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Man Made New Zealand

Juliet Peter

We New Zealanders are accustomed to hearing of the beauties of our country's natural scenery. We are justly proud and appreciative of our country's natural scenery. We are justly proud and appreciative of our mountains, lakes and coastlines, and all the varied attractions the country has to offer us. If we are trampers, campers or motorists, we take every opportunity to leave the city and explore. Certainly there is much to delight us, but also much to regret. It would seem, on the whole, that the man-made scenery of New Zealand makes little attempt to live up to, or enhance, the original landscape provided by Nature. We take our natural scenery for granted, and remain unaware of eroded hillsides, burnt forests, gorse-choked valleys, and the shabby pretences of so much of our architecture.

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Though these sketches were made in the vicinity of Ohakune, and depict the legacy of the earlier part of this century, they illustrate scenes familiar in many other parts of New Zealand. But now the old-style wooden box, with or without false front, is giving way to a rapid growth of jazz-trimmed concrete, which looks no more at ease, or in harmony with our countryside, than the other. Certainly there are exceptions, quite enough for us to be hopeful. But generally speaking, New Zealanders tolerate utilitatrian ugliness as if it was a necessary circumstance of life.

The main trunk line to Auckland runs through country that once grew magnificent indigenous forests. Now utility pine trees and scraggy macrocarpas replace the fast disappearing bush. Sometimes a railway station is left stranded in a lonely bleak countryside, as if deposited there by a receding tide. The sawmills, still in pursuit of the bush, have moved far back into the hills.

In another locality the forest must have been burned while standing. It is now pasture land.

Sheep and cows do not seem oppressed by the desolation of such landscapes, but its brutalized aspect must ultimately have an effect on the human beings who live with it. A farm, however small, can be a delightful place when its paddocks are cared for and tidy, and its homestead placed in a setting of trees and garden. But too many, like this one, look unlovely and unloved. This can hardly be caused by poverty, as quite often a large new car stands in the garage. And the local township prospers as the spending power of the farmer increases.

The idea is slow in ocurring that a more kind and considerate treatment of our environment might repay us, and add to our enjoyment of life. And the country might then look as if we belonged here.