A new kitchen, a few failed bakes, and finding my rhythm again.

We’ve moved to Martinborough!

It still feels a little surreal to say that out loud.

After years of moving between places — and a couple that felt particularly full — we’ve landed somewhere that feels quieter. Slower. There’s space here. Olive trees, fallen walnuts, apples from the garden… and, quite unexpectedly, a pumpkin I found tucked away in a corner as if it had been waiting for us.

Before we left our home in Wellington, we gathered what we could — a last harvest of sorts. A huge haul of Urenika potatoes came with us, earthy and grounding, something to carry forward into this next chapter. Now, alongside them, are apples picked straight from the trees here in Martinborough — crisp, sharp, and a quiet reminder that we’ve arrived somewhere new.

The kitchen here has been another story.

It’s small. Very small. The oven is wildly inconsistent — running too hot in places and barely warm in others. My first apple pie cooked unevenly, golden on one side and pale on the other. The seedy crackers I usually make without thinking caught too quickly and tipped from perfect to overdone in minutes. There’s very little storage, and for a few days I felt completely out of rhythm.

Cooking has always been the place I return to, so losing that ease — even temporarily — unsettled me more than I expected.

But slowly, things are shifting.

Paul has put up some temporary shelving, which has made a huge difference. A place for things to sit. A bit of order returning. And I’m beginning to understand this kitchen — where the heat sits, how it behaves, what it needs from me.

It’s asking for a different kind of cooking. Less precision. More attention.

So for now, I’m leaning into what’s here — roasting those Urenika potatoes until their edges catch and soften, building simple meals from what we brought with us and what’s growing around us, and letting things unfold a little more slowly.

For now, it’s just about finding my way back.