Carla Muller is a career woman and has a pedal-to-the-metal personality.

From 2014 to 2018, when New Zealand’s freshwater reforms were at the front of the government’s and farmers’ minds, she was knocking on doors as a consultant for DairyNZ.

While the job had its challenges, she enjoyed interacting with the farming community, the Hamilton city life and the freedom of a childless woman in her 20s.

She met her partner Sam, a shepherd at the time, in her second year at Massey University in Palmerston North.

Fast-forward 10 years, and Sam had the opportunity to manage a sheep station in a small town with a population of 207 – Tikitiki.

The closest supermarket is more than two hours’ drive away and same with the nearest hospital in Gisborne.  

“You start thinking of the ramifications of getting pregnant there,” Muller said.

In 2019, while working in her dream job for Perrin Ag, she fell pregnant. In July 2020 baby Maddie was born in Tauranga Hospital. It was a six-hour drive away, but the safer option with Muller’s parents living nearby.

The young couple travelled back to the farm within a week and the cracks in their new lifestyle started to show.

At the time Sam’s job on the 2000 hectare station was at its most demanding. He would often leave the house at 7am on horseback and return in the evenings. Long days for him, but arguably longer for her and their newborn.

According to the Mental Health Foundation, postnatal depression affects 10-20% of women who have recently given birth. Living through postnatal depression can be overwhelming, with feelings of great sadness and pain.

“I hadn’t realised that once you have had a baby you are fundamentally changed and it is very hard to explain how big that change is.”

Having worked 10 years in corporate roles predominantly in a city, she struggled with the remote life. 

“And all of a sudden you spend 24 hours a day in a house by yourself with a baby that doesn’t sleep … It was very lonely.”

Muller isn’t alone in the fact she gave up her world to become a mother with a farming partner. 

“We are the mothers. It might mean losing a job, leaving your friends. Losing what you have spent 10-15 years building up, a life of your own.

“To change that and realise it is not going back to where it was before, we need to be able to mourn that. It’s not that it is worse, but it won’t look the same.”

Rock-bottom was where Muller sat mentally. Having never suffered from depression, she struggled with opening up to friends, family or professionals.

“Every time you would go in you would see a different doctor so you never formed that relationship where you felt you could let that stuff out.”

Muller struggled with being vulnerable and felt she could get out of the hole alone. In hindsight she couldn’t and needed help.

“All of a sudden someone like me who was high achieving, I had to say no to projects … then you are constantly worried that you are not doing enough at work or doing enough for your child and you’re not doing enough for your partner. I felt in all aspects of my life, I was failing.

“And of course none of that was true. I was trying my best.”

The isolation and postnatal depression put strain on the couple’s relationship, when they should have been enjoying life’s blessings of a new child, she said.

The hardest part for her was that feeling she wasn’t even enjoying motherhood.

“I think the big thing with postnatal depression is the idea that if you have chosen to have children and you are struggling, it means that you don’t love your child … and that’s not true. You can love your child and really struggle with being a mum.”

The break for the family came two years later when Sam was offered a job near Ōhope: she could be near town where she could get off the farm every day, and he could keep farming, albeit on a smaller block.

Having been through the worst time in her life and coming out of the other side, and having recently welcomed her second child, Lottie, Muller realised that it wasn’t necessarily the isolation that made her postpartum depression hard, but also not being honest with herself and exploring other options like online support.

Now living in a busier region, she has found the biggest difference has been PlunketLine, medical support and awareness phone line. 

“We communicate better, you are aware of your triggers and that’s where counselling was critical. “

Getting off the farm is hugely important to her, as is having regular contact with friends.

Living in remote Tikitiki has given her respect for the many mothers in the rural back blocks of Aotearoa.

“They are incredibly strong and resilient with the challenges they face, but it is also rewarding. 

Suffering from stress or postnatal depression?

If you want to talk, PlunketLine can help. Call any time, day or night, on 0800 933 922, or call or text 1737 any time to speak with a trained counsellor. 

Suffering from depression or stress, or know someone who is? Where to get help:

Rural Support Trust: 0800 RURAL HELP

Depression Helpline: 0800 111 757

Lifeline: 0800 543 354

Need To Talk? Call or text 1737

Samaritans: 0800 726 666

Youthline: 0800 376 633 or text 234

More: The Farmers Weekly Rural Living series highlights the rich diversity and people of Aotearoa New Zealand’s rural communities, farming families and contributions to the food and fibre sector. 

Raised on a Merino sheep station at the bottom of Lindis Pass, Sarah Rutherford is no stranger to getting her hands dirty.

On her family’s massive 5500 hectare farm, she would often get in the garden with her mother while growing up.

“My mum’s family were all really into gardening.

“I was never a passionate gardener, but I just loved gardens and flowers and helped Mum in the garden, growing up on the farm.”

The farm has been in her family from her mother’s side for over a century – her brother Tim and father Alastair run the stock now.

But tucked away at the end of her parent’s vegetable garden is a world of its own. It’s Sarah’s world of flowers and blooms. She is The Joy Farmer, and sells her flowers locally.

Since changing lanes in 2020, she has become an artisanal flower farmer and feels more at home in this occupation than she did in the Australian stock market, she said.

“I was in suits, high heels, dealing with executives, so a vast difference. When I came back to Wānaka, what I did as an accountant didn’t really exist here.”

Rutherford had a successful career in both London and Sydney as a chartered accountant working for Cadbury and Stocklands. She enjoyed the city life and even had a doorman at one of her offices in Central London.

“In Berkeley Square it was pretty awesome. We were in this beautiful old house with a doorman who would greet us.”

But the pull of home, the open country and fresh flowers was too much to resist.

During the pandemic she was unsure what her future as an accountant had in store for her, so she quietly started to plant, grow and sell blooms from her Joy Farmer Instagram account and at a tiny stall in Tarras, Central Otago.

“For me it was never meant to become a business, I was just doing it as a side thing. I just started this as a little play.”

As an accountant, the figures would have to add up for her to continue. And they do, just. But the job gives her more flexibility to be present for her seven-year-old daughter, while her partner’s job as a lawyer is more stringent.

“When people say they want to do it [grow flowers] as a job, I just say think very carefully about what you want to get out of it. Because you can make money out of it, but to make it a full-time job you have to be going pretty hard.”

The flower industry in New Zealand has hundreds of independent growers and many still popping up around rural NZ. The New Zealand Flower collective lists where you can buy local flowers at a place near you: some sell from the farm gate; some use the blooms as a hobby; and others sell wholesale.

Since her business sprouted, Rutherford has concentrated on seasonal selling.

“My focus is all about local and getting back to seasonal flowers. Flowers are a bit like food; you can go online and pretty much order whatever you want whenever you want and get things out of season.”

What a lot of customers don’t realise when buying from florists is that some of the flowers are imported. This is needed, as Kiwi growers cannot cater the full amount, but if you buy seasonally, you are more certain to be buying from NZ flower farmers.

“I was so unaware that roses were shipped from Columbia and get chemically treated when they come into the country for biosecurity … would you want that on your kitchen table? 

“I think there is a way of thinking about flowers and choices when you consume them. Consider that maybe you just get what’s in season and what is actually grown locally because it will sit better in the environment.”

While hothouses don’t get the storm damage that smaller flower farmers get, there are environmental question marks around them.

The prices for domestic and international flowers are often similar. Those at the farm gate can often be cheaper, but these growers aren’t usually looking to make a huge margin.

“People expect farmgate flowers to be heaps cheaper, but in a lot of ways they are more expensive to produce.

“A lot of people selling at the farm gate aren’t trying to make a profit there. It is artisan – you are doing a small amount of everything and learning to grow multiple varieties and you get so much wastage.”

Since taking up flower farming Rutherford has got in touch with her creative side, which is new for the financially minded grower.

“Obviously as an accountant you are not typically considered creative. I love it. It combines all the things I love: science, business and creativity.”

She said the industry has been welcoming and providing flowers for events such as weddings and hens parties has been the highlight.

“The people, even if you are dealing with someone that is grieving you are still bringing a little bit of comfort or joy to their day.”

Her next project will be “flower parties”.

“A lot of people don’t have gardens and they want to play with flowers so I thought [about] hen’s parties, kids’ birthday parties – give them [customers] the tools and their flowers and they take it to their venue and they can make their bouquets.”

Would a flower farmer have a favourite type?

“I love scented flowers, I have always loved roses. But I fall in love with a different flower every week.”

More: The Farmers Weekly Rural Living series highlights the rich diversity and people of Aotearoa New Zealand’s rural communities, farming families and contributions to the food and fibre sector.

Brothers Tim and Stef Zeestraten were meant to be tomato men, following in their grandfather’s footsteps by farming tomatoes in the south of the Netherlands.

But as fate would have it, their parents sold the farm and shifted to New Zealand while the kids were still at school, and the crimson fruit was eventually exchanged for the many shades of purple at Wānaka’s Lavender Farm.

“My grandfather started a tomato farm in Holland in glass houses and my parents took over and so I was destined to be a tomato grower for sure,” said eldest brother Tim.

“Then Mum and Dad moved to New Zealand and I was gutted. My vision was that I was going to be the next generation of tomato farmers.”

Now in his early 40s, it’s hard to ever imagine a life without lavender wafting through the air, tourists walking through his gate and of course, that purple Instagram door.

“The whole taking photos and putting it on Instagram is such a bonus … they [tourists] are doing the advertising for us.”

The farm turns 10 in November, and while it’s not what you’d call a traditional Kiwi farm by size or crop/stock numbers, there is no denying it is one of the most recognisable farms in the country to a tourist audience.

Tim was 11 when the family left the growers and farmers zone of De Lier in the Netherlands for Aotearoa, and was working near full-time hours between classes at school. 

The family based themselves in Christchurch at the beginning and while he and Stef pursued careers in mechanical engineering and snowboarding respectively, their parents bought Kaikoura’s Lavender Farm, which they operated commercially. 

They were on to something, he said.

In 2011 the brothers and Tim’s wife Jessica purchased 12 hectares between Wānaka and Luggate – a location that is renowned for its picture-perfect landscapes, scents and tantalising lavender tea.

Tim never envisaged what was to come of the bare paddock of an old sheep and deer farm – more than 700 visitors a day to the farm during peak season, a larger staff count, and 364 days of trading, with Christmas Day being their only day off.

“It is the volume of humans coming this way, but also, you have to push it, you can’t do a half-arsed business.”

The farm didn’t ask for a door charge initially, but it crept to $2 a head, and now during peak season an entry fee will cost a child $7.50 and an adult $15. 

“Locals, internationals who come and visit, they do that whole experience here on site. They like and appreciate that everything they can see here, buy here, is being done on site.”

He puts much of the success down to luck and location.

When the three looked over the district for the right spot to set up, they very nearly settled in the Maungawera Valley, between Lake Hawea and Wānaka. But at the last minute they found the perfect location.

“One of the locals says ‘That bit of land might be fine, see what that’s worth’, and basically that’s how we decided this is a good site. It’s on the highway. It’s good access and not too far from Wānaka.”

A decade on, he admits such a prime spot would be unaffordable for the small start-up that they were.

“If you have got deep pockets or a good backing there is still that option to produce the same business, but it is worth a lot more now. Finding the right bit of land is key.”

The operation produces 200 litres of lavender oil, hand creams, soaps, teas, ice cream, moisturisers, lavender honey, pickles and so on. They didn’t open their doors to the public for the first three years while they worked to get it up to scratch.

There’s now over 25 varieties grown on the farm.

“There’s white, purple, there’s even green lavender, there’s pink lavender, there’s the bluey and then there are different sizes and some produce oil better than others. 

“They are special. Especially when they are first coming up after the winter and you get that first new growth all uniform in colour and it is spectacular in a large mass.”

He hasn’t tired of the scent after all these years.

“When we are doing that first run in the distillery it is unbelievably beautiful when that oil comes out and the smell that comes off that is amazing. I love it.”

The work that goes into a farm like this is around the clock.

Tim is often on the tools, Jessica runs the shop, the staff, the business and Stef does everything in between, such as the financial side, layout and design of the farm.

As with many farming set-ups, brotherly love can be displaced at times of stress.

“There’s always things. You can swear your brother to pieces, but you are still family so you are going to have to work it out.

“It can get niggly running a business with family, but we’ve chosen to go for it and there has been some really positive stuff out of that too, because everyone has got a different skill set to bring to the party. If we didn’t have differing opinions it wouldn’t be what it is today.”

While the family could have capitalised on its brand and sold throughout New Zealand, they have chosen to keep purchasing on site and online.

“We sell it only here because the whole model of our business is that you must come see it for yourself, you must come experience the lavender, you must smell it and you must taste it.”

His parents Jan and Corry both live on the farm, and for the record, the Zeestratens still grow good tomatoes.

More: The Farmers Weekly Rural Living series highlights the rich diversity and people of Aotearoa New Zealand’s rural communities, farming families and contributions to the food and fibre sector.

At the age of 28, Matt Ward has covered quite a bit of ground in his farming career – that’s literally thousands of kilometres underfoot, having spent most of it shepherding in the mountainous terrain of Central Otago.

In a week of mustering he’d cover over 50km of hill country, but has recently found his feet planted firmly on the flat terrain of his ancestral land in Edendale, Southland.

Ward now runs his 220 hectare family sheep farm deep in the south, but he’s taken the long route to get there, and purposely so.

In 2003, when Ward was just seven years old, his father David Ward was diagnosed with bowel cancer and six months later the family lost him.

With no guarantee that neither he nor his twin siblings, Emma and Jason, would pursue an ag career, the farm was put under management.

“Mum kept the whole thing going so we could have the chance to come home; I’m third generation. 

“I have never thought about doing anything else or being anything else, it is just something I have always wanted to do.”

At age 10 he moved to Mosgiel near Dunedin and eventually attended Otago Boys’ High School. After leaving school he had the opportunity to further his studies at university, but headed back south to work on his uncle’s farm right next door to his dad’s. 

A decade ago, Ward could’ve easily stepped into the farm manager role but firmly believes that you should earn your keep.

“You are progressing the whole way, and I reckon that is key. You’ve got to start at the bottom to work your way up, because if you are starting at the top, you don’t know how far it is to fall.”

He headed upcountry to a place he had never heard of, Ranfurly, to shepherd 6000 ewes at Glenspec Station on the Danseys Pass.

“I remember going for my interview. I got to Alexandra and I hit the roundabout, and instead of turning left to go to Central I took a right and I didn’t even know there was a road that carried on that way. That’s how lost I was. I had no idea what I was doing.”

But he did know what he was doing. Within three years Ward worked his way into a managing role before moving on to West Wanaka Station, where he and the other shepherds looked after 25,000 stock units including cattle and deer.

As a small-town kid, Ward said, the isolation of the Maniototo never bothered him.

“I absolutely loved it, you just get used to it. I would enjoy it more than living in town. 

“When I moved back down south I could have quite easily stayed and moved next door [onto his dad’s farm] and it could have all been quite easy, but I sort of wanted that challenge.” 

He played for the Maniototo rugby team alongside former All Black hooker Andrew Hore who, for the record, is just as hard as he appears.

“It was a lot better to be playing with him than against him, that’s for sure. He is if anything harder, but he was bloody good to me, they looked after me.”

As most young farmers do, Ward grew up at lightning speed living and working among his colleagues. A few life lessons were made a lot quicker by living in close quarters at West Wanaka station.

“You are working with them all day and then going home to have dinner with them. It  sorts you out as a person too you know, like you sort of have to do the job and get on with them. You have to put personalities aside, which is a big learning thing … because you obviously don‘t get along with everyone.”

Ward was soon shoulder tapped by the neighbours, Mount Aspiring Station, to manage up to 10,000 stock units including cattle, which was his dream job. 

“You take it for granted. How many thousand tourists go up the road a year? And when you stop and talk to them, and they’ll go on about how lucky you are to live here. 

“You know you are lucky, but it isn’t until you leave and go back up there and drive up that valley, and it’s like ‘Hell, I lived here’.”

He still returns every season for tailing, just to catch up with his shepherding mates and the station owners, Allison and Randall Aspinall.

“I like to give the dogs a good run, to keep your eye in more than anything.”

Ward has seven sheep dogs, all of which he’s trained, and a Jack Russell called Bella who has gone into retirement since moving onto flat land.

Living the dream of lakes, a warm climate and good mates in Wanaka, in 2022 Ward took the plunge to come south and became a family man, almost overnight.

He met his partner, Chantella Thurlow, in Wanaka and brought her down south to test the waters. They now have a one-year-old girl, Penelope.

“It was a quick old change, that was the biggest adaptation. I had opportunities, but I was able to come back and give it a red-hot crack. 

“I have known I have always had the chance to come home, and when it does work out well, and you see how well you can do out of it and the lifestyle of it, why do anything else?”

Having been brought up in Edendale, the adjustment to small-town New Zealand has been a breeze. 

He’s captaining the senior Edendale rugby team, knows his neighbours and has the occasional visit to the same chippie he went to at primary school. Nothing much has changed, he said.

“We lost our semi-final against Wyndham. Don’t put that in there, I am still gutted. 

“I fizz off it. I enjoy going to the clubrooms and catching up with people. You get the same people there all the time, but I do really enjoy that.”

Through his hard work over the past two years, Ward recently won the Southern South Island Beef + Lamb New Zealand Young Farmer Development Scholarship.

Taking that in his stride, he said he’s not in the game to make a quick dollar, he’s in it for the long haul and to bring children up the same way he was raised.

“That is the big thing I remember in my childhood, being able to go out on the farm and be part of it. 

“It’s not easy, but if it was easy and you were making a whole heap of money everyone would be trying to do it. You are not going to become a big rich Southland farmer overnight, you have to work away at it, like everyone before us has.”

What Ward enjoys most about farming his own stock and with no extra help is the tangible results he’s seeing in his 1600 ewes, 400 hoggets and 1000 lambs, plus 180 cattle for the added bonus.

“Everything that goes out the front gate you have put your time and effort into.

“To see fat lambs go out the gate and every year since I have been home they have got better. To watch your scanning results get better and your weaning weights go up … the results you can get from a bit of hard work. 

“It is quite nice to sit back and look at the past 10 years and how far I have actually come … use it as a line in the sand and look forward to the next 10 years.”

Through his achievements, moves and lessons, the one obvious gain to Ward’s repertoire is the fact that the rolling R is back in full force. Edendale has brought out the best in him.

“Being brought up down here, I reckon is magic. You can’t beat it.”

More: The Farmers Weekly Rural Living series highlights the rich diversity of Aotearoa New Zealand’s rural communities, farming families and their contribution to the food and fibre sector.

In Focus Podcast | Hope on the horizon for dry North Canterbury

Reporter Gerhard Uys checks in to give an update on the dry conditions in North Canterbury. Farmers have been emptying the stores of supplementary feed and really need some rain to recharge the land.

Another worry is that low groundwater levels could mean restrictions on irrigation being implemented earlier than usual this year.

Keep it to yourselves, but farming in New Zealand is relatively easy.

When you compare it to Edwin Mabonga’s farming escapades in his native Zimbabwe – often contending with leopards, snakes and countless diseases –  it almost certainly is.

Mabonga moved to New Zealand in 2002 and is now a farm owner in Southland’s Otautau. 

After sharemilking for 13 years in the north and south he’s turned to fungi, growing oyster mushrooms.

The 52-year-old has taken a hard road to get where he is today. Looking back on the move he took over a decade ago, he is grateful for what Aotearoa New Zealand and its farming community have given him and his family.

“I came to Wellington and I was looking for a farming job. My first interview I had was for a shepherding job at a sheep station. They said ‘Have you got your own dogs?’ I said ‘Well, I just got off the plane.’”

After spending a lifetime farming flowers and beef cattle in Zimbabwe, Mabonga learnt quickly how to place a set of cups on a cow’s udder and made a career in dairy farming.

Starting in Taranaki, he shifted to another farming capital – Riversdale, Southland.

Today, Mabonga has never been happier, nor felt more welcomed by the local community.

“It has definitely been a better lifestyle for us, it has been good for us. Everyone has given me a fair go at life here.”

Mabonga uplifted his family from the Mashonaland region in central Zimbabwe because of the unfolding political situation of the early 2000s.

“The whole country was affected by the toxic politics one way or another.”

Zimbabwe had been experiencing political and economic upheaval since 1999, a period that included farm seizures and worsening economic and human rights conditions.

“We came here for a better life, really.”

Farming in Zimbabwe had challenges that far surpass the tightened government regulations seen in New Zealand over the past decade, so look away when Mabonga says that “farming in New Zealand is easy”.

“I know it is difficult because of the exterior rules, in fact the rules are the hardest part of farming in New Zealand and they are man-made. Perhaps because farming is easy in New Zealand, someone with the rule books decided let’s make it difficult,” he said.

Mabonga isn’t dismissing the challenges farming here faces, such as the natural disasters experienced around the country, particularly in the South Island’s West Coast and on the North Island’s east coast. 

He also understands government climate change initiatives and rules can take some of the joy out of farming. The cost of regulations plus production is often only just covered. These stresses exist, he said.

But “it is always going to rain and so grass is going to grow”.

“You don’t have half the diseases that we have there; you don’t have foot and mouth, you don’t have anthrax, you don’t have black leg, all these tropical diseases.

“You don’t have ticks and all the tick-borne diseases that come with that, you don’t have lions and you don’t have snakes. I could go on and on.  Where we were farming there were leopards.”

It was not uncommon for leopards to kill calves, nor was it rare for the black mamba, green mamba or brown cobra snakes to kill cows on their farm.

“Snakes are a big problem. The snakes would ‘suck milk’ off the cow, straight from the teat.

While snakes are physically incapable of drinking milk from a cow’s udder, if dehydrated, the reptile will be attracted to any source of liquid. If the cow is alarmed by the snake’s presence, the reptile usually defends itself by biting the cow.

“The wastage would be if the cow would kick, then the snake would bite it and then you would find a dead cow.”

In Zimbabwe it’s a legal requirement for farmers to own guns to safely protect their stock from these lethal animals.

“I have shot a lot of snakes just to protect ourselves.

“And then there is theft. You talk about ram raiders in Auckland; in Zimbabwe you had to protect your property.”

Mabonga’s house, farm and sheds were protected with a deer-high fence with barbed wire to keep the daily threat of intruders.

“They’d help themselves; security was an issue.”

Looking back on the high-stress environment farming was back home, Mabonga keeps a sense of humour about it.

“I am now scared of snakes. I look back and I wonder how I survived. I am so used to the lifestyle here, it now scares me what I saw. I would be running now.”

Mabonga no longer has to live in fight or flight mode, owning just 200 beef cows at a time and growing mushrooms on 28 hectares.

The new lifestyle is a lot slower paced than sharemilking on the 400ha he was used to as well.

He’s running a small domestic operation producing 1.5kg of organic oyster mushrooms every second day. The mushrooms sell for $60 a kilo.

“This is a long experiment we are doing. We are trying to get into the restaurants in Queenstown. It is hard to get into that market.”

His interest in mushrooms was spawned during his horticulture diploma, when he specialised in fungi.

Mabonga arms himself with a camera nowadays and has a keen eye for photography. He said the South Island is the most beautiful part of the world for his hobby.

“I always had an interest in photography, but when we moved down to the South Island, I just picked up the camera and started taking photos. It’s beautiful. It just developed from that.”

His favourite thing about this part of the world, though? The authenticity.

“There is no commercial here and no social pressure here. I look back on the move as the best of my life.”

More: The Farmers Weekly Rural Living series highlights the rich diversity and people of Aotearoa New Zealand’s rural communities, farming families and contributions to the food and fibre sector.

In Focus Podcast | Feds get a win for migrant workers

Ongoing issues farmers have been having when trying to clear migrant workers through immigration appear to have been fixed, with a stopgap measure introduced to ensure calving is a bit easier. Federated Farmers dairy chair Richard McIntyre updates Bryan about the changes and what he’s doing to make sure an enduring solution is found.

One of Jeanette McIntyre’s favourite memories of growing up on a Southland dairy farm was the ever-important task of collecting the cream off the top of the 44-gallon milk cans to go on the porridge her mother made on the coal range.

McIntyre is now 84, a spritely Southlander who has given, and continues to give, her all to her community.

“I’m a bit ordinary,” she said, speaking from her country home in the Waikaka Valley near Gore.

“I was one of those women who married and became a wife, mother and a gofer, the lot. But if I was needed on the farm, I was there to do it.”

McIntyre, MBE, has been married for 64 years. She has been part of Rural Women New Zealand (RWNZ) for 60 years, and has been a marriage celebrant for 30 years as a side.

There is one thing for certain about her – when she picks up a job, McIntyre won’t put it down until it is completed.

“The thing is if you join an organisation why do you say ‘I will be here for five years and then I’m off’? If you are there and see things to be done, don’t you stay there and work through things and keep on looking for things that need to be done? 

“I think if you care about what you are doing, you don’t turn your back on it.”

Everything McIntyre gets involved with she cares deeply about. 

Her biggest passion is family, followed closely by uplifting women, and keeping the community alive.

Born just down the road in Knapdale on an 80 hectare dairy farm with just 35 cows, she recalls fondly how simple farming was in the 1940s and ’50s.

“The changes have been incredible, when I look back to when it was just a small shed and milking six cows at the one time. 

“Dad would put the lids on the 44 gallons of milk and we would take it down to the Otamita dairy factory. There was still one farmer there who brought his milk on his old horse and wagon. 

“It is hard to compare. There was very little, but we were happy. We had the church as a centre for us and the local hall.”

McIntyre said that while many of those smaller country communities have disappeared over the years as metropolitan New Zealand grew, many see the value of turning back to the “simple life”.

“When I look back to Mum cooking, she cooked on a coal range. She managed with very little, nothing was new or flash.  We kept a good veggie garden and that’s what we would use. 

“You would go to town once a week maybe, and town was different then as you’d dress up. Mum would sew our outfits and we’d look our best.”

It’s one of the reasons she fronted the opening up of the local country hall every Tuesday during the winter months this year, to put on a breakfast for local farmers.

It has proved popular, she said, and will continue next year.

Living in the rural hotspot of eastern Southland, she married fourth-generation sheep farmer Jim McIntyre when she was 20 as “it’s what you did back then”. She has been farming ever since between Maitland and Waikaka.

“Our kids were all brought up on the farm and there is still a farm kid in all of them.

“They were able to get out on the vehicles and with the animals. I always remember them coming home from school and it was a dash to get off the school bus to see who was going to get out in the paddock with Dad.”

Leaving the farming side mainly to Jim, she made use of the small amount of spare time she had.

In the 1960s she joined what was then called Federated Farmer Women’s Division and later became Rural Women New Zealand.

This was a time when a married woman like McIntyre would be introduced as Mrs Jim McIntyre, which McIntyre can’t help but grin about.

“One of my friends up the road got her initials first ahead of his on the mailbox and, at the time, that was quite something.”

One of the biggest bones she had to pick was over the name of the women’s group, as it suggested it was just a subgroup of the men’s organisation.

“They were always separate and that has bugged me my whole life.”

When she became president, in 1991, she spoke up about the issue, but her suggestion of a new name was met with cries of “over my dead body”. However, six years later the name changed, and is RWNZ to this day.

“It’s important to have the women’s voice. Our rural women are about strengthening our communities and it is ensuring those communities have the services.”

When you meet her, McIntyre is anything but the “ordinary” woman she describes herself as, but as is often the case with women who light up a room, she suffers from a lack of confidence.

“There was always this overwhelming self-doubt. When I was elected on the National Council for RWNZ I thought how am I going to be anywhere near where they are? They are so intelligent and they have the finger on the pulse.”

McIntyre’s MBE for services to her community proves getting on with the job at hand never goes unrecognised.

“There are other ways of doing things, because if you do what you’ve always done, you get what you’ve always got.”

One of her more personal pastimes, as a marriage celebrant, has brought her plenty of joy.

“My middle daughter said, ‘Mum, you’re going to marry us.’ I said ‘I can’t, I am not a marriage celebrant.’ She said, ‘Well become one then.’ 

“I have taken so many weddings I have lost count.

“Everything is special when you are working with couples at a special time in their lives. Working with them is a privilege.”

McIntyre, who belongs to more committees than there is space to list, barely takes a breath when asked how she fits it all in.

“There’s always something going on, you can’t do things in just singular.”

“I just think I keep going because if you are interested in something, just keep doing it.”

More: The Farmers Weekly Rural Living series highlights the rich diversity and people of Aotearoa New Zealand’s rural communities, farming families and contributions to the food and fibre sector.

Another self-help book with the word “shit” on the front cover, you say, but could the bullshit inside this one change the life of rural Kiwis with alcohol addiction?

Waiheke Island author Maree MacLean has released her second book, The No Bullshit Guide to Staying Sober, following on from the popular The No Bullshit Guide to Getting Sober, released last year.

It’s evidenced-based, short and straight to the point, she said.

“The message is no-nonsense, it speaks to the NZ psyche and despite the heavy subject matter, is laugh-out-loud funny.”

While the books aren’t aimed specifically at rural communities, statistics say this is the biggest demographic needing help around binge drinking and alcoholism.

In June, Farmer’s Weekly looked into the scourge of alcohol abuse in the country’s more remote areas. A wastewater sampling study confirmed rural communities consume more alcohol per person than people in urban areas do. Some rural spots consume twice the annual average of the likes of South and West Auckland.

Of the 500 in-person meetings run by Alcoholics Anonymous (AA), 100 of them are in small towns or rural communities. This accounts only for those doing something about their addiction.

MacLean, a former alcoholic herself, said the buck must stop with the addicts.

“First of all they have to just get really honest about all the bullshit list of excuses they have got for why they keep continuing to drink when it is ruining their life.”

The book is informative and interactive for those who either have acknowledged a problem or are wanting to find out more. It highlights the symptoms, the reasons and the ways to get away from drinking as a problem.

“They must get real with themselves. You don’t have to do this with anyone, work through the book and all will come out in the wash.”

Having been sober for four years, MacLean knows a thing or two about quitting alcohol.

The one tangible thing everyone must do, she said, is get the support needed to kick the habit.

“Get to an AA meeting. AA works and there is no excuse because we can do everything online now. It is people that have the same problem as you, you can meet them and see that they have overcome this addiction.”

Sobriety hasn’t been easy for the former media industry worker.

She first began drinking heavily when she worked as a television producer at TVNZ.

“I didn’t think there was a problem, I was just partying like everyone else does. I was in my mid-20s and there was alcohol everywhere, there were recreational drugs, too. We’d work all week, have a big weekend and finally come down on Tuesday.

“I had this depression, and it didn’t go away. And I was told if I didn’t stop this alcohol abuse, this won’t go away.”

While the penny half dropped, MacLean continued drinking for another 10 years while holding down successful careers in the media, diplomacy and fashion, and getting married as well.

It wasn’t until age 37, when her brother died from oesophageal bleeding related to his drinking problem, that she knew she had to turn her life around.

“That was the worst day of my life.”

“I am standing there at the funeral and going ‘I have got to have a look at this, this could kill me too’.”

Her marriage came to an end, and she has come to terms with admitting the role alcohol had to play in that.

“It definitely did, it is really hard to say that now, but it is true. If I hadn’t drunk like I did, I would have kids and I would have still been married. 

“The denial was massive.”

As with many who struggle with addiction, MacLean grew up around alcohol addicts.

“Dad didn’t touch a drop of it because of what he was put through. He chose not to because his father had a massive alcohol problem.”

Statistically, one in five New Zealanders struggle with alcohol abuse. This is doubled in the rural sector.

“Rural communities have a bigger alcohol problem than the main centres and it is real because they are on their own sometimes. They are often removed from social structures.

“Living on the farm is tough and these people can be isolated and vulnerable. They often don’t reach out, so we need to reach out to them.”

MacLean’s own motivation for being sober?

“My nieces and nephews, living in a healthier world. So other families don’t have to go what we went through, losing a son, my brother.”

Answering yes to two more of these questions indicates a drinking problem. Have you:

• Had times you wound up drinking more or longer than you intended?

• More than once wanted to cut down or stop drinking, or tried to, but couldn’t?

• Spent a lot of time drinking, or being sick or hungover from the after effects?

• Wanted a drink so badly you could think of nothing else?

• Found that drinking or being hungover from drinking often interferes with taking care of your home or family, causes trouble with your job, or leads to issues with others?

• Continued drinking even though it is causing trouble with your family, friends or significant other?

• Given up or cut back on activities that you enjoy, or are important or interesting to you, in order to drink?

• More than once gotten into situations during or after drinking that increased your risk of harm, such as driving, swimming, operating machinery while intoxicated, walking in dangerous areas, or having unsafe sex?

• Continued drinking even though it is making you feel depressed or anxious or compounding another health problem? Or continued drinking after having a blackout episode?

• Experienced symptoms like trouble sleeping, shakiness, restlessness, nausea, sweating, a racing heart, seizure, or sensing things that aren’t there as alcohol’s effects are wearing off?

The two books can be bought for $50 instead of their usual $29.99 each and postage is $8 to anywhere in the country including rural.

More: The Farmers Weekly Rural Living series highlights the rich diversity and people of Aotearoa New Zealand’s rural communities, farming families and contributions to the food and fibre sector.

​​Need help? AA is accessible to alcoholics in rural communities in New Zealand through:

• In-person meetings
• Online (Zoom) meetings
• AA On Air (recorded) Meetings on its website
• Access Radio
• AA Online Shop
• 0800 Phoneline (0800 229 6757)
• Email (help@aa.org.nz)
• AA website (https://aa.org.nz/)

There are around 180 chicken farms in New Zealand, but the lesser-known duck industry is so tiny you can count on one hand the number of commercial farms across the country.

What they lack in quantity, however, ducks make up in quality, with a duck egg having per gram far greater nutritional value than the humble chicken egg – a higher protein density, twice as much fat and omega 3 and often less allergies.

Te Puke farmer Katherine Hughes keeps just over 200 ducks at a time, and said the bird takes little work for quite a lot of gain. 

However, convincing Kiwis to eat the meat and eggs is no duck soup.

“Most people don’t like the flavour of duck meat or duck eggs. You have to have a certain client that likes that taste and wants it. Getting people to realise it is good meat is hard, a lot of people think it is too gamey.”

Hughes and her parents Robyn and Mike French of French’s Farm farm their ducks free range as they do their 200 chickens. She said this can make a huge difference to the taste and tenderness of the meat.

“It all depends how the duck has been brought up. If the duck is brought up commercially and grown really fast and you force feed it, you end up with a really tough bird. 

“Whereas if you have a free-range duck out on the farm playing in water and it’s not force- fed, and you add no nasties to the feed and use natural stuff, you end up with beautiful meat.”

Duck has long been on the menu at more upmarket restaurants as well as Asian specialty restaurants and is now more widely recognised in the food industry with most of the production consumed in New Zealand and a small amount exported.

Other important markets include those who are allergic to chicken.

All of Hughes ducks are sold live to her Auckland buyers along with her eggs, of which in peak season she produces about 90 a day.
In terms of scale, French’s Farm is a lot smaller than the commercial farms, which house over 30,000 ducks in specially made sheds.

The family’s affiliation with the bird goes back three generations.

“Dad’s mum had ducks when growing up on the east coast of Gisborne.. They used to eat them more than any other meat. Grandad would go out and kill them off for a feast.”

She said the ducks are very easy to care for, although “a very dirty bird” when near water.

When the ducks are not laying, they are turned out into the paddocks to enjoy the grass and as the saying goes, they are like duck to water when near a pond.

A clean pond will turn brown within minutes of the ducks entering as they dig up worms with their bills.

The mess isn’t a deterrent for Hughes.

“The work involved is little. All we do is make sure we have the next fence up in the next paddock, so we know they have enough grass to eat and go through. 

“Apart from that, there isn’t a lot involved. With sheep you have the shearing, the crutching, the drenching, you have to check on the birthing of the lamb. Chooks and ducks are easier.”

They farm Muscovy ducks, Pekin and Khaki Campbells. Duck meat is worth more than chicken; they will get around $35 to $40 for a live one compared to $11 for a fed-up live chook.

As for the drakes, Hughes doesn’t keep a lot of them on the farm.

“We get rid of most of the boys, otherwise you have too much scrapping.”

Her ducks are fed whole maize and pellets and have well over the required industry recommended square metre per 18kg to move about.  
“We like our ducks to have room. They are a lovely bird, I even sell them to people who want them as pets.”

She said the benefit of duck farming in comparison to sheep, deer and cattle is the fast turnaround from birth to sale for its meat. A duck can be fed up and sent away within 42 days.

“Ducks are always fast growing. I leave probably 40 or 50 out running around the whole farm. They are the ones that have their own nests and bring up the ducklings and do what they need to do. They do it all on their own, I don’t use incubators or anything like that.

“If we lose some we lose some, that is part and parcel of a farm, right? You can’t control it all the time, so we let them do what they do.”

Those farming ducks that aren’t free range will usually bring up the duckling in an incubator and raise them in a heated brooding room for about two weeks, before moving the duck to grower sheds and sending them away after the 42-day cycle.

Similar to larger non free-range chicken farms, those ducks can be fed through automated feed systems, live under continuous lighting, and inside sheds with fresh wood shavings spread daily.

Southland Federated Farmer’s president and long-time dairy farmer Jason Herrick is making up for lost time.

Until four years ago, the newly elected president had a drinking problem that led to him hitting rock bottom, wanting to end his life and, most painfully for him, hurting his relationship with his children.

Drinking is a problem that, statistically, he shares with many rural New Zealanders.

A wastewater sampling study released earlier this year confirmed rural communities consume more alcohol per person than people in urban areas do. Some rural spots consume twice the annual average of the likes of South and West Auckland.

Alcoholics Anonymous runs over 500 in-person meetings – 100 of them in small towns or rural communities. This accounts only for those doing something about their addiction.

Herrick lives between the tiny townships of Mossburn and Lumsden in the deep south, an isolated part of New Zealand.

“One of the biggest regrets is the impact it had on my kids. I had no relationship with my kids, zero,” he said.

“I was always authoritarian, I was not a forgiving person, I was not a very nice person to be around most of the time and alcohol had a huge part to play in that.”

Herrick now has two grandchildren and one on the way. He can’t turn back the clock on the mistakes he made as a father, but is making sure he is a healthier and happier man at 46.

“I am working really hard to work on my relationship with my kids.”

On top of his job at Federated Farmers, he milks 1000 cows and has been open about his mental health struggles. Drinking was the biggest contributor to him wanting to end his life.

“Alcohol was a massive factor. I used it as a coping mechanism, right. When you have a tough day or if things aren’t going to plan, then you’d come home and have a few drinks to ease the reality.”

In a regular week he would go through at least one bottle of bourbon, drinking every evening. That’s on top of what he would consume at the local pub in the weekends. 

“I would come home in an absolute mess.

“You can’t take back what you say, right. You might put some stupid stuff on social media, you might drink and drive, that’s probably one of the dumbest things you’d do. You would burn bridges and upset people.”

Police confirm research shows alcohol consumption is higher in rural New Zealand than in urban locations.

When alcohol contributes to one in five victimisations for the New Zealand Police, as well as alcohol harm costing the country about almost $8 billion each year, it is a nationwide problem.

“We continue to monitor alcohol harm in all our communities as we look for opportunities to reduce and prevent this from occurring, regardless of whether it is in a rural or urban areas,” a Police spokesperson said.

The Rural Support Trust confirmed that alcohol is often part of a wider reason for contacting it for help.  

Minister for Mental Health Matt Doocey acknowledged alcohol often has a negative impact in parts of rural New Zealand.

“The government recognises addiction and substance-related harm are complex issues that require innovative and evidence-based solutions,” he said. 

“We are continuing to expand access to both mental health and addiction supports in rural communities through investment in digital tools, helplines and the through the rollout of primary mental health and addiction services to general practices.”

However, government budget cuts mean job losses loom over the mental health services across the country, with the Ministry of Health cutting around 134 jobs.

Those affected by these cuts are likely to be rural folk such as Herrick, who said he was more or less saved back in 2018 through friends and mental health services.

“I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for a particular person on a particular day,” he said.

“I was the good old classic southern man, take the concrete pill and harden the hell up and get on with the job. I never dealt with the issues.”

In 2018 during a very harsh winter Herrick felt work and life were out of his control. He remembers not being able to sleep at night because he was worried about how his farm would be perceived by neighbours because of Southland’s tough farming conditions.

“Drinking just made things worse because you didn’t have control of what you were saying and what you were doing.”

As with any addiction, the next day was worse and so he would reach for another drink.

His partner Sandy was the spine of his family for much of that period.

“She has never been a huge drinker, in fact she stayed sober most of the time because I wasn’t. She had to make sure the family was safe, that she was safe and that I wasn’t going to make a huge jerk of myself.”

Having now farmed for 26 years and knocked alcohol on the head for four, Herrick has turned his life around.

“I very much protect myself in social situations when it comes to that sort of stuff. I have a lot more self-control now. 

“I don’t miss it at all.”

The added bonus: Herrick is a shadow of his former self, walking around 71kg lighter.

“That was the huge turnaround for me in life, getting in control of my physical wellbeing and helping out my mental wellbeing.”

A rural Canterbury dairy farmer in her late forties, who asked not to be named, is now 20 years sober. Since giving up drinking at 27, she’s met her husband and had three children.

If she had continued drinking she wouldn’t be here, she said.

“When I picked up that drink, I could not control the roller-coaster I was on. I wanted to control it, I wanted to enjoy it, but I couldn’t do both. 

“I’d have a great night out, I think … but I would black out every time. The next day I didn’t know what had happened, what I had said or who I was with.”

When her friends showed concern for her behaviour she made new ones, without taking a look at herself.

“I had gone to town wearing a wetsuit in Invercargill where I lived at the time. It was 6am and they were closing the bar. I was by myself, had no money and here I was arguing with the bartender because he wouldn’t sell me a bottle of tequila. 

“I ended up vomiting, they sent me away in a taxi, and I was vomiting until lunchtime the next day. When I finally came to, I was suicidal. 

“I do very clearly remember looking in the mirror as this 27-year-old who is supposed to be in the peak of her life. I just felt so disconnected and that my life was a write-off.”

She had to hit rock bottom before admitting that drinking was the centre of her pain.

“For me something went off. I thought before going down the suicide road, maybe I could get some help and maybe alcohol is the problem.”

It was sharing the shame and secrets at AA that got her confronting her issues and  starting to heal.

“The shame and the fear, all of that fuelled the alcoholism. When you start sharing that, you put some light on it and it isn’t sitting there in the dark anymore.”

For every success story, however, there are the silent tragedies out there in rural New Zealand.

“In 20 years, I have watched a lot of mothers bury their alcoholic sons and daughters, I have watched children bury their alcoholic parents. It is horrendous and it is just more suffering till the end,” she said.

“I know one he’s in his seventies, he’s in the cottage on the corner of the farm, pickling himself. It is tragic. 

“It doesn’t have to be like that.”

Having spent close to 21 years sober, she said the key to breaking addiction is regular AA meetings and getting off the farm once a week.

“That one meeting a week, it means I can continue to show up as someone’s wife and someone’s mum, sober.

“Find your thing that you go off the farm for every week, just something. It doesn’t matter if it’s bowls, pottery or whatever it is that you are interested in. Just something that gets you out the gate every week.”

She and her husband have seen the downturn in dairying and every week are looking to see if the books can be balanced. 

“It’s no ginger ale and skittles at all. It is hard, it’s like ‘How are we paying these bills?’ Eight dollars of payout now is not the $8 of payout from four years ago.”

But she said being sober gives her a clearer mind to deal with the hardships and remind her why she is there in the first place.

“When you are a farmer, you are intrinsically passionate about the land, the people of the land, the produce, the way of living and the connection to the seasons, to the animals, and to the earth. There is something very deep in that and it is bigger than one season of a bad payout.”

“If it isn’t bigger than that, then you have probably left farming.”

Need help? AA is accessible to alcoholics in rural communities in New Zealand through:
In-person meetings
Online (Zoom) meetings
AA On Air (recorded) Meetings on its website
Access Radio
AA Online Shop
0800 Phoneline (0800 229 6757)
Email (help@aa.org.nz)
AA website (https://aa.org.nz/)

Once hailed as the rugby club with the most All Blacks per capita, Glenmark-Cheviot Rugby Club also has a proud rural grounding.

The club boasts 10 former All Blacks including Alex “Grizz” Wyllie, Graeme Higginson, Andy Jefferd, Robbie Deans, Bruce Deans, Craig Green, Richard Loe, Andy Earl, Todd Blackadder and Scott Hamilton.

But a recent challenge brought a different breed of rugby player to its club day – the battered farmer coming out of footy retirement is a reasonable description of its golden-oldie Rhinos rugby team.

More than 40 players signed up to play on Saturday May 11 against the visiting Alnwick Rugby Club from Northumberland, England – a team full of similar farming stock.

It all started when the English players were having a few drinks in 2020 and decided they wanted to tour and play a bit of rugby.

Glenmark-Cheviot lock George Fox had played for the English side when he took a working holiday farming six years ago, and suggested the two clubs play against one another.

“They got talking over a few beers during covid I think, and they all decided to come to New Zealand. They are a similar rural team. 

“They say rugby is for all shapes and sizes and that team is going to be living proof of that, I’d say.”

That could be the kettle calling the pot black. Many of the Rhinos rugby players are well into their 40s and strapping on the boots after considerable periods of not playing, some having over a decade’s hiatus from the game.

“There is a heck load of them that have come out of the woodwork. Some I haven’t seen in years,” Fox said.

One of those is Hawarden sheep farmer Ben Cassidy. Farming 5000 sheep and 400 cows, Cassidy has always fit rugby around the busy lifestyle and after 12 years out of the game he was hoping for 20 “easy” minutes in the forwards.

The 51-year-old had done next to no training for the runaround but wasn’t too worried about injuries and tweaks.

“Nothing, absolutely nothing, couple games of squash and drinking a bit of beer, that’s all I have been doing.

“I am probably good for 10 minutes of it and then hoping that someone is going to replace me. I am hoping I get the last 10 because then you feel like you deserve beer, that’s sort of the goal.

“Even if I am still alive at the end, I will be happy I think.”

Aside from the undercooked preparation the majority of the players have had, the one thing they all agree on is rugby has always been a nice reprieve from the pressures of farming.

“It is incredibly good mentally, it would be one of the best things out. A lot of fun and a lot of laughs and good stories.”

Fox, who farms 4500 sheep and 200 beef in the Scargill Valley, has played over 75 matches for the club that he says is the heart of the community, or close to it.

“Rugby is sometimes the only social contact a lot of us will get during the winter so I guess it is good to get out and about and know everyone else is going through the same stuff as you especially at the moment the way things are. Farmers are hurting bad around here.” 

The Cheviot Hill country has been one of the hardest hit farmlands in regard to drought this year. Farmers have been relying on outside feed for months through a dry autumn and early winter.

While Fox and neighbouring farmers have seen a tough few seasons in the sheep industry, he keeps optimistic.

“I guess you’ve just got to keep taking it day by day. We have to keep looking ahead to what’s next.

Club stalwart Jody Horrell is another who came out of the rugby retirement village after 12 years to play for the Rhinos. Having played more than 250 matches for the club over 18 years, he’d worked out how to prepare for the big match.

“I bought a heap of Voltarens the other day and I will start loading up with them, I think. I start a couple days out, I did it last year and it took the edge off a wee bit. 

“A couple of years ago I played golden oldies like this and couldn’t walk for a few days, it was a struggle to get out of bed. But we will worry about that Sunday, Monday.”

The 47-year-old was born in Cheviot and runs the family farm as well as running a contracting business. Rugby has always been a huge part of checking in with his mates and getting his mind off the job,

“I remember when I was playing it was one of the main things you focus on, you did your work and rugby was it, work was all planned around rugby, really.”

This week, we chat with with Katrina Roberts, who is the new Dairy Woman of the Year. She’s a Waikato vet, working with dairy farmers to not only maintain cow health but also improve the efficiency of their farm systems.

Federated Farmers arable chair David Birkett joins us to talk about the arable industry awards, which are open to nominations now. 
And, senior reporter Hugh Stringleman wraps up the dairy commodity season for us, following this week’s GDT auction.