather about his experiences, he shares stories of something my generation don’t know about – growing food for the masses.
My Poua (Colin, my paternal grandfather) grew up in a huge wha¯ nau in Tu¯ rangi, with 15 siblings, 13 of them surviving, in a two-bedroom home. It was very modest but comfortable.
In order to eat, they grew a big vegetable garden full of the basic foods – potatoes, carrots, onions, greens.
Meat was bought from the local butcher, and the budget only allowed for the cheapest cuts. Milk was delivered fresh each day, and my Kuia (nana) baked rewena bread and other baking to fill the puku (belly). There were fruit trees all over the property, plums and apple and berries, that they picked to eat each day.
My Poua tells me that if there was no kai in the cupboard, he would run a mile and a half into the bush to fish for trout and gather watercress. Infamously, my Koro, his father, once got caught by rangers while he was fishing – the kai was taken off him, and he was taken to court for feeding his wha¯ nau.
My Poua married his beautiful Nga¯ i Tahu wahine (wife) after moving to Murihiku (Southland) for work. At their home, he put in his first ma¯ ra kai (food garden).
His inexperience showed. He realised that during all his years growing up, he hadn’t done the work to really learn what to do – he’d only observed.
His lack of knowledge meant his food still mainly came from the shops.
But he persevered. With a wha¯ nau of his own, he quickly learned how to grow food and provide for his children.
The wha¯ nau later moved to Christchurch, and he bought a home in the inner city.
In 1995, when his father passed away, my Poua was given peruperu (a variety of Ma¯ ori potatoes) to take home, as one of the only things left which was connected to his Papa.
He took them home and dug his now beautiful section, willing to hold on to his precious family
memories. He had such success that he transformed his whole yard into a working masterpiece of kai growing – which it still is.
Years later, he passed these potato seeds to me. They changed my whole world of generational gardening.
I took the mantle, and formed my life and career around that whakapapa seed. I now grow for my tamariki (children) from my greatgrandfather’s
seeds. I feel like all my wha¯ nau are with me. My Poua instilled in me something magical: that connection through food is forever.
I thank my grandfathers, and theirs before them, for the knowledge and stories, for the trials and errors, and for the time we spend talking and growing food together.
As they get older and less able to work the whenua, I acknowledge, and feel blessed, that the skills have been passed to me – to pass to others and keep us all connected.