I’ve just finished reading This Piece of Earth, subtitled A life in my New Zealand garden by Harvey McQueen. Released by Awa Press at the end of November, the quote on the front is from Fiona Kidman: ‘I loved every minute of this book – a gorgeous read’.

Well, initially at least, it wasn't quite like that for me. When I first started it, I thought, what the hell is going on here, exactly? Is this geezer really going to rabbit on about his garden for 245 pages? And opening with half a page devoted to the antics of a tui, something I can watch every day in my own garden? I can’t possibly read this.

But then. It’s hard to nail what it was that hooked me. Just like it’s hard to come up with a label for this gentle biography/cook book/gardening diary. I imagine that he just sat down and wrote it without worrying about all of that. The thing that came shining through for me was contentment, and I think maybe that’s the hook – I started it just before Christmas and it became a little haven of calm in the storm. Again, just like my own garden. Harvey and I and of course millions of other have discovered the healing and – oh yeah – grounding power of dirt and plants, the very stuff of life.

But yes, contentment, that rare and most prized of possessions. With Harvey, it’s definitely the product of a useful, creative life. Born in Little River, south of Christchurch (been there, loved it, as well as Akaroa, where Harvey was educated), he was a teacher who through a series of steps ended up being an education advisor to David Lange, and in 2002 was made an officer of the New Zealand Order of Merit for services to education and literature. He’s written six books of poetry and a couple of other worthy historical tomes. And the literary magazine Bravado has recently employed him as their reviewer, so he’ll be pottering in literary fields yet for a while.

But right now he’s pretty much retired with his wife Anne Else, and their cats, Dorothy and William, who sprawl and purr throughout the pages, their characters clear. Anne, who doesn’t sprawl and purr, or not so’s you’d know, must nevertheless have other ways of securing the love of a good man, because it glows gently all through the book. He knows all her likes and dislikes in the garden and the kitchen; picks her her favourite flowers and makes her favourite dishes. Too damn cute for words actually. Besides, I love a man who cooks … luckily, I hasten to add, I’ve got one.

Recipes appear randomly, inspired by the planting or maintenance of a herb or vegetable. I have marked and intend to try several. He seems to cook quite like me: a quick look at a recipe, then wriggle it around to make it work better or have a slightly different flavour to suit the occasion or whim. And pretty loose on the amounts. Nice.

He’s endearingly loose in the garden too, likes a bit of chaos, but he certainly knows his stuff all the same. I learned a fair bit, and there are lots of little snippets I found fascinating. For instance, I had no idea that aconite, a homoeopathic remedy I use often for bruises, is also called monkshood, which grows easily in the New Zealand garden, and is also called wolfsbane – one of the strongest plant poisons around: ‘for centuries, people used it to poison wolves. Also, less heroically, rats.’ Classic, dry, wry McQueen humour.

Mr McQueen has a style which is no doubt derived from his poetry, which I intend to read: quite controlled, pared down, almost austere sometimes. It doesn’t prevent him sounding human though. One day, walking through Wellington’s Botanic Gardens shortly after 9/11, he comes across the seat where he had his first kiss ‘half a century earlier’. A young mother is sitting there, breastfeeding her baby, her toddler feeding the ducks …

I suddenly realised she might think I was being voyeuristic, but she looked up and smiled and I said something to the effect of ‘what a beautiful scene’. She asked her daughter to give the nice man some bread to feed the ducks. Tears sprung to my eyes – for that departed youth, for the dead in New York, for humanity. I felt a fool, and grateful.

As I am unexpectedly grateful for the gift of this calm and inspirational read. Treat yourself to a bit of contentment. You never know, it could be contagious!