'Weather's a'comin' ' says the Bureau of Meteorology. Big weather. That's why I thought you might enjoy a stroll/muse/chat this morning. This afternoon will probably be devoted to baking while fat tears fall from leaden skies.
So, we'll head out the back door and take a look around if you like? Oh, yes. The Lemon Balm thriving in a crack in the concrete? I don't know why it does so well there, but I just can't remove it for the sake of 'neatness'. In the evening, it wafts the most deliciously green citrus scent. My son sees it as a herbal pillow/bed too. It doesn't even seem to mind being lain upon.
Lavender amongst the cat-mint. I actually don't know why cat-mint got its name -neither of my felines have shown the slightest interest in the plant. However, it's green, beautiful, luscious, and puts on quite an autumnal display. It stays. When it flowers it's also the Honey-bee Grand Hyatt, so it's valuable to me. Hell, anything thriving and beautiful ends up being valuable to me.
It's appropriate though, this is where we buried my beloved Nimue. A tuxedo cat with a serious attitude. The silly girl decided to take on a snake a couple of years ago. But that was her, -fearless, protective, and absolutely certain she was a Lion.
It's less of an 'apple tree' and more of an 'apple twig' I know, but this is the prized Cox's Orange Pippin. We call her 'Pip' (the walnut seedling, naturally enough, is 'Wally'). By my reckoning, I may taste an apple from this twiglet before I'm 50. Have you heard of it? It's a bit of a crazy-apple-person thing, and to hear tell, they don't store or transport particularly well (hence not being a successful commercial variety). The story goes though (and I choose to believe it), that a pippin munched straight from the tree is the perfect blend of acidity, crunch and sweetness. An apple to transport you to Avalon via your olfactory receptors. Gardeners are a funny lot aren't we? We'll wait
years for the pleasure of a particular varietal. It doesn't occur to us to mind.
Ruby chard, silverbeet and dandelions. The vibrant colours here make my heart happy. The crimson stems are indulgent...almost bloody. A scarlet flash in a sea of thousands of shades of green. If you've read anything about nutrition lately -you'll probably know that vibrantly coloured foods (particularly purples/blues/reds) are nutrient powerhouses too. I won't bore you with the science :-). These stems make a really surprising little side-dish too. Just slice them into thick julienne strips and saute in butter, orange juice, black pepper and a sprinkle of chilli. Yes, we might do that for lunch if you like. Did you bring the basket? -Good. Grab a few stems then.
No, I don't dig out my dandelions! (a) bees love them, (b) nothing cheerier on a grey day, (c) leaves are great in salad or mixed up with spinach and mallow and cheeses and lovingly wrapped in puff pastry.
Ah, you've found my three princesses! My beloved blueberries. These lasses are spoiled beyond belief. Re-potted every year with azalea/rhododendron mix, mulched with pine needles and fed seaweed solution, blood & bone, and coffee grounds. In about a month I will gobble handfuls of sweet, indigo berries. They
never make it inside. They are an evening garden nibble in the gloaming. Pollination is quite deliberate here. As you can see, the massive rosemary, the blueberries, the lavender and the Pink Lady apple are planted quite snugly. This means I get a LOT of frantic bees every spring that just lurch drunkenly from one set of blossoms to the other. It's a bee's version of a pub-crawl, and I get a large harvest as a result.
OK, mind your step. The 'path' from the back garden to the front was laid by someone with excellent intentions and absolutely no skill I'm afraid. Oh, that bed just to your right is new and full of sapphire potatoes. So, here among the enormous brassicas is another of my delights -The Egyptian purple peas. The peas themselves won't be purple, just the pods and the flowers, but there was something so gorgeous about lime-green peas nestled in a deep purple pod in the catalogue...I couldn't resist. Also, being frank -the older I get, the more my eyes appreciate contrast when harvesting. It's the same reason I'm planting yellow zucchini this year instead of green :-). Actually, truth be told, I'm perfectly happy just with the flower display. Oh, and twirly twiny pea-tendrils are a great addition to a salad, or as a fancy garnish. Apparently chefs pay top dollar for them. Meh...I paid $4.00 for a packet of seeds, and I'll have free tendrils all spring.
My Savoy Cabbage giants! I planted these during the drought and had all but given up on them. However, during the first decent rain I peered among the waist-high grass that was taking over the bed -and there they were, thriving away in the wilderness. We cleared the competition, fed and mulched and then more delicious rain! They're right next to the peas too, so they're getting plenty of nitrogen from the pea's root-nodules, the rain, and of course -judicious application of blood and bone. I probably
should ferment more and actually preserve a lot of this, but I can quite merrily eat a bowlful of shredded leaves just cooked in butter, garlic, black pepper, and savoury yeast flakes. In fact, it's on the menu a number of times this week. When it's straight from the garden (no storage), you get a lot less of the obvious sulfurous compounds in flavour too...just a lot of delightful crunchy sweetness.
Yes, I have let the curly kale go to flower. Again, bees think it's ambrosia, and I get to collect seed for next autumn/winter's planting. See, these guys have been busily adapting their traits for precisely the conditions in my garden, so it makes sense to use that strength/adaptability and allow it to become even stronger with each passing season. In particular, they survived pretty dire drought conditions so these guys have a valuable genetic trait that it's wise to hold on to...particularly if you read IPCC reports regarding what's likely to happen to food supplies in the near future. I most often use kale as a 'slaw' with finely sliced granny smith, grated golden beets, spring onions, walnuts and homemade mayo...although it's also a revelation deep-fried and served alongside poached eggs, sourdough and char-grilled tomatoes.
I love this! I didn't plant them -they're volunteers from last season's crop of buttercrunch lettuce :-). They're a little smaller this time, but somehow 'meatier'. I've been eating these every night in a simple spring salad with new peas, asparagus and a light french dressing. It tastes exactly as you would imagine 'Spring' might taste. Around the edges you'll see more seedlings everywhere -that's red round turnips, sweet peas, georgia collards, dark galaxy carrots, and a couple of volunteer cornflowers. It's a little chaotic I'dd admit -but they all seem to get along fine. As one dies down, the others take over etc. I also get very little (if any) insect damage as a result of my 'random planting' -I think the bugs are confused. Go ahead, you can laugh at me -people often do. I don't mind. Laughter is joyous and that's precisely what gardens
should make you feel. I'm also not at all offended -my system works for me, and really -does anything else, or anyone else's opinion matter?
MORE lavender. Well, one should always plant lavender for 'luck' right? I do occasionally use it in cooking (especially with sapphire potatoes), but mostly it gets festooned in my bedroom or tied into a muslin bag under a bath tap. It also just gets fondled quite a bit. You know, when you wander about, run your hand firmly up the stalk and just inhale the fragrance married to your own skin? It's another gardener-thing I think. It's a comfortingly spicy smell isn't it? In fact, when you cook with it, it really is better to treat it more as a spice than a herb. This is one punchy little plant when it comes to volatile oils, and a little goes a
long way. It also lifts a dish from the 'yep' to the 'wow' though. Yes, if you come back in summer I will cook you my lavender sapphire spuds.
I'm not sure how the maths works with sunflowers, but if you plant 20 seeds, 40 seem to germinate...and in many places where you
didn't plant them. These are the ones with the copper centres, very spectacular in midsummer. I admit -I'm not exactly worried about a garden heaving with the pure optimism and gaudy show-off-ness of too many sunflowers. The native birds don't mind much either. Autumn is a parrot jubilee around here as every brightly feathered thing within 10 miles stocks up on the incredible nutrition in the seeds. I haven't yet harvested sunflower seeds for culinary purposes, but I think I will this year. Hopefully there's a nice easy-ish de-hulling process somewhere, because although passionate about such things, there is a limit to one's dedication :-). However, they're an excellent source of protein, Iron, Vitamin E and Zinc, so I suppose one
should make an effort...perhaps we could sit on the porch hulling seeds in aprons with some creepy in-law playing unnerving banjo tunes in the background?
PLEASE take some of this home with you! Because of some dude called 'Murphy' and his damned law, my most spectacular produce is usually the stuff I
don't eat all that often. Don't get me wrong, I quite
like silverbeet, but I think I've been dulled to it by over-exposure over the years. Until recently (and around here -still...)
every vegetarian offering on
every menu was 'spinach-and-cheese-something'. Apparently there was no other vegetable combo available, or every vegetarian was drawn to it like crack. I have no idea. Actually, there's an awesome salad I make called '
Naked children in the grass' that involves shredded spinach, butterbeans, tomato, red onions, pecans and a gorgeous dressing that's worth trying next time you're here. There's a lot of palaver about uncooked spinach and its oxalates binding calcium, but even as someone who has developed multiple gallbladder stones in the past, I refuse to be perturbed.
Ah yes, they're snapdragons -just starting to think about flowering. I adore them. It's a childhood hangover. I loved squeezing the flowers and seeing the dragons jaws snapping! They're also entirely unpredictable in colour variation. Apparently, in the language of flowers, they symbolise 'a gracious lady', or 'deception'...well, maintaining the appearance of graciousness is going to require
some deception now isn't it? It's rather like when you tell me a terrible joke and I smile and laugh, while internally wishing you would explode...sorta :-). Either way, they're very 'cottage garden', and have a delightful bushy-droopy habit that makes them lovely on raised garden edgings. And of course, it is delightful to see a stripy little bee bum poking out of the dragon's throat.
I know this sounds odd, but let's just lie down here in the grass for a second. I like to keep a few meadow/wild areas around. Here's where you can see beauty in wildness if you care to look. Just in that little section in front of you is an incredibly diverse species system, all telling you a story about the soil and conditions. There's Germander Speedwell (the little pink flowers), Doves Foot Cranebill (little blue flowers), white clover, dandelion, Narrow leaf plantain, mallow, scarlet pimpernel, and flanders poppies. Sure, they're 'weeds', but can you see the loveliness? Each one is thriving, but they're all
doing something too -ensuring a balanced soil system. Some are busy mitigating acids, some are sending down deep tap-roots, some are developing intimate relationships with particular soil microbia. I think of it like gut microflora -it's varied and balanced. It's only when you get one species taking over that you have a problem. To be honest, a monoculture lawn of perfection always makes me a little nervous.
Oh. You rolled over and came face-to-face with what appears to be lettuce in the lawn? It
is lettuce. Apparently the
Blond du cazard heirloom lettuce from last season met the wind and they went on a bit of an adventure. Who's complaining? (apart from whomever has to mow my lawn..often me.). It's small to be sure, but it's yet another harvest for my salads with no effort on my behalf. Again, it's adjusting itself beautifully to my garden conditions and developing hardier characteristics. No hot-house beauty this one -this is a wildling creature that survives against the odds.
The volunteer pears are doing their thing again. Hundreds of dusky nublets developing into gloriously speckled, fat-bottomed fruits. Their flowers were beloved by the bees, and unfortunately -their fruit is beloved by the European Wasp in summer.
This year I will judiciously harvest and store to break down the stone-cells and make something delicious...I promise. What? Is that skepticism I see settling on your face like a particularly odious wrinkle? OK...this year I'll
try to do something useful with them. In the meantime, their glossy leaves, gracefully weeping boughs and fruits make me smile just
because. I like beauty. I
love abundance. If nothing else, they provide my chooks with great shade in the hotter months, and windfall fruit (and attendant grubs) are a delicious protein-snack for the feathered denizens of the 'Egg-plant'. That's reason enough. Oh, -you've seen the fairy wrens! They too seem to love the pear tree.
Of course, no garden tour would be complete without my faithful shadow trying to trip you up every two seconds. Apparently, humans in gardens are her very favourite game. You should try weeding...she will pounce on your hands every 2 minutes. Of course, as far as she's concerned, it's
her garden. We are intruders. It's a shame it's so early in the day. It's worth seeing her leaping into the air like a slightly mental thing chasing moths of an evening. It's well worth just sitting with a cup of tea and watching the apparently fruitless acrobatic display :). My animals give me many reasons to smile. Mad Mellie the 'Houdini chook', Rosie the feminine and polite, Lettie the village idiot...they're all a part of my slightly chaotic little family.
Anyway, let's leave the fur-kids to their shady nook and the tasty snacks to be uncovered therein and go and make a cuppa. I'm sure I can manage a batch of lemonade scones if you're interested -then you could try my blackberry jam as well :-). Let's not be too profound. How about we just sit and muse on our perfect garden? Tell me about yours? Ah, here comes the promised rain. No need to run indoors, let's just stand here for a moment and get wet. It's only water :-). See? you look joyful in the rain, and somehow softer. Raindrops are just as charming on human eyelashes as they are on rose-petals. Just for a moment, we're more vulnerable, more child-like, and less guarded. It's as though these simple cloud-tears have somehow stripped away all our masks and pretenses and left us
just as we are. A couple of humans enjoying beauty and 'a little chaos'. OK Soggy, let's go in and get you that cuppa.
