In this series, the team each offer a big-picture strategy for food & fibre.

This series started with a late-night thought experiment over Zoom. As Kiwis, we can be quick to criticise those at the top – at least if talkback radio on a Monday morning after an All Blacks loss is anything is to go by. Readers of this column will know that we’re not short of hopes and ideas for New Zealand’s food & fibre sector. What would we do, then, if we were handed the keys to the Ministry for Primary Industries’ offices and safe, or asked to take responsibility for a strategy to take this sector to the next level?  

In the next few weeks, you’ll hear from Phil, Daniel and guest writer for the month Kate Scott on their approach to big food & fibre strategy. For now, you’ll have to make do with me.

Here’s a strategy to double New Zealand’s primary sector over the next decade – none of which relies on telling our story better. I call it “40-30-10 & 20 to pump”. Terrible name aside, it’s a series of food & fibre investment portfolios ranging from safe to smart to risky, with a reserve fund to quickly reinforce winning bets. Let’s go through it.  

The first 40% would be safe investments in the commodity sectors that keep the lights on. The expected gains from these investments would be small, but achievable, and will make a difference to many food & fibre people. 

As an example, this would come in the form of continued investment in dairy and meat production efficiency – like pasture research, animal health science or market-led certification systems. 

The next 30% would be smart investments. These would also focus on significantly increasing production, productivity and operating margins, by experimenting with more novel technology or market approaches. 

This could include initiatives that capture additional value, like a programme to accelerate the development of Plant Variety Rights or protein equivalents like Lumina lamb. Another example would be High Density Growing Systems, like those emerging in our horticulture sector, which have the potential to double fruit yield per hectare whilst keeping operational costs low. 

These investments wouldn’t be as safe or immediately achievable as the commodity plays, but offer the promise of significantly more value. 

A large part of the “30% smart” play would focus on de-risking the adoption of technology like robotics or remote collars to improve productivity. For example, many primary sector businesses struggle to find people for manual tasks – so an incentive scheme would be trialled whereby New Zealand agri-tech companies would be paid minimum wage for every human hour they replace (to a point). 

This would enable producers to invest more time in developing their people to upskill from doers to decision makers. For the “30% smart” portfolio to work, we’ll need fewer people mowing orchard lawns and more people experimenting with High Density Growing Systems. Fewer people getting the cows in and more people using precision data services to apply fertiliser, monitor biodiversity or certify their produce. A return would be expected from these investments within five years. 

The final 10% would back a series of risky bets that, should they come through, would place New Zealand at the forefront of global agriculture. Given the relatively small investment, these areas must be chosen carefully and should leverage our strengths – like our deep knowledge of pastoral systems or our potential to produce an abundance of affordable, renewable energy. 

The government’s role would be to invest in chunky capital projects that unlock innovation, a good example being the Ruakura milk dryer in Hamilton – a big-ticket investment in dryer capacity that unlocked the ability for many innovative exports derived from sheep and goat milk. 

The goal of the “10% risky” portfolio is to transition from bulky, low-value exports to high-value products that don’t require much (if any) shipping. Success would be measured by the weight of exports per dollar earned. We could be world leaders in the IP behind precision fermentation, reducing ruminant methane emissions or gene editing. 

Investment in these areas acts as a natural hedge. If they succeed, we ride a new wave of innovation. If they don’t, we can continue to rely on our pastoral systems to prop up our exports. Better to disrupt ourselves than wait for someone else to do it to us. 

Finally, the “20% to pump” fund would act as a reserve – ready to reinforce any success across the safe, smart and risky portfolios through rapid, global commercialisation of new breakthroughs. 

As we gear up to double our exports over the next 10 years, we’ll need a strategy that covers all angles and keeps us at the front of market and technology changes. “40-30-10 & 20 to pump” might do the trick – but its first investment should be in finding a better name. 

In this series, the team reflect on what the Olympics mean for NZ ag.

Watching the Olympics from the couch, it can be easy to forget that for every gold-medal dream realised, the lives of dozens of athletes just hit a brick wall.   

The talent of these athletes is something to marvel at. Someone wise once likened this talent to being graced with a black stallion – full of raw power, but it takes a lifetime to learn to ride the thing. 

As spectators, we witness thousands of hours of repetitive training come down to a single performance. For many athletes, the outcome of that race is everything, and it can all be over in seconds. 

It’s easy to miss as one surfs the channels. Before I know it, the camera pans off the athletes and it’s onto the next race – or I’m off to the next channel. Their time in the spotlight is over. 

The spotlight lingers a little longer for those who win a gold medal. And so it should. That athlete has just reached the pinnacle of their career, capping years of discipline and sacrifice. 

Over the course of their sporting career, an athlete refines a process that drives their success. This process becomes almost automatic in the heat of competition. Each day offers a chance to fine-tune this process in pursuit of those critical seconds – a small tweak in nutrition, a change in technique or a new pre-race routine. 

As the Paris Olympics come to a close, many athletes will enter a period of deep reflection and face the inevitable question, ‘What comes next?’ 

What does the future hold after reaching the heights in a very specialised discipline? 

Some will chase further glory. Others will choose retirement and accept that the time has come for a new life. Often, this means going from the peak of one profession to the bottom of another. A shift that comes with operating in the “real world”, with entirely different expectations. The sporting world is straightforward, it has a clear purpose and a simple goal: win. Goals in the real world are much harder to measure. 

I have witnessed many who have gone from the top of their game to struggling with the mundane realities of life after the competition stops. This is not ring-fenced to sport. Talk with many in the farming community who have achieved serious accolades or awards, and you will hear similar stories. Some were burnt out. The time, effort and intense focus they had placed on success took the love from what they do. 

A transition can be messy. In the short term, many look like a dog chasing a car as they learn a new job or non-competitive workplace relationships through trial and error. 

In my view, those who make a successful transition learn how to play the long game and recalibrate their meticulous process to match. They craft a new vision, away from competing with peers to making big leaps in their new chosen area. Much of this comes with finding new purpose within their chosen pursuit. 

I can’t help but feel like New Zealand’s primary sector is at a similar point to hundreds of high-performance athletes in Paris right now. With a mantelpiece full of previous golds in the agriculture race, do we choose to chase further glory with a simple goal of doubling the value of our primary exports over the next 10 years, or pivot to some new vision – prepared to be a novice again, as we reach for a new purpose? 

In this series, the team find a lesson in history for NZ ag.

Learning the boundaries of a new farm is a strange feeling. A fence line separates otherwise identical land and defines my area of responsibility. 

Nature doesn’t understand boundary fences, as evident by the bush and rivers that sprawl through these manmade features. 

Little to no economic value is assigned to these bush blocks and waterways when purchasing a new block, but the expectation to manage these areas is growing.  

These areas of native bush and water bodies could be considered common assets as they are a shared resource for all New Zealanders. 

The resulting effects of management, be that positive or negative, have a large impact on the wider community. 

A simple example is water quality – many people value swimming in a clean river and drinking a healthy cup of water from the tap.

This situation sits in the long shadow cast by two seismic historical trends. 

The first is the tragedy of the commons. This historical phenomenon occurs where individuals, acting in self-interest, overuse or deplete a shared resource to the detriment of the whole. 

There are many historical examples related to agriculture. In medieval Europe, individuals would opportunely graze communal pastures. This system worked until every villager had a sheep, leading to overgrazed land and reduced productivity.  

The second stems from a period of British history known as the Enclosures, when common land, open to all local people for grazing animal and growing crops, was consolidated into individually owned farms. 

One motivation for this move to privatisation was to allow for increased productivity through private investment in land. Landowners had a direct incentive to improve their property because they reaped the full benefits of doing so. 

Centuries later, we are grappling with challenge of how to balance individual responsibility and property rights with the collective good that comes from sustainably managed common assets. 

We trade on our clean, green image, boasting some of the most accessible natural attractions, and recreational fishing resources that many envy. 

The nation’s shared resources – its waterways, native bush, and agricultural lands – are under increasing pressure from both rural and urban demands.  

Close to half the land area of New Zealand is used for food and fibre production and this is split across roughly 50,000 farms. Another one third is managed by the Department of Conservation, with the remaining 20% made up of other uses including urban areas. 

Food producers manage their common areas with private funds and the Department of Conversation manages its area with under 1% of the government’s budget. 

New Zealand also has an increasing urban population. Slightly more than eight out of 10 people currently live on less than 20% of New Zealand’s land area and all future growth is expected to come from the same urban areas. 

The demands of our urban stakeholders cannot be lost as we meet the expectations of our international consumers, but expectations need to be rational given 80% of our natural resources are expected to be managed on a shoestring budget.

Modern solutions are required to solve these long-standing historical challenges. Some, such as catchment groups, are breaking new ground in managing common assets. 

Others, like ecosystem services, are still in their infancy. Both require philanthropy and public funding due to the gap between what people say and what they are willing to pay for managing common assets. 

Despite this, I remain hopeful for a market-driven solution that effectively aligns perceived demand with funding for those managing these shared resources.

Our boundary fences do not exist when it comes to managing common assets. Have a conversation with any food producer and you will see that they care about their land. 

An unwritten rule for many is leaving the land in a better place than they found it, but farmers can’t be expected to shoulder the responsibility of managing these shared resources sustainably, particularly given contemporary financial and logistical burdens. 

The right mix of regulation, education and incentives are required to finally break free of the “tragedy of the commons”  and Enclosures scripts – and write something new.

eating.the.elephant@gmail.com

Aside from the catch-ups, novel ideas and comfort food, Fieldays offers the chance to practise a skill that Kiwis aren’t usually known for – haggling. 

The haggle has an all-too-familiar rhythm to it. Features are communicated and the value is made obvious, before the all-important point of price comes up. Salespeople, armed with freshly printed price lists, fire Fieldays specials in every direction – 5% here, or maybe a push to 15% with flexible payment terms. 

This year, I stepped up the art of the haggle, moving from friendly Fieldays salespeople to the most notorious hagglers of them all: car dealers. 

I was toying with idea of a new electric car (EV) when I walked onto the lot.

The dance started. They went straight for the heart by outlining why an EV was good for me, the family and the environment. Once they could see they had won my heart, they went for my head by throwing features everywhere. 

Then came the all-important point – price. Rather than the token 5% off, this line of cars had close to 50% off the recommended retail price. 

Adrian Orr’s monetary policy is working as intended in our household, so we are in no position to actually purchase a new car this year – but the 50%-off deal made me question raiding the kids’ piggy bank to make something work. 

Off the lot, I started thinking about the many questions that lie behind a discount that big. On the surface, it looks as though a combination of factors have contributed to the decline in EV sales – a tight economy, the looming introduction of newer tech such as hydrogen cars, or a late arrival of cars now clogging lot yards. 

When I dig slightly deeper, however, the sale of electric vehicles paints an interesting picture of the current state of New Zealand. 

One year ago, when I was penning the first article for this column, EV sales were at record highs. Close to 26,000 new EVs were registered over the course of 2023, which is equivalent to somewhere between 25% and 33% of all vehicles registered in New Zealand. 

Fast-forward to today, and sales have flatlined, with only 2000 EVs being added during the first five months of 2024 – less than 4% of the New Zealand “new” fleet. 

Looking at sustainability more broadly than the current price of an EV, it strikes me that  the mood for environmental policy intervention across New Zealand might have changed. The fall in EV sales correlates closely with two big moves from the government: the removal of the clean car discount and the announcement that agricultural emissions will remain outside of the Emissions Trading Scheme. 

The time of clean car discounts and He Waka Eke Noa represented somewhat of a first innings of incentivising change to improve the environment. A first go that may have been directionally correct, but impractical to implement when the theory met reality. 

This second innings has a different feel to it. It seems to be focused on finding solutions that are built on private investment, rather than relying on dished-out, publicly funded incentives. In this innings, purchasing an EV must make sense even when the clean car subsidy is removed. 

I have sat through many presentations recently focused on solving environmental problems; they all end the same way – we know what to do, we just need the funding to achieve it. 

The blocker to funding in a lot of cases is the fact that these solutions rely on someone, usually the government, having to eat the loss to achieve the greater environmental good. The appetite to do that has clearly changed. 

This government is refusing to step in as the funder of last resort – hoping instead that we have reached tipping points where the financial rationales and environmental outcomes have finally lined up. 

Its hope is that the sales pitch from the EV salesperson is strong enough for me to open my wallet without the clean car discount, or that the food & fibre sector can outsmart the methane problem through on-farm efficiencies and some new tech just around the corner.

We’ll find out shortly with the release of the coalition government’s climate plan. 

As for the car, this stellar deal was picked up by my mother-in-law, who already has an abundance of rooftop solar. Adding a well-priced electric vehicle only makes the cost savings more compelling for her. A few panels tipped her decision into the financial-environmental sweet spot, without the need for the taxpayer to eat a cost.  

Our second innings will need a lot more rational solutions like this one. 

eating.the.elephant@gmail.com

Technology can come in many forms, whether it be virtual fencing for cattle, drones, or the latest buzzword, artificial intelligence. 

History tells us that we must adopt technology to stay profitable in competitive markets. Successful early adopters take on significant risks in the hope of generating additional margins, though typically for a short amount of time. As technology becomes more proven, the margins get thinner until what was once revolutionary is now standard. The computer is a good example of this trend towards commodification of tech.

When deciding on new technology, many of us (myself included) look for a fully automated solution. We want to know if this new tech can do what we are currently doing, with no human touch. 

That’s unrealistic. Instead, we should view the adoption of technology as a series of small steps. Despite the hype, there are no out-of-the-box solutions that addresses the entirety of a problem. By banking on silver bullets, we set ourselves up for disappointment. 

Acknowledging that technological adoption is a mindset and continuous process – rather than learning and using one product – helps soften the inevitable setbacks that come when we take on something new. 

At this stage, the real value of technology lies not in full automation, but in human-assisted automation. This is when people tailor technology to fit their systems, usually by trial and error, and discover new ways of extracting small bits of value

Take, for instance, two neighbours running similar farming systems with comparable costs and revenues. If one adopts virtual fencing that enables them to produce more at a lower cost, they generate additional margins. With these margins, they increase their competitive edge by doing things like paying more to attract and maintain top talent, reinvesting in technology or investing in their own learning. 

These small bits of value contrast with the conventional thinking that a farmer needs to expand or speed up the current system by buying a bigger tractor or the neighbouring farm to grow – even though the economics often don’t quite stack up on those decisions these days. 

Another way to think of technology on farm is that it buys you time. This idea came up in recent conversations with farmers in operational roles that are working with robotics and remote collars. 

They work alongside technology to make better decisions and create more time for more complex tasks that add value – like one-on-one training with team members, strategy development, more new technology or even just getting off farm to protect their wellbeing. 

Their engagement levels are at all-time highs as they go about finding new ways to use the time the new technology buys them. Tellingly, none of them to go back to their pre-technology work life.

We are quickly moving towards a future with few absolute limits. As more and more technological fixes for farming problems are developed, the limitations won’t be the ones we are used to – manpower, on-farm data or access to knowledge – but on our individual appetite to get to grips with the new technology. 

The openness to being a novice and making mistakes with this or that new app, sensor or gadget will be what separates farmers and systems. 

What we can achieve on our farms will be limited not by our tools, but by our imagination and creativity. 

As the leaves begin to change colour, and with daylight saving having drawn to a close, we are reminded that winter is just around the corner. 

With the firewood neatly stacked and the freezer stocked with the cuts required for hearty winter meals, we prepare for the colder months ahead. 

The past summer and autumn have offered generous sunlight hours, which is a big change from last year. 

The long days of summer are easily filled with an even longer list of projects to improve the farm, often at the expense of social and family time. The lack of balance is somewhat unsustainable, especially for my wife and kids. 

Winter presents a stark contrast to summer. Its short daylight hours and miserable weather are compounded by the demands of feeding out and lambing season. 

Add to this a house of kids with their signature winter runny noses and it is easy to let the less desirable elements of winter compound. 

However, among these challenges there lies a certain stoicism that makes winter both rewarding and draining. 

Last year, going into winter felt like preparing for battle. The calendar was marked with important dates, some practical and some purely there as mental milestones. Outside of the shearing, scanning and lambing, the main milestones on the calendar were taking the kids to the snow for a winter break, and a ring was put around the shortest day – we thought we could fool ourselves into thinking the run into spring was downhill from this point on. It wasn’t.    

An observation from watching top performers is that they don’t swing at every pitch. It is somewhat the opposite – they know how to say “no” and channel their energy into what counts. They also know when to take breaks to avoid burnout and prevent injury. 

A goal of mine is to remain a constructive farmer, one whose career is not ended by injury or burnout. Achieving this may have to come from taking a path that some stalwarts may deem soft – taking time off to ensure we remain focused on what is important. 

This year, we are trying a few different things to ensure we can keep up the energy for the things that matter. 

Three things stick out – trading the family holiday at the snow for a week of sun, committing to an endurance event in spring to make training over winter easier, and making up for the lost social time by getting dinners with friends and family on the calendar now. All relatively simple, but representing a slight shift in priorities.  

The search for firewood tells the story. The wood that burns quickly is easy to find, while the wood that provides lasting warmth proves more challenging. 

Similarly, our sector, like others, has many stories of people who burnt out before their time. The list of jobs is always going to exceed the number of hours in a day. 

This coming winter offers another chance to ensure we can continue to burn long and slow.

Sitting on a hill, sharing a quick cup of tea and chat with Buster, a loyal heading dog, is a world away from my previous place of work in San Francisco. 

Swapping the high-rise building equipped with five restaurants, two cafes, a games room and a gym for the allure of green pastures, now tinged with a strong hint of brown, I reflect on the lessons learnt from working in an environment that many would consider “woke”.

Coming in green from New Zealand, I was exposed to many new acronyms, a major one being DEI – diversity, equity and inclusion, which seeks to promote fair treatment and full participation of all people. The cultural fabric of many startup businesses revolves around these fundamental principles. 

The culture generated in these young companies is by no means perfect. A natural tension exists between achieving returns for shareholders and personal soul searching. To an outsider, it might look as though people are being paid to explore challenging ideals to drive candid conversation rather than focusing on what would be considered “normal” productive means. 

I initially found the conversations around these topics to be sticky and hard to fully participate in for the fear of unknowingly causing offence. I would see them as barriers to productivity. 

Yet, some of my biggest personal growth came from finding comfort in these thorny conversations. 

In many instances, the elaborate facilities and freedom to champion person causes weren’t bankrolled by surplus profits, but rather by venture capitalists, who, in good times, are happy to take short-term losses for the hope of large future returns. 

The looming question is whether these luxuries remain ingrained in culture fabric as financial constraints tighten. 

Small shifts are beginning to appear as financial pressure mounts. A “back to basics” focus is starting to make a comeback, an example of this being Elon Musk’s approach to laying off 80% of Twitter’s workforce following his acquisition, including the vast majority, if not all, roles focused on improving DEI.

I maintain that human beings thrive under a certain amount of pressure, remaining grounded and focused. Without pressure, we tend to over-engineer solutions by adding layers of unneeded complexity. 

Some of the greatest individual and societal results have been achieved during crisis when a rational approach to decision making is required. We react based on our collective moral compass, rather than stewing all possible alternatives before stalling on reaching a decision. 

I view the many things now labelled “woke” as causes individuals champion when afforded the luxury of free time. It is important that we hold on to some of the progressive strides we have taken, but we do need to apply a level of rationality to the conversation. 

The current pressures we face might naturally determine what “woke” elements we keep, and what we do away with.   

Pausing for a moment to observe sheep grow serves as a reminder of life’s simple pleasures. At running the risk of over-complicating things, I shared the last of my sandwich with Buster and got back to the task at hand – performing in a sector under mounting pressure. 

Will they raise, or will they hold? When exploring levers, it’s hard to go past the power of the Reserve Bank of New Zealand to set the Official Cash Rate – a lever that moves the New Zealand economy. 

A mega-lever, the OCR controls a mega-outcome, inflation. Simple. But like all things simple, this overnight success took 90 years to achieve. 

The RBNZ has been in operation since 1934, with an initial mandate to provide exchange rate stability. Fast-forward to 1989, and the RBNZ blazed a new trail that many other central banks would follow – announcing that it would focus only on keeping inflation within a desired range. 

Inflation is considered a proxy for economic health as it balances consumption of goods and supply of money. A spike in inflation, like that we have recently felt, is caused by too much money chasing too few goods. 

The goal of the Reserve Bank is to pull the OCR lever just as an economy fuelled by cheap money starts to chase too few goods. Put another way, its job is to take the punch bowl away just as the party gets going.

When the lever is pulled, and rates rise, we collectively know that we are in for a stint of pain. Additional spending stops as we switch from Wattie’s baked beans to Pams. 

No one can complain in isolation, because the lever being used is so big that it affects the whole economy. It may not affect everyone equally, but the resulting effects are deemed to be fair. This breeds an element of collectivism where weathering rising interest rates is almost a badge of honour that unites people. 

Your level of debt load, or financial leverage, determines the effect a rising OCR has on you. Those with a high degree of debt, which includes most food producers, begin to feel pain as the OCR raises. Those with savings in the bank enjoy a rise in the OCR as it offers a higher return on safe assets like term deposits. 

There is a parallel between the journey of the RBNZ and the Climate Change Commission (CCC). The CCC has only just begun its journey, and much like the early days of the RBNZ, its mandate is broad. Its very broad purpose is to ensure NZ makes progress towards emissions reduction goals. 

It does have a lever – setting the price of a New Zealand emissions unit or NZU, the price for one tonne of carbon. But unlike the Reserve Bank, it does not have direct control over this lever. At this stage, it can only influence ministers to use the lever as it suggests.  

In time, it’s likely that the CCC’s ability to influence the market more directly will increase. But the real question is by how much? 

What would it look like if the CCC was officially the Reserve Bank of the Environment? Its lever might be something equivalent to pricing emissions and its mandate may be controlling environmental inflation – too much production coming from too few natural resources. 

In this scenario, those with environmental leverage (a high level of natural resource consumption) would have to tighten their belts and those with limited environmental leverage would be rewarded. Those who are efficient convertors of energy would grow, produce more goods, and employ more people. Those who are not would be slowly restricted.

Repurposed financial products and incentives, like green loans and clean car discounts, would not be required, as all lending initiatives would be focused on improving productivity from fewer natural resources. 

Much like a raise in the OCR, there would be no room for complaining as the results of pulling the lever would affect the whole economy. 

Would jobs be lost if the Reserve Bank of the Environment pulled hard on the pricing emissions lever, say in the aftermath of NZ missing a critical climate goal that jeopardises a trade relationship with a low-emitting partner like the European Union? Probably. 

But is that any different from the recession-edging treatment the Reserve Bank is putting us through now? We probably wouldn’t accept that treatment now, but after a few more Cyclone Gabrielles and Auckland flooding events? Maybe.  

This might sound very dystopian to some, but the world’s trajectory is slowing inching in this direction. There is a growing emphasis on meeting environmental goals – evidenced by the passing of the Biodiversity Bill in the EU and the Nature Repair Bill in Australia. 

To reach our net-zero goals, we are all required to become more efficient energy convertors, which will likely require a mixture of utilising new and existing technologies. We’ll also need new frameworks – like a reserve bank for the environment – that seem pretty ridiculous now, but may be called on in a future of climate breakdown. 

The NZ primary sector would probably do well under such a framework. Like the savers who smile when the OCR rises, our ability to provide habitat, store carbon and efficiently produce valuable products by harvesting energy flows of light, water and soil puts us on the right side of the ledger. 

In this series, the lads consider New Zealand’s place in the world. 
eating.the.elephant@gmail.com

It’s February 1882. The SS Dunedin carries the first shipment of frozen meat to the United Kingdom, kick-starting New Zealand’s place in the world as an efficient exporter of high-quality protein. It took 98 days to complete the 21,818km journey and deliver NZ prowess on the world stage.

One hundred and forty-two years on and our underlying strategy is still the same – export high-quality, efficiently produced protein to our major trading partners. Barring a major tectonic or geopolitical shift, we have overcome the tyranny of distance, with primary exports breaking $56 billion last year. 

The world deals in leaps of technology, and these shifts are happening at an ever-accelerating rate. There may have been thousands of years between the Stone, Bronze and Iron ages, yet only two decades between the Computer Age and dawn of the Information Age. Based on some predictions, the world is due another major technology shift over the next two to three decades. We could be living through one right now.

NZ rode the wave of a technology shift in refrigeration 142 years ago. Further improvements in refrigeration, ships and planes have made our processes more efficient with fresh produce able to reach key export markets to a matter of hours. 

We currently look to technology to further support our competitive advantage of exporting the highest quality primary produce for the lowest cost. The next leap in technology might call our current strategy into question – instead of exporting bulky commodities we might export knowledge that reaches end customers in a matter of seconds.

We live in an age where knowledge is more accessible than ever before. Search any skill you want to learn on YouTube and more information than any human knows what to do with will be returned in under one second. 

Knowledge that used to be held and shared among a small cluster of people can now be transferred in a matter of seconds. What’s more, scale is possible with very little time and cost. 

The huge success of the Dunedin’s voyage was in achieving something that had never been done before – placing NZ-made produce on the world stage. The quality of our produce speaks for itself, but the knowledge required to create it is held deep behind the farm gate in the head of talented farmers. Exporting this knowledge could be the key to creating a world where NZ’s intangible primary sector exports (technology and knowledge) surpass tangible exports (commodities). 

We are starting to see signs of how this could potentially happen, Halter being a prime example. The remote collar initially grabs the attention of farmers looking to remove operational costs from their system as this aligns with our current wants of creating high-quality protein at a lower cost. 

The more important aspect is the underlying model, which has been built with the intuitive knowledge of NZ dairy farmers. It won’t be long before this model is making decisions for farmers and optimising production across many global dairy units. 

As the day starts for a farmer in the United States, they can log into their NZ-powered app to review today’s predictive recommendations. Knowledge is the commodity in this example, rather than the milk powder or meat produced. It does not have to be put in a container and it can scale with limited cost.  

NZ’s role in the global primary sector should extend beyond mere production. We can and should be a centre of knowledge on sustainable production, accessible to our farming colleagues across supply chains and around the world. 

To start thinking about how to make this vision a reality, imagine arriving in a developing country, tasked with imparting the secrets of profitable milk solids, the art of raising the perfect lamb, or cultivating kiwifruit with perfect taste and size. 

How would you spread your knowledge to help the most people improve quickly? What metrics would you employ to monitor progress, and how would we evaluate decision-making upon our return? How would you build trust with the people ready to pay to learn from you? 

The answers push us into brave new development spaces, like artificial intelligence, storytelling, real-time assurance and data-sharing or cross-market collaborative partnerships. 

Our future place in the world may not be defined by the quality of our meat and milk, but by the quality of the meat and milk we help others to grow. How we share our unique mental models and insights cultivated through years of experience will be the true art of innovation for NZ farming. 

The crack of dawn on Christmas Day, a magical hour. For kids, it’s a time steeped in anticipation, eyes wide with wonder as they tiptoe through the quiet house. Little hearts racing with excitement. Presents beckon, promising untold delights. But there’s a catch in our house. The eager youngsters must wait until the adults in the household are stirred from their slumber. A task easier said than done.

Time seems to slow to a crawl as the children, teeming with anticipation, attempt to entertain themselves. A cursory check under the tree, a gentle shake of the wrapped parcels. This collective waiting transforms into a lesson in patience.

With everyone in their designated places, a shared sense of anticipation also infects the adults – a communal experience that defines the essence of the festive spirit. A feeling you want to bottle. 

These days though, I find something increasingly spoils the magic of gift giving and present opening. More and more, the wrapping paper reveals fleeting goods with limited lifespans. 

For the more discerning, products flaunting green claims like net zero and climate-friendliness go up the gift hierarchy – but I can’t help but feel like we’re missing the sense of care that’s supposed to underpin the ritual of gift giving and receiving. 

As a silent observer sitting among the piles of wrapping paper, ribbons and bows this past Christmas, two clear images come to mind. Both are about Japanese gifting culture, as I witnessed earlier in the year.

First is the meticulous folding of 1000 paper cranes exchanged by individuals annually to mark the bombing of Hiroshima. Each crane is technically worthless – just a scrap of paper. But once infused with the time and care honed through thousands of hours of repetitive, precise labour, it takes on a much deeper value. 

The second is a square watermelon. Encased in layers of plastic, the seriously expensive fruit is gifted from work colleague to boss. A symbol of the deep respect that pervades Japanese culture. While bought instead of personally made, the gift still holds the pedigree of time and care. In this case, by the grower who must encase each fruit in a mould and harvest at precisely the right moment to earn the product’s 300% premium.  

I am struck by a sense of irony that as food producers we want our customers to appreciate the huge level of time and care we put into our farms. Yet most of us play some part in the consumerist, volume-over-valuable gifting characterised by the classic Kiwi Christmas morning. 

If we want our customers to respect our products not for the labels they bear but for the values of time and care embedded within, like the Japanese do – maybe that needs to start in our own homes first? 

I can envision a time when Kiwi producers are revered for their time and care. Where the primary sector positions itself as the steward of the land. In this scenario, environmental and ethical practices are not mere marketing add-ons, but integral parts of the cultivation process. 

The same premium paid for an aged whiskey would be included into our produce, which took no environmental or ethical shortcuts to create. 

Collecting the paper and plastic of Christmas morning and leaving my Grinchy persona behind, I thought about why this Eastern cultural reframe feels so right for me as a food producer. It celebrates the work of our time-honoured practice. You only have to recall the beloved Mainland Cheese advertisement from yesteryear – “Good things take time” – to feel that too. 

As people become increasingly attuned to our ecological impact, I can’t help but feel that a re-awakening of a culture that respects time and care like the Japanese is inevitable. It feels like an ideal replacement for the consumption-heavy lifestyles we lead today. 

As primary sector participants whose livelihoods revolve around time and care, we are well poised to lead that change.