Tangaroa Walker: A Māori farmer sowing the seeds of the future

For the average non-Māori farmer, a farm is simply a business — an inanimate stretch of land. But for Māori farmers like Tangaroa Walker, the whenua and the kararehe on the farm are like whānau. Tangaroa shares his farm life in the South Island to his 42,000 Instagram followers.

The land is regarded as a friend, he converses with papatuanuku, and the moon guides his hands. Empathising with the land is part of his daily routine.  

While Aotearoa is well-known for its successful farming industry, you'll often hear about the stress farmers go through. The strenuous routine, the intensive physicality of it, the emotional stress.

On many non-Māori farms, farming is simply another business trade. Validation and success come purely from the acres owned and the cash in pockets. Environmental impacts that stem from farming are frequently disregarded as they create more costs for farmers, regardless of the harm the high CO2 and methane emissions.

But the key aspect of farming in Aotearoa that sets us apart from anywhere else, is the incorporation of Māori culture into farming practices. 

However, in Māori culture there is a deep connection between the people and te whenua, the land. This is heavily prioritised when it comes to the practice of farming.  

Tangaroa Walker has been part of the farming world since he was 7 — when he began earning his keep ($5 bucks a week from his uncle) and fell in love the craft.  

Growing up as a “marae kid”, Tangaroa was immersed in the outdoors, fishing rod in one hand and kete in the other. He tells me how living and thriving outdoors was innate to him — a proud part of his Māori identity.   

"We’ve been gathering food since we were kids, we’re used to being in the bush, hunting, and to being stuck in the freezing cold. It’s not something that’s foreign to us.”  

“Being Māori, our upbringing makes us more in tune with the farm and the animals."  

However, the explorative and spiritual Māori culture can clash with the expectations of being a farmer. Bridging the gap between these two aspects of Tangaroa’s identity is a journey Tangaroa is still on.  

“The values I was brought up with vs the values I have to live with to run a farm, they sort of go against each other. I’m trying to find where the X marks the spot.”  

Finding a balance between the spiritual Māori values instilled in him and the business insight required to succeed is not always an easy task. But he stays true to his values — and to his culture.  

For Tangaroa, appreciating the Gods and the values of the land is inherently more important than how much money he’s making compared to the next farm. 

Whilst the existing perceptions and stereotypes of farmers somewhat hinder expression of identity, it’s clear that Māori farmers do not shy away from te ao Māori practices.  

Tangaroa explains the use of matauranga on a farm — in the form of maramataka. Maramataka is the indigenous practice of observing moon phase patterns and applying this knowledge into the process of planting crops and caring for animals.  

Art / Tara Griz

Tangaroa expresses deep empathy for farm animals and the ways in which they are affected by maramataka.   

“Sometimes the animals will get to the paddock and just stand there even though there’s grass right there, and on other days when the moon phase is different, they’ll go over to the grass. I’ll see the moon and think ‘Oh, that’ll be why the cows are kicking’.”  

This practice is specific to Māori culture, and its effects and uses extend beyond simply planting and fishing — impacting how we feel about ourselves. Our lives, our tides, and our minds are driven by the moon.   

Tangaroa believes that if maramataka can have an impact on a singular animal, “it must affect everything,”.   

This extends into the strong connection Māori have with te whenua. Tangaroa stresses the importance of a healthy relationship with the land.  

“We’ve got names for everything in papatuanuku, we protect them like they’re people.”   

To Tangaroa and other Māori farmers, farmland is not simply a business setting, it's one of their strongest connections to their wairua, their tupuna, and to their mokopuna.  

“It’s whakapapa. Every bit of land is connected to someone else’s whenua that’s how we are connected. The whenua — it's where we came from.”  

Tangaroa explains the importance of environmental awareness and a forward-thinking approach when making decisions for a farm — something that many Kiwi farmers are still wrapping their heads around.  

“Farmers I know are against the climate change regulations because it’s a cost to them. CO2 emissions, methane emissions, they think it’s all shit only because they’ve seen the prices attached to them.”  

Māori respect for their whenua extends beyond their own lifetimes, an admirable sense of honour not always seen in this business industry. Being a contract milker, he only spends three to five years on a farm, yet every decision he makes has the future in mind.   

“It’s a mokopuna decision.” 

“Being Māori — it’s in our DNA to think of our mokopuna. We are always making business decisions that will benefit our mokopuna.”  

Tangaroa expresses distaste for environmentally damaging habits that have been normalised in farming.  

“We would never dig a hole for rubbish because then our mokopuna would have to deal with it. It’d never even cross our minds."  

The spiritual connection of farmers like Tangaroa to their whenua and mokopuna is a rare strength. The further incorporation of a spiritually and environmentally conscious mindset in the farming industry could create huge positive changes.  

If more farmers adopted this considerate and forward-thinking view, what would Aotearoa’s farming future look like? After all, we want our mokopuna to look back at their tupuna and be as proud as we are of ours.