From our paddocks to yours

There’s something wonderfully imperfect about a rural Christmas.

It never unfolds with the polished ease of a magazine spread - and that’s precisely what makes it special. While the rest of the country might be worrying about table settings or matching serviettes, our version tends be a bit messy, a bit loud and very kiwi.

It’s kids racing around on motorbikes, the smell of sunscreen and silage mingling in the heat, dogs circling the ham with tactical precision, and someone remembering mid-morning that a gate still needs fixing before the nor’wester gets up.

 Lunch is served when the jobs are done - or at least paused - and somehow it all works out.

It has been a big year for rural families. The weather has been unpredictable, the workloads have been relentless, and the emotional load many people carry has been heavier than most will ever admit out loud.

Yet across the South Island, I’ve seen the same thing repeated: neighbours showing up, communities stepping in, people doing what needs to be done without fuss or fanfare. Rural New Zealand has always thrived on collaboration, shared effort, and a quiet understanding that none of us is an island.

But Christmas has a way of magnifying both joy and absence. While many households will be full, loud, and overflowing with the usual rural energy, others will feel the ache of someone missing - a chair at the table that once was filled. Whether that loss is recent or long-carried, whether it’s a family member, a friend, or simply someone who no longer walks the same track with you, that empty space is real.

If that’s part of your story this year, please know you’re not alone. Rural life is built on connection, and there are people, neighbours, and organisations - including the Rural Support Trust - ready to offer a listening ear, a cuppa, or a hand when the days feel heavy.

I hope Christmas brings you connection, joy and space for rest. The warmth of shared meals. Kids running through sprinklers, paddocks humming with summer life, or the sweet relief of sitting under the shade of a tree with not much to do for a moment. I hope you feel a sense of pride that as Kiwis sit down for Christmas dinner, you contributed even in some small way to the food on their plates. These small, fleeting moments are the ones that anchor us every day, not just in the festive season.

As we wrap up 2025, I want to say thank you for welcoming the Rural Guardian into your homes, sheds, and daily routines. Thank you for reading, for sharing your stories, and for supporting a publication that is proud of our country’s farmers and firmly grounded in the heart of New Zealand. It’s a privilege to tell your stories, and one I don’t take lightly.

From my family to yours, I wish you a safe, restful Christmas and a fresh, optimistic start to 2026.