Extreme weather always produces a botanical surprise packet or two. During the long drought, camellias surprised all and sundry with their ability to withstand persistent warm weather without much moisture around their roots. They may not have thrived, but most established camellias survived to tell the tale. A similar thing happened during last summer’s floods.

By January, the soil in my garden was completely sodden. Hampton is renowned for its deep, free draining soil, but the rain was so relentless over so many months that puddles had formed on the surface of the soil and, for the first time in my experience, were hanging around longer than a day or two. I expected the worst. I assumed there would be little chance that the various drought tolerant plants in my garden would survive the wet soil, and sure enough, many rotted away to a slimy mess.

Of all the plants that I expected to kick the bucket, lavender and rosemary were both at the top of the list. The theory goes that plants of a Mediterranean origin dislike an acid soil, loathe summer humidity, and absolutely abhor having wet feet. As if to prove the theory dead on target, a favourite ‘Tuscan Blue’ rosemary hedge slowly yellowed and died. I was certain the various lavender plants in my garden would do the same. But guess what? They lived. Every single one of them.

Some male gardeners think lavender is a poncey plant that should only be grown by women wearing pretty floral skirts. What rubbish! Lavender is beautiful to look at it, but in my experience it’s anything but some kind of delicate show pony. In fact, lavender has proven to be one of the toughest, most adaptable, and most reliable plants in my garden, and the fact that it survived the wettest summer for forty years only adds to its reputation.

I’ve got five different types of lavender growing in five different parts of the garden that differ markedly in their individual micro-climates. Out the front, there’s English lavender (Lavandula angustifolia) planted in a bed that is totally exposed to the elements. It’s thriving. In the cottage garden near the front door, there’s an Italian lavender (L. stoechas) planted next to a hot concrete path. Thriving. Out back, a Spanish lavender hedge (a different L. stoechas) is planted at the base of a west facing shed wall that gets loads of rain run-off. Thriving. In an east facing bed there are a couple of French lavender plants (L. dentata) growing at the base of a rock wall. Thriving.

I don’t do anything special to the plants. They receive no fertiliser or supplemental irrigation. I’ve never limed the soil where they are planted, or improved the texture. In fact the only care the plants receive is a light prune after flowering to promote another flush of flowers, plus a half yearly mulch of sugar cane to prevent weeds from taking hold. That’s it. I’m not some kind of plant magician relying on tricks to grow healthy plants, yet my lavender is doing brilliantly. If you fall for the lie that pretty plants are weak, and not worthy of a male gardener’s affection, you’re a fool.

Scientific evidence provides a clear indication that the climate in our part of the world is gradually becoming more extreme. The booms and the busts are getting more intense, and the oscillation between one extreme and the other, more violent. In response, we’re going to need to throw out the old rule book about what plants typically thrive in Toowoomba and the Downs, and replace it with a new plant palette that contains a mix of species tough enough to thrive in a wide range of conditions.

To do this we’ll need to get beyond the spoon fed mentality that plagues so much of our society, and get into the habit of closely observing our gardens, making notes (mental or otherwise) about the plants that seem to be big winners or epic losers in extreme weather events, and then share the information we collect with other gardens. Swap stories and cuttings over the back fence. Cook produce from top performing plants with family and friends. Inspire new gardeners with your passion for climate change ready plants.

Five years ago, I would have confidently predicted that camellias would struggle to survive the drought. In January I thought it was a dead-cert that my lavender would end up a victim of root rot. I was happily proven wrong on both counts. Plants never cease to amaze me, and in a future climate that’s bound to be more unpredictable than any of us has experienced, we’ll need all the surprise packets we can get our hands on.

First published in the Toowoomba Chronicle 19th November 2011. Photo by Justin Russell, French lavender.

Don’t forget to visit our new site The Radish, edible gardening from roots to fruits!!

My neighbours must think I’m a right royal bludger sometimes. To the untrained eye, it looks like I’m spending lots of time in my garden at the moment just standing around, leaning against posts, daydreaming. Dedicated gardeners will know what’s actually going on. I’m prepared to admit to a healthy amount of daydreaming, but it’s certainly not daydreaming in vain. It’s based on careful observation over a long period of time, and is all about making a plan for the future that is more suited to where Kylie and I want to go as a family.

We purchased our property in April 2006. For the first couple of years after moving we didn’t do much to the garden other than plant new trees, make garden beds and start developing a rough layout for the design. We took note of the weather, learned where the frost bites hardest and the where winds are strongest. We experimented with various plants.  Some couldn’t cope with our cold winters and were replaced. Others were well chosen and have thrived.

We moved just as the drought was really starting to suck the land dry, and spent countless hours lugging watering cans around trying to keep newly established plants alive. Fast forward to 2011 and the cycle has come full circle – we’ve just witnessed the largest dump of rain in to fall on this property in 40 years. Plants that scoffed at the drought are dead or dying from too much wet. But my re-evaluation has more to it than the weather.  Our priorities have changed.

When Kylie and I moved to Hampton our dream was use our bit of land to develop a well designed, well maintained garden full of rare and interesting plants, a lot like many of the open gardens we’d been to. A vegie patch was high on the wish list, as were a few chooks and a couple of fruit trees, but we certainly didn’t plan for food growing to be the main event. It was only ever meant to be the supporting act to a beautiful ornamental garden. Food growing is now a serious passion.

So I’m seeing the floods as an opportunity for change. I’ve started conducting what you might call a “horticultural triage”, a process that identifies plants that are dead and need to be removed, those that might survive and could be re-established, and others that are simply the wrong plant in the wrong place and could either be moved during winter or given away.

To reflect our new priorities I want to make more room for edible plants. This means completely redesigning some garden beds, and will involve some fencing and hard landscaping. I’m keen to lose some lawn. Regular rainfall and warm weather equals rapidly growing kikuyu, and too much time is being spent taming it with the ride-on mower. So some grass either needs to be replaced, or handed over to some geese or sheep.

Drainage became an issue for me this summer, as it probably did for you. Until now my focus has been on retaining water on the property during the drought – now I need to find ways to get it off those parts of the garden that I now realise can be inundated. I’m attempting to do three things: divert and direct the flow of surface runoff with basic earth mounds and barriers; intercept surface water and drain it away from buildings and other sensitive areas using simple land drains; and re-contour some areas of the garden to work more with the natural slope of the land. There are hollows that need to be filled, and new hollows that need to be created.

The main thrust of my redesign, however, involves the plants I want to grow in my garden. Unlike five years ago, I’m now more interested in growing edible plants in ornamental ways than I am in growing ornamentals for the sake of ornamentation. So, I plan to make lots of direct swaps – a fruiting hedge in place of an ornamental hedge for example – and I’m determined to assemble a “future proof” plant palette. The flood has taught me that drought tolerance often doesn’t equate to wet tolerance, and I’m looking for plants that will cope with the intensifying booms and busts of our climate.

If you haven’t already tried this kind of analysis at your place, I’d say give it a try. There’s no point in resting on your laurels, unless of course, the laurel is big and strong enough to support the weight of a reflective gardener in search of solutions. For it’s only by self-reflection and honest appraisal that we can become better equipped to make the most of the little plots of land we call gardens.

First published in the Toowoomba Chronicle 19th February 2011. Photo by Justin Russell – Ripening McIntosh apples.

Not long after my daughter started school, she arrived home one day with a pocket full of small, marble sized acorns gathered from the playground. To Marley the fistful of nuts she thrust out in front of me was simply a collection of beautiful objects, but I was old enough to know their true significance. Each of the acorns, I explained, was a seed, and if just one was planted and tended, it would eventually grow to become a mighty oak tree.

For the sake of reference I described to her the oak tree that bore the acorns. A magnificent Southern Live Oak (Quercus virginiana), the tree stands in the grounds of Geham State School on the New England Highway between Toowoomba and Crows Nest. It was planted from an acorn more than a century ago, commemorating the local boys who went off to fight in the Boer War. Today, the Geham oak tree is a huge specimen with a 30 metre crown, much loved by the school community as a living landmark, and a place to escape the summer heat.

Every time I stand under that oak tree I’m filled with a sense of wonder. To be in the presence of something so ancient and spectacular is a humbling experience, a reminder that there are things in the world that are bigger and grander than I am.

The Geham oak tree reminds me too, of a John Muir story. In 1874, the famous American naturalist was visiting a friend who had a cabin in the Sierra Mountains of California. One December afternoon a fierce wind storm moved in from the Pacific, strong enough to bend and toss colossal trees like they were fragile blades of grass.

Instead of retreating to the shelter of the cabin Muir went outside, scaled a high ridge, and climbed to the top of a 30 metre tall Douglas Fir tree to ride out the storm. In his book The Mountains of California, Muir describes an intense experience.

“The sounds of the storm corresponded gloriously with this wild exuberance of light and motion. The profound bass of the naked branches and boles booming like waterfalls; the quick, tense vibrations of the pine-needles, now rising to a shrill, whistling hiss, now falling to a silky murmur; the rustling of laurel groves in the dells, and the keen metallic click of leaf on leaf.

I kept my lofty perch for hours, frequently closing my eyes to enjoy the music by itself, or to feast quietly on the delicious fragrance that was streaming past.”

I can’t help wondering, if John Muir were alive today, how would he respond to some of the language that has been used in the last month to describe the natural world he loved so much? Just a single editorial in the Courier Mail of February 3^rd used terms like “the fury of nature”, “Yasi the destroyer”, “Yasi hits below the belt”. The floods were described in various news stories as “fierce”, “like an atomic bomb”, a “war zone”, “Mother Nature’s cruel wrath”.

I qualify anything I write on this issue by saying that I haven’t lived through a cyclone, or lost a family member in the floods, or come home to a house gutted by bushfire. But I have to ask: is Mother Nature truly angry with us? Is she vengeful, full of wrath and fury? Is she like a dirty street brawler that hits below the belt? Can we honestly compare the floods to the devastation of Hiroshima or the Somme?

Of course not. Nature might be indiscriminate and uncompromising, but it is not out to get us. Nature and humanity are not adversaries. I mean no disregard to those who have suffered through natural disasters, but I believe that the best response we can have toward nature is one of awe. Fear is certainly warranted at times, but it should be the kind of fear that is based on respect, that recognises our arrogance toward nature and considers the need for us to be humble.

John Muir finishes his account of the windstorm with these words:

“When the storm began to abate, I dismounted and sauntered down through the calming woods. As I gazed on the impressive scene, all the so called ruin of the storm was forgotten, and never before did these noble woods appear so fresh, so joyous.”

The truth is that nature sustains us – physically, mentally and spiritually. We’d be wise to put aside our hostility. Go outside, and take in a grand vista. Walk barefoot through the morning dew. Gather fruit in the afternoon gloaming. Rest in the shade of a big old oak tree. Make peace, give thanks for nature’s gifts and you’ll find renewal, and hope.

First published in the Toowoomba Chronicle 12th February 2011. Photo by Justin Russell, Southern Live Oak at Geham State School.

I’ve had quite a few letters the last couple of weeks from readers concerned that a particular plant might be dying from the recent wet conditions. Catherine from Crow Nest wrote, for example, “After all the rain our apricot tree is looking very sad – its leaves are all brown. Is there anything we should do to ensure it doesn’t die?”

Considering we’ve spent the last decade getting used to gardening during drought, this is a very pertinent question. The weather has well and truly swung from hot and dry to the other extreme, cool and wet. As a consequence all the rules from the last 10 years are being rewritten as we come to grips with the fact that the Darling Downs is indeed on the fringe of the subtropics and as such, can experience very rainy summers. Our soils are now loaded with moisture, the water table is high enough to get springs popping up all over the place, and for some plants, the conditions have become very inhospitable.

The first sign that something is wrong with a plant during excessively wet conditions is usually wilting or yellowing leaves. It seems totally counterintuitive. You’d assume that when there’s so much moisture in the soil, plants will be lush and perky. But when soil becomes saturated, all the air pockets are removed and conditions become anaerobic. The consequence for some plants is that fine feeder roots are deprived of oxygen and start to rot, which shows up above ground in terms of damage to the plant foliage.

Some plants are adapted to wet conditions and can live in perennially wet soils. Some can survive short periods of inundation, and recover once soils start to “breathe”. Others absolutely hate having wet feet. In my garden there have been quite a few losses in the last two weeks, and some plants look like they’re teetering on the edge of oblivion. The worst of all have been silver or hairy foliaged plants. Artemisias, buddleias, salvias, gazanias, rosemaries, lepechinias, ceanothus, and arctotis – all of which are supremely drought tolerant – are either dead or dying.

As sad as it is, many will need to simply be ripped out and replaced. If the foliage of a plant has all gone brown and dropped, like Catherine’s apricot, try scratching away a layer of bark with a fingernail to see if there’s still living tissue. If the layer below the bark is bright green, the plant may well survive. If the scratch reveals a brown layer, the plant is probably dead. Give it a few weeks, and then send it to horticultural heaven. Choosing replacements will be tricky, because the new ideal for our climate is plants that can equally tolerate extreme wet and extreme dry. Ornamental grasses, sedges, cannas, rainforest margin plants, and agapanthus fit the bill, and our local plant palette will no doubt adapt as we get more familiar with boom and bust conditions.

For those plants in your garden that are teetering, perhaps with yellow or wilted leaves but some signs of life, there are a few actions you can take to help them recover. I’m forever saying it, but start by seeing this event as an exercise in patience. Give the soil time to drain naturally, perhaps scraping away mulch to allow sun and wind to aid in the drying process. Clay soils will take longer to dry than loamy soils.

As you’re waiting for the soil to dry, which could take weeks, try spraying plants with Yates Anti-Rot. This product is applied to the foliage and travels down through the plant’s vascular system to the roots. The active ingredient phospahric acid inhibits the growth of root rotting fungi such as phytophthora, and is particularly useful for treasured trees.

Once the soil becomes workable, there are three things you can do to help it recover from inundation. The first is to throw on a handful of lime per square metre. Waterlogged soils tend to become acidic, so a dressing of lime will help get the pH back into balance. Secondly, throw on a handful per square metre of blood and bone. This helps replace nutrients leached from the soil by heavy rain. Finally, incorporate some compost into garden beds. This will help get some oxygen back into the soil and provide a boost of beneficial micro-organisms.

All is not lost. Being a glass half full bloke, I’ve taken to wandering through the garden with fresh eyes. I’m planning to redesign some areas and as for the dying plants, no quarter will be given. They’ll be unceremoniously ripped out and replaced with something more appropriate to the booms and busts of our awe inspiring climate.

First published in the Toowoomba Chronicle 29th January 2011. Photo by Justin Russell, apricot tree, Villa Vista, Killarney.

What a summer. As I write, another torrential downpour is passing over my garden and I’ve just received word that Toowoomba’s three dams are overflowing. This is tremendous news for us all, and a huge relief after the last decade of drought.

A combined dam level of 100 percent doesn’t come without cost, however. I’m conscious of those in Toowoomba, on the Downs and beyond whose lives, homes and businesses have been devastated by flood. In particular, I offer my sincere condolences to those of you who lost family and friends during Monday’s disaster.

I’m also thinking of the many farming families doing it tough. I was chatting to my wife’s cousin last weekend, who passed on the sad news that he’d heard of eight farmer suicides in the week prior. The devastation of losing a record crop to floods after enduring so many years of drought has simply been too much for some people to bear.

My hope is that as the floodwaters recede and the cleanup begins, everyone will come to see the silver lining. My wife will probably scoff at the idea, but I reckon an event like this is a bit like childbirth. After all the pain and suffering there is the most wonderful reward at the end – a precious new life. We can look forward to an explosion of life in the months ahead, so let’s endeavour to keep our spirits up, look out for our neighbours, and prepare for what should prove to be good years to come.

It almost seems trivial to be worried about gardening at the moment, but for many of us, the garden is a source of solace and provision. As soon as the opportunity arises, I’ll be outside making repairs, pottering about and preparing for the next big rain event. According to the BOM, La Nina is likely to persist until March or April, so there may be worse yet to come. Some plants and even entire gardens will be a write off, but there are a few key things we can do to limit the damage to our gardens by persistent moisture. Here’s what I’d be focussing on:

Soil protection

The most overlooked aspect of any flood is that massive amounts of topsoil are washed away in chocolate coloured creeks and rivers. Australian soils are at greater risk than most because they are geologically ancient and tend to be relatively thin, so anything you can do at home to keep the soil on your property is worthwhile. Vegetation cover is the best soil defence of all, but as an urgent stop gap, you should cover any exposed soil with mulch or weedmat. It’s also important not to dig wet soil. This can destroy the soil structure. Wait until the soil is just moist before you attempt any planting or cultivation.

Fungal diseases

A prolonged period of wet weather is the prefect breeding ground for all kinds of fungal diseases and rots. For the first time in my current garden nectarines and peaches have developed brown rot, which causes fruit to “mummify” and drop from the tree. Grapes and cucurbits have been badly hit by powdery mildew and the vegies are covered in all kinds of fungal problems.

Spraying at this point would be useless. Fungal sprays work best as a preventative, so there’s little I can do now except clean up and dispose of any infected fruit and leaves to avoid reinfection. Once there’s a week or two of dry weather predicted, it would be a good idea to spray with an organically approved fungicide to help control future outbreaks.

Drainage

Over the last few years we’ve all been planting drought tolerant plants that cope beautifully with the dry, but can suffer badly during prolonged wet weather. Humidity in the air is part of the problem, but the main issue is generally poorly drained soil. If the ground stays soggy for long enough plant roots suffocate and rot.

To avoid swamps forming in your garden it’s important to create adequate drainage. This is achieved partly by improving the porosity of the soil, and partly by directing surface water away from sensitive areas. Put on a raincoat and wander around outside during a downpour. You’ll quickly see where the problem areas are, and you can then dig drains or create small levees to direct the water where you do, and don’t, want it.

Hang in there everyone. It might be a rocky period ahead, but once the crisis is over, we can look forward to months and months of ideal gardening conditions. The soil will be moist, our dams and tanks will be full, and hopefully, the sun will shine bright and warm on our sodden gardens and rain soaked lives.

First published in the Toowoomba Chronicle 15th January 2011. Image by Justin Russell, Thistlebrook sunset, Monday 10th January, 2011.

There is a truth known to every serious food gardener that is at once frustrating and comforting: there’s always next season. Usually, my vegie patch is a picture of abundance at the start of January but this year it looks neglected and anaemic. There are some successes – ‘Lazy Housewife’ beans are fat and sweet and my ‘Golden Bantam’ corn is boasting four cobs per plant – but the remainder is looking miserable.

Worst of all are the warm season solanaceous plants, the tomatoes, capsicums and eggplants. Due to the rain the toms have been hit with fungus but the biggest problem is that the plants have simply dug their heels in and refused to budge. The eggplants, for example, have grown about two inches in two months. Capsicums have fared a little better but seem reluctant to flower. The tomatoes were planted back in October and still haven’t produced a single ripe fruit.

For a family determined to produce a decent proportion of its food, failures like this are a serious bummer. To add insult to injury, our potatoes are stuffed. Not as in stuffed and roasted, but ruined. As with everything this season, the problem was moisture. We’ve been bandicooting potatoes for a few weeks, but only last week dug the main crop ready for use over the rest of summer. The yield was respectable, 24kgs from four kilos of seed spuds. But we made the twin mistakes of not letting the skins dry and harden enough for long term storage, combined with accidentally piling in a couple of rotting potatoes with the good tubers.

What Chaucer said about apples is also true of potatoes – one bad spud spoils the bunch. Within a day or two the rotting spuds ooze onto the others, passing on infection and promoting the growth of mould. Worst of all is the smell. The stink of rotting potatoes is disturbingly like rotting rat. We’ve rescued as many decent tubers as possible, but the bulk are destined for the tip.

Don’t get me started on the possums. In a wet year you think it would be safe to assume that there’s food galore for the marsupial pains-in-the-backside but it seems as though the opposite is true. Apple leaves are being stripped. A nice crop of apricots decimated. Cricket ball sized peaches ripped from protective fruit fly bags, nibbled, and left to rot on the ground. It’s lucky that possums are a protected species because evil thoughts of marsupial stew and warm winter hats have regularly crossed my mind this summer.

In the midst of such calamity, what’s a gardener to do? Exactly what needs to be done, that’s what. I’m so hooked on the promise of home grown food that I drag my spirits up out of the mud, hose them off, and prepare to have another go. Despite my failures I’m reminded that of all the things I’ve done in life, gardening is the most hopeful of pursuits. My tanks overfloweth, the soil aboundeth with moisture and next season’s harvest might jolly-well be my best ever.

So I’m making plans. The weather bureau reckons it will be wet for a few months yet, which means leafy greens like lettuce, rocket, bok choy, and silverbeet will absolutely thrive if the slugs can be controlled. It should stay cool enough for broccoli and Tuscan kale. Cherry tomatoes are disease resistant so they should do well as a late summer crop. Another round of corn will be worth a shot and I’m planning a big bed of bush beans that will later be harvested and dried for use during winter.

All is not lost. At the risk of sounding too much like a poxy motivational speaker, it’s a case of chins up people. Let’s accept the reality that we’re not in control of nature and that it’s our job to make the most of what she dishes up.

Yesterday I was reminded of a quote by one of my favourite writers, the 19^th century philosopher Henry David Thoreau:

“I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms, and, if it proved to be mean, why then to get the whole and genuine meanness of it, and publish its meanness to the world; or if it were sublime, to know it by experience.”

My experience is that nature can sometimes be mean, but life is indeed, sublime. I’m absolutely determined to make the most of 2011, regardless of the weather, and hope you’ll join me in another year spent gardening.

First published in the Toowoomba Chronicle 8th January 2011.

I never thought it could happen being located on the western fall of the Great Dividing Range at 750m above sea level, but we experienced some minor flooding here at Thistlebrook yesterday afternoon. The same intense downpour that caused flash flooding in Toowoomba swept through Hampton at about midday. Within 10 or 15 minutes water was running everywhere. It poured through the garden washing away paths, inundating nursery trees, flooding our sewerage system and turning our access road into a raging torrent.

After another heavy downpour early this morning the new creek at our front gate is still running strongly, and has carved some huge ruts in the road. If the rain eases we should be able to get our car out by tomorrow morning, but for now, we’re enjoying indoor pursuits and doing our best to keep the kids relatively sane. We offer our condolences to those who’ve lost family and friends Toowoomba and the Lockyer Valley, and our heartfelt sympathies to everyone who has lost homes and livelihoods. The silver lining is that after years of severe drought, the big local dams are full and we’re hopefully set up for some good years ahead.

Check out these photos from yesterday, when our road turned into a creek.

As I write this week’s Secret Garden, yet another stormy burst of rain is passing overhead and adding some more welcome moisture to the soil. What a month it’s been. Thanks to a La Nina event we’ve now recorded more than 170mm for September here at Thistlebrook. I’ve never seen the garden look so lush.

There’s something really special about the combination of fresh spring growth and consistent rainfall that we’re treated to very infrequently on the Downs. Early perennials are flowering beautifully, roses are producing a huge number of fat buds, and our fruit trees look set for a magnificent crop. Nothing beats regular rain. It’s fair to say that I’m absolutely revelling in the conditions.

This doesn’t mean I’ve been lulled into a false sense of security. Our weather seems to be getting more and more fickle, and last year’s dust storms bounce around in my head like a half remembered nightmare. Who knows what summer will bring. As for next spring – it might turn out worse than 2009. The point is that we can only roughly predict what the weather is going to be like in a month or two. Next spring is more of a punt than a prediction.

One of the things my Mum and Dad taught me was to be prudent, to try and exercise sound judgement in practical affairs. It’s an old fashioned word, prudence, but the virtue is as important as ever, and I think it applies perfectly to the situation we’re in at the moment with the weather.

Here’s how things stand from my point of view. We’ve had outstanding spring rainfall in most parts of the Downs, but does that mean the drought has broken? I’m not so sure. Toowoomba’s dams are currently only 20 percent full even with the Wivenhoe pipeline going full tilt and good rain in the catchments. I live opposite the headwaters of Merrit’s Creek, which flows into Cooby Creek, then into Lake Cooby, and I can assure you that despite 170mm and a wet soil profile, the creek is hardly running a banker. More like a trickle. The other telling point is in the four years we’ve been here, we’re still yet to break our average rainfall total for the year.

I’m optimistic that this will be the year, and my approach is a one of a glass half full, rather than half empty. But if we’re to be really prudent, we need to realise that we’re facing a future of extreme booms and busts. At the moment we’re in a boom. But you can guarantee that around the corner, whether it’s next month, next year or in ten years time, there’s going to be a bust.

This means it’s time to make hay while the sun shines, or in our case as gardeners, to get planting while the soil’s moist and the tanks are full. Normally, I shun spring as my main planting time but this year, I say go for it. Get them in the ground now and hold off on any supplemental watering until regular rainfall ceases. As a rough guide, an inch per week (approximately 25mm) is plenty to get plants well established. If it’s falling from the sky, be prudent, and save the rainwater for a dry spell.

When you’re planting container grown plants, don’t forget to add lots of organic matter to the soil as far ahead of time as possible. Homemade compost is ideal. Well rotted manure is excellent. Bagged compost from the nursery will do the job in a pinch. Whatever is available, get it in there and you’ll find that the soil soaks moisture up like a sponge and gradually releases it to developing roots as plants get established.

If you are wondering what to plant, two things that immediately spring to mind are shade trees, to help beat the heat when it’s hot and dry, and windbreaks. One of the major inhibitors to strong plant growth is wind. After last year’s string of north westerlies that blew directly from the desert for weeks on end, and carried some of the desert with them, it should have finally dawned on us all that the more we can create a sheltered microclimate, the better our plants will grow and the nicer the garden will be.

Finally a pat on the back – Downs gardeners have done really well with conserving water over the last few years. We’ve changed many outdated practices for good, and even now that restrictions have eased somewhat, we’re still only using around 120 litres per person per day. This is a great achievement. But let’s not rest on our laurels. Conditions can change quickly, and the time to plan for the bust is now, during a boom. It’s the only prudent thing to do.

First published in the Toowoomba Chronicle 2nd October 2010. Photo by Justin Russell – Thistlebrook in spring.

Amid all last week’s hub-bub about asylum seeker policies, Spanish football, State of Origin football and footballers reacting badly to sleeping tablets, you might have missed a mysterious little news item about an act of horticultural sabotage in north Queensland. Around seven million plants, including four million tomato seedlings, have been killed after they were deliberately poisoned at a seedling nursery in Bowen.

Police believe herbicide was injected into the nursery’s irrigation system, and the rumours are flying. Some say the poisoning was an act of industrial sabotage. Some suggest that another grower was trying to force up tomato prices. Others are even claiming the poisoning was an act of terrorism.

Whatever the motive, the repercussions from this event are obvious. Bowen is the largest winter growing tomato region in Australia, harvesting 80% of the nation’s crop during spring. The loss of millions of seedlings means that if you were planning to make chicken parmigiana sometime in September, one of the main ingredients just got a whole lot more expensive. Prices are expected to triple over the coming months and reach in excess of $15 per kilo.

The loss of a crop is a devastating blow for any farmer, and I wouldn’t wish such an event on anyone. It’s also a serious blow for farm labourers and nursery workers who’ll need to look elsewhere for a job. But while this event is a difficult pill to swallow for those directly involved, I also think it can serve as a timely reminder of the problems associated with the industrial model of food production, and the urgent need for us to get back to basics.

Some of the issues are immediately obvious. Throughout southern Australia tomatoes are a summer crop. However in our society’s desire to have whatever food it wants, whenever it wants it, we’ve largely abandoned the time honoured practice of eating whatever produce is currently in season. Instead, we either eat processed food when fresh produce isn’t available, or worse still, import produce from overseas. In the case of winter tomatoes, we don’t seem to have any qualms about transporting produce via fossil fuel powered vehicles across thousands of kilometres, a process associated with the concept of “food miles”.

Less obvious in the Bowen tomato sabotage is the issue of food security. Unlike our ancestors, who grew fruit and vegetables and kept backyard livestock, we find ourselves in a position of extreme vulnerability when it comes to food supplies. Almost every household is dependent upon supermarkets, but to minimise inventory sitting idly in warehouses, the supermarkets operate according to a “just in time” delivery system. It’s estimated that there is just three day’s supply of food actually stocked on the shelves.

When demand exceeds supply, fresh produce prices go up. But when calamity strikes, prices skyrocket to unaffordable levels. This happened following Cyclone Larry when a large portion of North Queensland’s banana crop was wiped out, and it will happen as a result of the Bowen tomato poisoning.

The solution to the issues of food security, dependence upon supermarkets and long distance transportation, is simple. It’s also affordable, and empowering. It builds community. It leads to improvements in physical and mental wellbeing. It is, of course, to grow your own food, right in your own garden.

I’ve been growing my own fruit, vegetables and herbs since Kylie and I got married in 1998. Twelve years later and we reckon that in summer, our garden supplies about 80 percent of our fresh produce requirement. Supermarkets are still a necessary evil. But we seek to make up some of the shortfall by swapping with neighbours and buying things locally. We’re not aiming for total self sufficiency, but we are determined to grow as much as possible.

There’s more to it than pure economics though. Something I’ve realised in the last year or two is that alongside my wife and kids, food growing is one of the great passions of my life. When I’m outside digging in my vegie garden or working in the orchard, I experience the kind of deep, pit of your guts satisfaction that comes from directly suppling my family’s need for food.

If I could turn the clock on my gardening efforts back to 1998, I’d only change one thing. I’d plant more fruit trees. That’s it. Growing my own food has been one of the best things I’ve done in my life to date, and I’d encourage you too, to take up the spade, align yourself with the seasons and bring forth from the soil a bounty richer than you have ever imagined!

First published in the Toowoomba Chronicle 18th July, 2010.

Next week the 2009 United Nations Climate Change Conference kicks off, but already climate is the word on everyone’s lips thanks to the Liberal Party of Australia. Professor Ross Garnaut described the issue as diabolical for policy makers, but you would have been canny indeed to predict that an Australian political party would willingly feed itself through the shredder because it couldn’t fathom the idea that human activity might be warming the planet.

For us gardeners, climate change is a vexing issue. Its unpredictability means that none of us are really sure how we ought to deal with it. Denial is tempting. It would be really nice if nothing changed, but you’d have to be living under a rock to ignore the increasing volatility of our climate here on the Downs. To work with plants and soil and seasons is getting trickier by the day.

I feel like I should state categorically my position on climate change. Some readers have asked, and I see no sense in keeping you in the dark. So here goes. It’s my view that the overwhelming majority of the world’s climate scientists have made a compelling case that human activity is warming the planet, to the detriment of human existence. I believe that we need to take collective action to reduce the emission of polluting gases into the atmosphere, and I disagree entirely with the fantastical notion that environmentalism is all part of a plot by failed communists. Should I honestly start warning my kids about the greens under their beds?

Let me add a caveat to what I’ve just said. I love the natural world, and can see that the environment is essential for life – without a healthy planet, we’re extinct. But I think it’s a great folly to become myopic about global warming, to see it as a stand alone issue. It’s not. While I support urgent action on global warming, I’d argue that whatever action we take must also encompass the suite of environmental issues including energy, water, chemical exposure, pollution, deforestation and species loss. Most, if not all of these are the result of excessive consumption, or put plainly, human greed and arrogance. A curtailing of emissions ought to be accompanied by a curtailing of these attitudes in tandem.

So that’s where I stand. I’ve got no doubt that some of you are now rejoicing and others are branding me with whatever label you think fits (socialist/greenie/lefty – if I had to choose one I’d go for “agrarian”, just quietly). That’s your prerogative. Mine is to write about gardening, and to that end, I think the main way gardeners can best deal with climate change is by adhering to a simple principle: love the natural world.

That’s going to sound completely balmy to those of you who reached for your label a bit earlier. I hope you’ll read on, because I’m not suggesting that we all start hugging trees. My aim is to treat the environment the way I seek to treat my wife, with respect, compassion, admiration, gentleness and a desire to see her thrive.

To put this in a gardening context, it means I need to behave in a particular way. The starting point is to put my ego in my back pocket, and practise humility. The parcel of land I refer to as “my garden” might reflect my personality and tastes, but ownership exists only by means of a piece of paper. The true role of the gardener is one of caretaker, or to use an old fashioned term, steward. Above all else, gardening in a changing climate means that I have a responsibility to exercise great care in how I manage the land, since I am only keeping it on behalf of future generations.

Whether you’re a climate sceptic or not you, whether you believe in emissions trading as a means of limiting global warming or not, the crux of the issue is plain and simple. Backyard by backyard, suburb by suburb, our self-centredness and greed is stuffing up the planet. But in my mind at least, the solution is just as plain and equally simple. If we can get over ourselves and learn to love the natural world within the patch of dirt we have responsibility for, there’s plenty of hope to suggest that our newfound sense of stewardship can extend to the environment beyond the backyard. It’s time to get real. Put politics aside, acknowledge the mess we’ve made of the world, and starting in your own garden, make every effort to put things back in order.

First published in The Chronicle 5th December 2009. Photo by Justin Russell.