My garlic order arrived this week. In this era of email and texting, it’s even more of a thrill to receive old fashioned mail through the post, especially when the contents are gardening related. So I was excited to open a parcel containing two heritage garlic varieties that I’ve never tried before, ‘Mexican Purple Stripe’ and the exotically named ‘Rojo de Castro’.

‘Mexican Purple Stripe’ was introduced into the Californian garlic industry by chef Steve Morrison, who found the variety at a local Hispanic market. It’s classed as a “Turban”, which is a group of garlic varieties that produce a central flower stalk with a turban-like cap. Mexican matures early, produces fat bulbs, and are made to be eaten fresh rather than stored for a long period of time.

‘Rojo de Castro’ is classed as a Creole variety, and was introduced to California from Spain back in 1991. It is named after the infamous Cuban dictator, and comes highly recommended by Tasmanian smallholding guru Paul Healy. Paul grows Rojo specifically for use in worming his flock of Barnevelder chooks, arguing that the variety contains high levels of sulphur compounds. I’m also planning to use Rojo for this purpose, but can’t wait to test this variety’s performance in the kitchen.

Apart from these new varieties I’ve successfully grown three others here at Hampton: ‘Glen Large’, ‘Australian White’, and ‘Monaro Purple’. All have done well in our cool climate, but Glen Large is of particular interest to Queensland growers. For one, it has local origins, being bred at Gatton Research Station. Two, it is a day length neutral variety.

This trait is significant, since garlic generally forms bulbs in response to lengthening daylight hours as winter turns to spring. The closer to the equator you live, the harder it’s going to be to get bulbs to form since day and night hours are equal and change very little over the course of a year. Toowoomba is about 27 degrees south.

Theoretically we have enough variation in day length to trigger bulb formation, and to date, I’ve had no trouble getting bulbs to form on all the varieties I’ve tried so far. But for ease of cultivation, Glen Large might be the variety to try. Being day length neutral you simply plant it in the first fortnight of March, and harvest in September after a period in the ground of seven months.

For home growers, garlic is a worthwhile, if time consuming crop to grow in the garden. Its value comes from the fact that much of what is available in the supermarkets, particularly in winter, is imported garlic from China or Mexico. As a condition of entry into Australia, imported garlic is treated with various chemicals, and is often bleached and dipped in fungicide.

So I prefer to grow my own using organic methods. The plants prefer a free draining, fertile soil prepared with rotted manure, some blood and bone and perhaps a handful of lime per square metre if your ground is acidic. Keep the bulbs in tact until planting time in March-April, then break off and plant the individual cloves around 10cm deep and 20cm apart. Water in well, and keep the soil evenly moist. Start fertilising fortnightly with fish emulsion once the plants have grown four to five leaves. Mulch to prevent weeds.

In about September-October (perhaps as late as November) your crop should be ready for harvest. Some people judge maturity by the number of green or dying leaves on the plant, but my advice is to have a poke in the soil and check the bulbs. If they’re a decent size and have a good covering of “skin”, dig ‘em up. If they seem a bit small, wait another week or two. Don’t hold off for too long, however, as there’s every chance that the bulbs will split open or go soft, especially in a wet spring.

Once I’ve dug my bulbs I lay them out on the soil for a few days to start drying out. Then some head straight for the kitchen, and the remainder go to a cool, airy shed to cure. This process allows the bulbs to dry out in a semi-controlled environment, so to help them along, I either hang the bulbs by the foliage in bunches of six, or I spread them out on a rack.

One final tip: save your best, biggest bulbs for replanting next autumn. This has to be one of the best aspects of garlic growing, and means that over time, you’ll end up with your own strain of garlic that’s become adapted to your individual climate and soil. You might even want to give it a name. How does Russell’s Purple Passion sound?

First published in the Toowoomba Chronicle 5th March 2011. Photo by Jess Sloss via flickr.com

One of the things I love most about living in a temperate climate is that we get to experience four traditional seasons. You only need to look out the window at this time of year for a reminder – the leaves are turning – and while global warming will have an effect on our climate, it’s reassuring to know that unless it can tilt the earth’s axis, the timing of the seasons will remain constant for all the years to come.

Today, March 20, is the autumn equinox. It’s the official start of the autumn season (March 1 is just for convenience), and in scientific terms, it means that the earth’s poles are an equal distance from the sun. Today we experience approximately 12 hours of day and 12 hours of night. From today, the earth’s South Pole will gradually tilt away from the sun, shortening our days until the winter solstice arrives on June 21. Then the days will again grow longer until the summer solstice. Then the ancient cycle will repeat. And repeat. And repeat. They say nothing in life is certain except death and taxes. When Benjamin Franklin coined the phrase, he forgot about the seasons.

The role seasonal change has on plants is varied. Flora originating from tropical climates tend to be responsive to periods of wet and dry. Lots of Australian plants show these tendencies, and many of those indigenous to our area will flower and seed just prior to our wet season in summer. Other plants respond primarily to temperature, needing a period of cold weather to initiate flowering (vernalisation).

Plants growing closer to the poles, however, tend to be responsive to day length. The fancy term for this is “photoperiodism”. It’s all still a bit of a mystery to scientists, so let’s consider how it works in gardening terms: Photoperiodism basically means that some plants are long day length, forming flowers as the days grow longer, and some are short day length, forming flowers as the days grow shorter. Others are day length neutral.

Onions illustrate this response to day length perfectly. Short day varieties form bulbs after the summer solstice as the days are getting shorter (and night grows longer). The seed of these plants should be sown in summer, and the swollen bulbs harvested in early winter. Long day varieties form bulbs as the days grow longer after the winter solstice. They should be sown in late winter or early spring, and harvested in early summer.

Another member of the allium family that can be sensitive to day length is garlic. In most parts of Australia cloves are planted now, on or close to the autumn equinox. This allows the plant to grow foliage through the winter, and form bulbs as the days lengthen in spring. Harvest takes place around November.

For gardeners, this poses a potential problem because the closer you live to the equator, the less day length changes throughout the year. There are roughly 12 hours of day and 12 of night all year round. Day length sensitive varieties of garlic will either form very small cloves, or they may fail to form a bulb at all.

Toowoomba is located at a latitude of approximately 27 degrees south, which is roughly the same as South Africa and southern Brazil, or equivalent to California and southern China in the northern hemisphere. The wash up for garlic (and other light sensitive crops) is that day-neutral varieties may perform better than those that originated closer to either of the poles. If your garlic is failing to form bulbs, make sure you plant it at the correct time of year, or try varieties such as ‘Glen Large’ (day-neutral, bred in Gatton) or ‘Australian White’ (originally from California).

Everything is relative of course. Factors such as elevation, proximity to the ocean, and oceanic cycles all affect the way plants grow. The key point is that the rotation of the earth around the sun doesn’t change. The change in day length is reliable, and for that reason, the seasons are largely fixed. Why this knowledge gives me a sense of comfort I’m not really sure, but it’s probably got something to do with hope: When I stuff something up in the garden (or in life for that matter), I know that there’s always tomorrow, or next season, or next year. As long as I draw breath I can always start anew.

First published in the Toowoomba Chronicle 20th March 2010. Photo by Jennifer Dickert via flickr.

When you stop to think about it, much of the pleasure of gardening is in the anticipation. An acorn is sown in the hope that it will germinate, and one day grow into a mighty oak. A rose is pruned bare and naked in winter, in the knowledge that it will burst into fragrant bloom come spring. An apple tree is planted with the taste of freshly picked fruit already swimming on the tongue. Gardening is about the journey, as much as it is about the destination.

Consider the daffodil. You’d search long and hard to find something more anticipatory, and wondrous, than a daffodil bulb. The nondescript little package of energy and DNA you can hold in the palm of your hand is like a time bomb with an internal clock ready to explode into growth as soon as climate and chronology are in sync. By around late winter, just when you’re ready for some cheery colour, up comes a trumpet of gold announcing the imminent arrival of spring. What a sight! It never ceases to amaze me that something so jaunty can come from what is essentially a glorified onion.

Shakespeare was a fan. So was Wordsworth. Remember the poem I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud, from your high school English days, and the closing couplet “and then my heart with pleasure fills, and dances with the daffodils.” Those with Welsh heritage will be interested to know that the daffodil is the national flower of Wales, and that it’s customary to wear a daffodil flower or a leek on the lapel for Saint David’s Day (March 1^st). I reckon wearing one of each flower on either lapel would be a real treat.

Daffs are much loved plants because of their beauty, but for gardeners, their ease of cultivation is much admired. Provide them with half decent conditions, and most will prove a piece of cake to grow. The key issue is well drained soil. Because the bulbs are dormant over summer, and that’s the time when we get most of our rain, drainage is important lest the bulb rots during a wet week. A good tactic is to grow the bulbs as drifts under deciduous trees, which will sop up most of the summer moisture, while allowing light to the daffs in winter. If yours is a sticky soil, try growing in raised beds or pots.

The other important thing to remember is to leave the foliage to die back naturally. Don’t cut it off when it looks tatty. You might tidy the plant up, but you’ll also rob the bulb of the photosynthetic energy it needs to do its thing next year. Brown daffodil foliage means recharging bulbs. If you’re a neat freak, I’ll leave it up to you to figure out a cluey way to hide the dying foliage amongst other plants.

There are literally hundreds of cultivars available. Perhaps the most famous is ‘King Alfred’ a large, trumpet variety that dates back to the 1890′s. Upon release the bulb was offered for the princely sum of six pound and six shillings, the equivalent of a labourer’s wages for more than six weeks. It is a beautiful plant, ideal for naturalising. Another big daff that has great appeal is ‘Saint Patrick’s Day’ which flowers in a delicious shade of lemon yellow.

Of the smaller cultivars, ‘Téte a Téte’ is regarded as the standard by which others are judged. It’s a lovely little plant perfect for growing in a pot, and is very free flowering, producing up to three stems per plant, each crowned with three individual flowers. I also like ‘Jetfire’, which is a bit bolder than the others thanks to its reflexed petals and long orange trumpet. Or for something a bit different, try the hoop petticoat daffodil, Narcissus bulbocodium. A native to southern France, Spain and Portugal, it does well in Australian conditions and if happy, will gradually expand to form drifts of golden petticoat-like funnels.

I like to bend some rules, so last April I happily planted some daffodils smack bang in the middle of our vegie patch. Visitors were sceptical, but on a cold, clear day in late August, when much of the garden was leafless and the lawn still tawny from frost, I wandered into the vegie garden to be surprised by a drift of golden yellow daffs flowering cheerily amongst the cabbages and broccoli. It was such a happy scene that I’ve left them in the ground to do the same thing this winter. I’ll do likewise the winter after that, and for many winters to come. Daffs flowering in the vegie patch is a sight to soften the hardest of hearts.

First published in the Toowoomba Chronicle Saturday 21st March 2009