Australia’s 10,000 registered beekeepers are worried. In the last 20 years hive numbers across the country have halved, and the industry is currently battening the hatches for a perfect storm of multiple pressures on the European honeybee.

Chief among their concerns is the phenomenon known as Colony Collapse Disorder (CCD). This occurs when bees simply vanish from their hives leaving the capped brood and queen in abandoned colonies. CCD was first observed in Pennsylvania in 2006, and losses in North America and Europe have averaged about 30 to 40 percent in the years since. It is important to note that no cases of Colony Collapse Disorder have been recorded in Australia.

Does that mean we can rest on our laurels. Definitely not! Beekeepers are worried that a major outbreak of the feral Asian honeybee, which was first detected in Queensland in 2007, will bring into the country the parasite Varroa destructor, a mite that has been implicated in CCD overseas. In the long term, however, both varroa and the Asian honeybee can be controlled. The issue that really petrifies beekeepers is the growing use of insecticides.

Editor of the Australasian Beekeeper Journal, Des Cannon, wrote in a recent editorial that he regards “the use of pesticides in our environment as the single biggest threat to the survival of beekeeping”. Cannon singles out for special attention a class of chemicals called neonicotinoids, so called new generation insecticides that have gained widespread usage since they were introduced in the mid 1990′s.

Neonics, as these chemicals are commonly known, include the popular garden insecticides Confidor and Conguard. Both products are systemic. This means that although neonics can be applied in a variety of ways – as a soil drench, a foliar spray, in granular form or as a seed treatment – they work by being absorbed into a plant’s vascular system where they are able to attack the nervous system of any insect that ingests the chemical.

Herein lies the problem with neonics such as imidacloprid and clothianidin: they are extremely toxic to bees. No big deal says Bayer CropSciences, the multinational company that sold more than a billion dollars worth of neonicotinoid products last year. They insist that bees spend little time foraging on infected pollen, that little if any neonic insecticide finds its way into hives, and if it does, the concentration is so low that the effect on hive health is negligible.

These claims are called into question by the findings of a Purdue University study released last week in the peer reviewed journal Plos One. Researchers found damning evidence that bees from hives located near neonic treated cornfields were exposed to insecticide in various ways throughout their foraging period, and were actively foraging on maize pollen.

Most alarmingly though, the research indicated that the neonic clothianidin was present on bees found dead at the entrance to hives as well as in pollen collected by the bees and stored inside the hive. Considering both imidacloprid and clothianidin are almost universally used in Australia as seed treatments for canola (some of which is also genetically modified), corn and other crops, beekeepers have every right to be concerned about the future of their livelihood.

So what can we as gardeners do to support the local honeybee population. Firstly, we ought to abandon formal style gardens for the environmental folly that they are and embrace a more relaxed, cottage style dominated by flowering plants such as daisies (among the best bee attracting plants), clovers, fruit trees, herbs and natives including grevilleas and dwarf eucalypts.

Secondly, and most importantly, gardeners should cease using imidacloprid and other neonicotinoid chemicals. Most pest problems can be solved in the long run by creating a biodiverse garden full of a broad range of plants, along with organic soil building techniques. The latter will help boost the immune response of plants, making them naturally resistant to any minor pest outbreaks that might occur.

Paul Watson of the Sea Shepherd Conservation Society made an interesting comment on an Australian chat show last year. He said that “worms are more important than people, and the reason for that: worms can live on the earth without people, but we can’t live on the earth without worms.” Whether you love or hate what Watson does each summer in the Southern Ocean, his comment is spot on.

We’re not the centre of the universe. We can’t live on the earth without worms any more than we can without honeybees, so the sooner we get over ourselves, and drop the sense of entitlement that has infested all corners of our privileged society, the better.

First published in the Toowoomba Chronicle 28th January 2011. Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.

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

The major pests in my garden aren’t insects or diseases, which are mostly kept in check by building biodiversity and other organic methods – they’re animals. Some are native, like possums, parrots and bandicoots, others are introduced, such as hares and rabbits. All have their own appetite for destruction.

Possums wreak havoc in the vegie garden. Silverbeet seems to be a special favourite, but few leafy plants are spared. In some years they even develop a taste for rhubarb, eating it down to the ground despite the fact that’s it’s supposed to be poisonous to mammals. Bandicoots aren’t quite as bad, but if they do get into the vegie patch they dig up seedlings in search of worms.

Parrots are lovely additions to the garden, but some have an insatiable desire to bite chunks out of every piece of ripening fruit they can get their beaks into. King parrots are the worst offenders at my place. They’ve become semi tame and are mostly unafraid of people, even rabid gardeners clapping their hands loudly and yelling threats of taxidermy.

Rabbits and hares are notorious pests for a reason. If they find a way into the vegie patch they’re even more destructive than possums, but it’s the damage they do to young fruit trees that really bothers me. They have a special preference for apples and love to chew the bark, especially during winter when the tree draws sugars back into the trunk.

Do I sound frustrated? Too flipping right I am! For years the garden was mostly pest free. Now, the animals have learnt that if they want a decent feed, it pays to hop or fly over to Thistlebrook – it’s a land overflowing with milk and honey!

If the animals were able to share, then good and well, but as cute as a possum or a rabbit appears, they’re not human-like characters from a children’s picture book and if my family is to eat, they need to be controlled. In this regard I have three options: eradication – killing the animals through various means; removal – trapping and relocating; or exclusion – preventing the animals from accessing the plants in the first place.

Before all the animal rights people get their knickers in a knot, I’m not about to reach for a shotgun. Besides the fact that I’d rather not kill any living entity, native animals are protected by law (for good reason), and I’m not quite hungry enough to kill rabbits and hares just yet. Trapping and relocating is a bit useless. Remove a native animal, create a vacuum, and nature will fill it up again. This leaves exclusion. To me this is the only feasible way of creating some kind of harmony between animals and a food producing gardener.

To some extent, fencing works very well. Our boundary is nearly all fenced in chicken wire, which keeps most of the hares and rabbits out, and the picket fence around the vegie patch does a sound job of keeping the blighters away from my precious crops. I know where some gaps are, however, and I need to make it a priority to block them up. Possums simply use timber fences as a thoroughfare, but netting fences, particularly those that are floppy at the top, tend to discourage them.

Electric fencing is brilliant if you can get it to work properly. I’ve been caught a couple of times where energisers have failed and the pests have simply pushed under what I believed was a hot wire. With better quality gear though, it’s very effective. For small areas, a couple of low wires is sufficient to keep the bunnies at bay.

Birds are a trickier proposition. Netting is one possibility, but it’s simply too difficult to work with nets directly thrown over a tree without some kind of supporting frame. I know of a few gardeners who’ve netted their entire orchard with good success, but this is beyond the budget of many. Exclusion bags are a cheap, effective option. These can be made at home or purchased from a company such as Green Harvest, and come in a range of materials including waxed paper, cloth, gauze, and flyscreen. The lighter materials protect the ripening fruit from fruit fly, but they won’t stop a hungry bird or possum. The heavier materials will.

As for bird scarers, chilli sprays and other home remedies, forget about it. They might work for a while, but animals are creatures of habit – once they get used to something, they’ll simply ignore it. But as my favourite poet Robert Frost wisely wrote, “good fences make good neighbours”. This just as true for our animal friends as it is for people.

First published in the Toowoomba Chronicle 10th December 2011. Photo by Doug Beckers via flickr.com

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

Fragar peach tree in spring

Stone fruit season is here, and I’m feeling just a tad peachy! My love of apples aside, there is something very special about picking a softball sized peach off the tree, biting straight into the sun warmed flesh, and getting such an explosion of juice that it drips off your chin. Makes you feel like a summer loving kid all over again.

Ironically, very few kids in our society have eaten a properly ripe peach. The reality of our food system is that soft-fleshed fruit must be picked before the point of ripeness to withstand the rigours of handling and transportation. As a consequence, stone fruit purchased from the supermarket rarely has enough time on the tree to accumulate real depth of character.

To experience stone fruit at its best, you either need to source fruit directly from a local orchardist, or better still, grow it yourself. Only then can you access the most flavoursome varieties, and pick them at their peak of ripeness. The good news is that stone fruit is among the easiest of all deciduous fruiting trees to grow. With the exception of cherries and European plums, which do best in high chill districts like Stanthorpe and Oakey, peaches, nectarines, Japanese plums and apricots all do very well in Toowoomba and along the ranges. Downs black soil presents an issue for peaches and nectarines, which like good drainage, but it’s good for plums and apricots. Pollination can be an issue for plums and cherries, so it’s a good idea to check the requirements for various species with a good quality nursery.

Birds and possums love stone fruit, but can largely be controlled through netting, however Queensland fruit fly absolutely adores stone fruit. If given half a chance it will decimate your entire crop, so some form of control is vital. On free standing trees, I use a combination of exclusion bags that slip over the ripening fruit, and Eco-Naturalure, a certified organic product that lures and kills both the male and female flies.

If the fruit appears to be “mummified” and is covered in a greyish-brown mould, you’ve got brown rot. This is the most serious of few fungal diseases affecting stone fruit, and can be prevented by binning any diseased fruit and spraying during late winter with either copper hydroxide (preferable to copper oxychloride) or lime sulphur, both of which are approved inputs under the Australian Organic Standard.

Bacterial diseases such as gummosis and silver leaf can be an issue. As always, prevention is easier than the cure, so do most pruning during the warmer months so that wounds heal quickly, and always sterilise your tools. I simply carry around a spray bottle containing metho, and give my tools a spray between every tree. This ensures that disease isn’t spread from one tree to another.

I often get asked about pruning, and my answer is that it can be a simple or elaborate as you like. Unpruned trees left to their own devices will flower and fruit just fine, but to maximise the health of the tree and the quality of your crop it’s a good idea to do some shaping. In the first couple of seasons concentrate on creating a framework of branches. The open vase (or goblet) shape is still a good basic structure for a stone fruit tree, but in the longer term, pruning depends on a knowledge of how various trees produce fruiting buds – you don’t want to be cutting off potential fruiting wood!

As a general rule, cherries and European plums form spurs on two-year old wood, Japanese plums and apricots fruit on a combination of spurs and new growth, while peaches and nectarines fruit solely on new wood that grew in the previous summer. Without overcomplicating things too much, peaches and nectarines benefit from an annual prune in late summer to remove about a third of the existing growth, which will allow new fruiting wood to form in time for the following spring. For more detailed info, a book I highly recommend is Pruning and Training,by Christopher Brickell and David Joyce. Louis Glowinski’s Complete Book of Fruit Growing in Australia is also excellent.

In my view, there’s absolutely no need to sacrifice flavour on the altar of convenience. The best tasting peach I’ve ever had wasn’t purchased from a shop. It was from a ‘Fragar’ tree growing in my garden and I’ll remember the fragrance and taste until the day I die. I’m hopelessly biased, but my advice is simply to grow your own food, for the sake of yourself, your family, and the planet.

First published in the Toowoomba Chronicle 26th November 2011. Photo by Justin Russell.

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

In recent years there has been a big rise in the number of people growing food in containers. While it’s hardly a new trend, container growing is a practice that’s gaining in popularity for a number of key reasons. More and more people are choosing to rent rather than buy a property, average land sizes are shrinking, and the population is aging. Growing food in containers is an effective way of reaping a harvest without the need for a traditional vegetable garden or orchard.

Container growing has some clear advantages over gardening at ground level. First and foremost, containers are mobile. When you move, it’s possible to simply put your containers on the back of a truck or trailer, and take them to their new home. Containers require little space. You’d be surprised how much food a container garden can produce from a paved courtyard or a balcony. And for those who find working a garden at ground level difficult, containers can be a god-send, enhancing ability rather than focussing on disability.

But it’s important to realise that container growing isn’t without some pitfalls. Pot plants require more care than those grown in soil. They typically need more water, to the point that if you forget to irrigate on a hot summer’s day, some of your plants are likely to either become badly dehydrated or die. But on the other hand, if poorly drained containers become waterlogged, plants can die from having “wet feet”.

Another easily overlooked issue is that container grown plants can be less nutritious than those grown in well managed soil. As they grow, plants draw nutrients from the soil and transfer them to their leaves, roots, or fruits, which then get passed on to us as we eat them. Healthy soil equals healthy plants, equals healthy food equals healthy people.

By contrast with well managed soil, a premium commercial potting mix is a soil-less medium that’s usually made primarily from composted pine bark and sand, with the possible addition of components such as peat, coco-fibre, slow release fertiliser, wetting agent, and water crystals. Potting mix is usually pasteurised using steam. This kills all the pathogens that might have been in the mix, but also destroys any good bacteria that help plants take up essential nutrients. As a general rule then, you’ll get more nutritional benefit from food grown in soil than food grown in potting mix.

Savvy container growers have cottoned on to this fact and make their own nutrient rich potting mix. Traditional gardeners sometimes use the loam-based John Innes formulas that are still the standard in Britain, and others modify a commercial mix with additions like home made compost and rotted manure. The idea with all of these approaches is that nutrients are made freely available to food producing plants, and subsequently, to people. To keep plants well fed in the longer term, I use organic slow release fertiliser or pelletised chook manure, and for quick growing vegies, nothing beats liquid fertiliser made from fish emulsion or worm juice.

When it comes time to contain your mix, there are dozens of different options. Choose what suits your style and personality, but if in doubt, keep it simple, and classic. There are all kinds of containers in my garden, but I have a preference for half wine barrels and those that are made from traditional unglazed, unsealed terracotta. I can’t emphasise enough how important it is to avoid wet feet – many plants are just as likely to die from too much water as they are too little. Always make sure a container has adequate drainage holes in the base, and only use a saucer for those plants that thrive in damp conditions. Pot feet are usually helpful.

Beyond that, you’re limited only by your imagination. Pretty much any vegetable can be be raised in containers, including those that are grown for their roots, and lots of fruiting plants are suitable as well. Go for dwarf trees or those grafted onto dwarfing rootstock, fruiting bushes, canes, and perennials. And of course, remember to include herbs in your container garden. Most do just as well in a pot as they do in the ground and some perform even better.

A lack of space or mobility doesn’t need to be impediments to growing your own food. If all you can manage is a pot of mixed herbs grown on a sunny window sill, that’s absolutely brilliant. Grow those herbs with pride, and cook them with love, and guess what – you’ll join the ranks of gardeners around the world who’ve discovered the incredible joys of growing their own food.

First published in the Toowoomba Chronicle 12th November 2011. Photo by Justin Russell, potted Eureka lemon.

If you’ve been reading Secret Garden for a couple of years you’d be aware that I’ve got a thing for apples. For those who are new to the column (welcome, by the way!), let it be heard that apples are my favourite plant. By a country mile. You know those desert island lists that sometimes make the round in gardening magazines? Well, if I had to list my top four desert island plants, they would be dessert apples, followed by cooking apples, then cider apples, and finally, crab apples. Of course I probably couldn’t grow any of them on a desert island, but that’s beside the point.

If you’re a long time reader, you’ll also know that I have absolutely no idea why I love apple trees so much. It goes without saying that apples are also my favourite fruit, but that’s not enough to inspire a grand passion, is it? The only other reason I can come up with to support my apple enthusiasm is that my ancestors came from Herefordshire in England. To this day, when China is easily the biggest apple producer in the world, Herefordshire remains a major growing region. But a century ago apple trees were legion in the English west country and my Russell ancestors were right in the thick of it. So my theory is that some kind of genetic memory has been passed down, and the result is a longing to grow apples. Sounds bonkers, but it’s all I can put my finger on.

It’s hardly a surprise then, that I’d love to see more gardeners growing the fruit in their backyard. I get asked all the time whether apples will even grow in Toowoomba and on the Downs. The answer is a resounding yes. In my own experience, the 30 odd varieties growing here in my Hampton garden are doing very well, but the broader answer to the question is that there is an apple for almost every climate.

Apples originate not in the Middle East as popular myth might suggest, but in central Asia. There are still wild forests in Kazakhstan containing 20 metre tall, 300-year-old apple trees with the girth of oaks and fruit in a huge diversity of colours, shapes and sizes. This latter point is the key thing to learn about apples. They are one of the most genetically diverse plants on earth, which means the odds are very strong that you’ll find an apple well suited to your garden.

The big garden centres will dish out the standard advice that for Queensland climates, you must plant low chill cultivars such as ‘Anna’ and ‘Dorsett Golden’. What they don’t usually tell you is that the first comes from Israel and the second from the Bahamas. They’ll also neglect to tell you that Dorsett Golden was bred from Golden Delicious, a staple variety in cold climate orchards across the world. So my advice is simple: be careful who you listen to, and don’t get too hung up on matching apple varieties and climate. There are 500 plus cultivars in Australia – plenty will do well in your garden.

One thing you will need to get hung up on is the apple’s rather specific reproductive habits. The flowers are pollinated by bees and there are very few self-pollinating apples, so the general rule is that for a tree to bear fruit, it will need another apple planted in the vicinity that flowers around the same time. If you’ve already planted an apple tree and it isn’t producing fruit, chances are you need a second variety for pollination. For a select group of large fruiting apples called triploids, a third variety will be required. A good apple nursery will give you the skinny on the best combinations.

As for apple growing culture, the trees are generally easy to grow, but in some climates they can be prone to a range of problems. The big three are fruit fly, codling moth, and the fungal disease apple scab. The first two can be controlled with a combination of good hygiene, exclusion bags or nets, and organic baits. Scab is worse on some varieties than others, can be prevented to some extent by facilitating good airflow through the trees, and can be controlled quite successfully with an overwintering spray of lime sulphur. Soil isn’t a major concern, though being a forest dweller, the trees will thrive in rich soil full of organic matter. Apply compost regularly and keep the trees mulched.

If I sound overly enthusiastic, please refer to paragraph two. I make no apologies for being an apple freak. The apple is a wonderful garden plant just waiting to be rediscovered by discerning gardeners. Please, I implore you all to give them a try. I doubt you’ll regret it.

There comes a point in spring where I’m absolutely itching to sink my teeth into the first properly ripe strawberry of the season. I don’t buy strawberries from the shops. I grew up eating plump, deliciously sweet berries grown on my Pa’s market garden in Brisbane, so to my palate, the commercial strawberries sold in plastic punnets are a serious disappointment. As far as I’m concerned, real berries come from the garden (or a really good local farmer), and they’re as far removed from the bland, mushy, transported-halfway-across-the-state excuses for fruit that promise so much but deliver so little.

I get the impression that some people consider my attitude elitist. Someone once suggested that not everyone’s lucky enough to have a large garden like me. Others have claimed that they too could grow their own strawberries of only they’d achieved my level of gardening skill! Such defeatism! I try to explain to the naysayers that they’d probably change their tune if they saw just how laid back my strawberry growing efforts actually are.

Besides preparing the soil properly before planting, mulching the plants until they naturally cover the ground, and putting out some eco-friendly snail bait during wet weather, I do nothing to my strawberries other than pick, and enjoy, them. I don’t spray, fertilise, or water. My plants don’t have viruses, but they do get the occasional bit of grey mould during wet summers. I don’t worry about it. And I’m not a commercial grower, so I ignore the traditional advice that strawberry plants should be completely replaced every three years to prevent disease taking hold. In spite of my laissez faire approach we get bumper crops of berries every spring, summer and autumn that more than justify the minuscule amount of time I put into the the plants.

So what’s your excuse? I don’t mean to be rude, it’s just that if you’re keen to grow strawberries but haven’t yet had a go, I’m wondering what’s holding you back? If space is limited try growing strawbs in pots or hanging baskets. If your soil is black clay try raised beds. If you’re worried you don’t have the requisite skills, take comfort in the fact that you only need the bare basics.

There’s a common misconception about strawberries that they are delicate, and therefore, difficult to grow. While it’s true that the berries themselves aren’t very robust, the plants are actually quite resilient. The ideal growing conditions are a free draining, slightly acidic soil that’s full of organic matter, a position in sun or dappled shade, and some supplemental irrigation during really hot, dry periods. These needs reflect the plant’s origins in the woodlands of Europe where wild strawberries grow naturally in the humus-rich, semi-shaded soils of the forest floor. Replicate these conditions at home as best you can, and you’ll be on a winner.

Unfortunately, it’s a bit trickier to pick a winner among the few strawberry varieties offered for sale in the nurseries. Truth be told, many are superseded commercial varieties that were bred for qualities such as transportability, extended harvest and disease resistance. Like most commercial fruit, flavour isn’t top priority. For home growers, the situation is reversed. My primary consideration is flavour, so I try to choose fruit and vegies that are, more than anything else, absolutely delicious to eat. Usually this means looking to specialist nurseries for the right plants.

With this in mind I’ve just planted out a new patch of strawbs. The variety is ‘Hokawase’, an old Japanese selection that is blessed with one of the most incredible flavours on the face of the planet. Hokawase is so good you’re unlikely to ever find your local supermarket. The berries don’t transport well (strike one), they go soft in the punnet (strike two) and only bear in spring and early summer (strike three, and they’re out!). But for me, Hokawase is precisely the kind of strawberry I want to grow.

‘Red Gauntlet’, my other main variety, is incredibly productive but lacks the flavour of the best strawberries. I’ve also got an unknown variety that nearly rivals Hokawase, but the next best is the much overlooked alpine strawberry or fraises des bois – the wild strawberry of the wood. This plant runs like crazy, which makes it a good groundcover, and it produces little fingernail sized morsels that burst in your mouth like sherbet. Still, they’ve got nothing on a just picked Hokawase.

The gates of berry heaven are wide open and all gardeners with an ounce of enthusiasm for growing their own fruit are welcome to enter.

First published in the Toowoomba Chronicle 24th September 2011. Photo by Justin Russell, Red Gauntelt strawberries and calendula in the vegie patch.

Blossom season has arrived on the Downs, and we ought to celebrate. It’s a privilege to inhabit a part of the world that experiences four seasons, and considering our spring is fleetingly intense we should all make an effort to embrace the wonder of the natural cycle.

If we were living in Japan, a nation beset by catastrophes far more monstrous than our January floods, spring blossom would currently be a national obsession, with hanami (flower viewing) parties held in parks and gardens throughout the islands. And rightly so. On the back of a winter that has been colder and drier than average, spring is a welcome gift. It’s a reminder that change, though inevitable, brings opportunities for renewal.

While a range of blossom trees are enjoyed in Japan, the plant at the centre of the hanami festival is Prunus serrulata, the non-fruiting, ornamental cherry known by the Japanese as sakura. The tree is widely grown outside of Japan, and though the species is uncommon on the Downs, it’s many cultivars, including ‘Kanzan’, ‘Shirotae’ and ‘Ukon’ are popular.

I haven’t grown any of these varieties in my garden yet, but I do have a Prunus ‘Okame’, planted (with thanks) by the previous owners and currently blooming in all its spring glory. Being a hybrid between the Formosan cherry (Prunus campanulata) and the Mt Fuji cherry (Prunus incisa), Okame combines the best features of each species. It produces a mass of pink flowers on a fairly upright tree in early spring, much like P. campanulata, while colouring up superbly in autumn like P. incisa. It really is a beautiful, undervalued plant.

But as much as I love our Okame, my enthusiasm for cherries is directed mostly toward the edible cherries, both sweet and sour. Sharing many of the same attributes as the non-fruiting species, fruit bearing cherries are just as ornamental in spring but come with the significant bonus of delicious, home-grown produce. Why Toowoomba Regional Council doesn’t plant edible versions of some plants is beyond me. Imagine being able to wander through a local park, enjoying not just the shade of a cherry tree on a summer’s day, but also being able to harvest some fruit. It would mean that TRC would have to resist spraying the trees with chemicals, lest they poison the public, but that wouldn’t be a bad outcome.

If council was to get adventurous with its public plantings, the cherry I’d recommend above all others is the sour cherry, Prunus cerasus. In Australia sour cherries carry the stigma of being a “cooking” fruit, but in Europe it is by far the most commonly grown cherry tree. The reason it’s so popular overseas is that the tree has considerable advantages over its sweet cousin.

Cold winters are essential for both species, but sour cherries tolerate more summer heat, are genuinely self-fertile, are less attractive to birds, come into bearing earlier, and form a tree half the size of the sweet cherry, which can reach a height of 10 metres. Additionally, the fruit of sour cherries won’t split open during wet weather like some sweet varieties do, and the tree is more resistant to brown rot.

These advantages apply equally to home gardeners. I’ve just planted a Morello sour cherry in my garden and I’m looking forward to using the fruit in the kitchen. Maggie Beer is a big fan of sour cherries, as is UK smallholder Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall of River Cottage fame, who describes jam made from Morello cherries as “superb”.

Last but, certainly not least is everyone’s favourite, the sweet cherry. Christmas lunch in the Russell family wouldn’t be complete if a bowl of sweet cherries wasn’t on the table alongside the bon-bons and baked ham. This summer, I’m hoping to harvest the first fruit from our own trees. To keep them small and net the fruit against birds – the botanical name of sweet cherries is Prunus avium, after all – I’m growing the trees in a restricted bush form, where the vigour of the tree is spread over a large number of small branches.

To date I’ve planted Stella, a self fertile variety from Canada and Naploeon, an old French “white” cherry, but have two more waiting to go in the ground, the NSW bred ‘Ron’s Seedling’, and ‘Early Burlat’, developed in Morocco during the 1930′s. There are many other good varieties beside these four. If you’re keen to give sweet cherries a try be prepared to prune the trees to keep them manageable, consider their pollination requirements, and most importantly, plant in a cold micro-climate. Cherries, both sweet and sour, are fruit for the coolest parts of the Downs. But if you do manage to get cherries thriving, these superb trees will provide generous rewards for many seasons to come.

First published in the Toowoomba Chronicle 27 August 2011. Photo by Justin Russell, Okame Cherry.

The sap is rising. New growth is suddenly bursting out everywhere in my garden, and the first blossoms have made an appearance. Almonds are invariably head of the queue, but they’re closely followed by an apple called Anna, a low chill variety that flowers very early compared to many of it’s compatriots. A couple of Japanese plums have also burst, and the scene is starting to take on a distinct springtime exuberance.

One of the jobs I look forward to most in late August is grafting. I propagate most of my own apples and pears for my little fruit tree nursery, and it’s a process that I find quite meditative. There must be something about grafting that appeals to my sensibilities. I usually emerge from a session feeling quite happy with the world, probably because the process is all about hope. There’s a miraculous quality in the uniting of a scion with a rootstock that I never tire of.

It can be tempting to think that grafting is a skill beyond the reach of the average home gardener. It isn’t. Anyone with the right gear, a willingness to practice and enough strength in the hands to cut fruitwood can have a go at grafting. Before long you’ll be able to perform all kinds of wonderful horticultural tricks and solve some otherwise insurmountable problems. Like changing from one plant variety to another.

Let’s imagine you planted a Red Delicious apple (my least favourite variety), but have come to your senses and decided that you’d rather grow something truly delicious – a Cox’s Orange Pippin or a Lord Lambourne for example. Assuming the apple tree is healthy, there’s absolutely no need to pull it out and start again. You can simply cut the existing tree back, then “top work” it by grafting branches over to the desired variety.

Or, you might choose to graft the tree over to a number of varieties. Pollination can be an issue with some fruit varieties, and in small gardens, finding space for more than one plant may be impossible. Don’t fret. If you’ve learnt how to graft, you can easily grow two or three varieties on a single tree, solving your pollination problem without the need to find room for extra plants. For collectors of rare plants, grafting will enable you to put dozens, even hundreds, of individual varieties on a single tree.

The process is actually very low-tech, but you will need to follow a few simple guidelines to avoid butchering your trees. The first is that grafting requires a good quality knife, preferably a proper grafting knife, that’s been honed to a very sharp edge. It seems counter-intuitive, but the sharper your knife, the less likely you’ll be to take off a thumb. To provide support and prevent drying out before the graft “takes”, you’ll need to seal the join up with grafting tape – it’s available at most hardware stores and nurseries.

Secondly, timing is of the essence. The best time to graft is in late winter or early spring, when the rootstock is “on the move” but the scionwood is still dormant. I harvest my scions in early winter, then store them in a plastic bag in the fridge until required. When harvesting wood, aim for branches of pencil thickness and cut them into pieces containing three or four buds. Of course you’ll need a rootstock to graft the scion on to. This is likely to be an existing tree in your garden, but for enthusiasts, you can propagate rootstocks from seed or cuttings, or alternatively, buy a tree, cut off the top, and graft onto it.

Third, practice. The three most useful grafts for beginners are the whip, the whip and tongue, and the cleft (or wedge) graft. It’s beyond the scope of this article to describe them in detail, so I’d recommend you consult a decent book or have a look on YouTube for some video demonstrations. I got lots of excellent tips from a series of grafting videos made by an English apple grower named Stephen Hayes (his username is stephenhayesuk). Once you’re familiar with the techniques, make cut after cut on some scrap wood until you feel confident enough to have a go at a proper graft.

Then do just that – give it a go. Apples and pears are the easiest trees to work with, and they take readily. As long as you graft at the right time and ensure the cambium layer (green layer of growth cells just below the bark) of the scion matches that of the rootstock, you’ll get more successful grafts than failures. Other fruit and ornamental varieties can be a bit trickier, but they too, are worth a shot. Grafting is a skill worth learning.

First published in the Toowoomba Chronicle 20th August 2011. Photo by Kylie Russell, Justin grafting a pear tree.

Over the last sixty years, as gardening became less about food production and more about ornamentation, gardeners acquired the habit of classing plants according to their use. Into one box went the edible plants, and into another went the ornamentals. The problem with this distinction is that it’s completely arbitrary. Some edible plants are more beautiful than many ornamentals, and many ornamentals produce fruit. Plus, there are a whole host of plants that don’t fit in either box, and are best thought of as being dual, or multi- purpose.

The focus in my garden over the last couple of years has been on plants that fit in this latter category. I’m keen to maximise the relatively small space I’ve got available to grow food, but I still want to have a beautiful garden that is well designed and satisfies all of the senses. Am I aiming too high? Is it a case of wanting to have my cake and eat it to?

The key is to select lots of multi-purpose plants, and some of the very best for a temperate climate are the crabapples. These close relatives of the domestic apple are mostly grown for their flowers in spring, which are stunning and usually borne in great profusion, but crabs are much more than one trick ponies. Beyond spring, the trees can provide ornamental value in the form of stunning autumn foliage and fruit that hangs well into winter like colourful baubles on a Christmas tree. Lots of crabapples produce acceptable fruit for eating, juicing, and cooking. Not to be underestimated is their long flowering period, which makes crabs useful pollinators for more desirable fruiting varieties.

One of my favourites is Malus trilobata, the trident crabapple. This beautiful crab grows like some of the very upright ornamental pears but looks for all money like a maple. As the species name suggests, the leaves have three lobes. This confuses more than a few visitors to my garden, who are used to seeing oval shaped apple leaves and get a surprise when I tell them it’s actually an apple. And a good apple at that.

Trilobata bears large, pure white flowers in spring, followed by small yellow crabs that provide a useful autumn food source for native birds, or eager jam makers. In late autumn the tree’s foliage turns an intense, scarlet red. Combined with a statuesque growth habit the effect is very striking, and trilobata would be an ideal candidate for marking the entrance to a property or highlighting a gateway.

‘John Downie’ has more recognisable apple foliage and makes a medium sized tree, perfect for a suburban garden where there’s a bit of space to play with, but not enough to accommodate a giant. The best fruiting variety of all the crabs, ‘John Downie’ produces red-blushed fruit the size of a bantam egg. Cooks prefer the fruit for making crab apple jelly and the juice, which tends to be fairly acidic, is useful for blending with sweeter apple juice to give some extra character.

The other good thing about John Downie is that it flowers very heavily for a long period in spring, making the variety an excellent pollinator for other apples. The old English crab ‘Golden Hornet’ is similarly generous with its flowers. And it’s probably even more attractive than John Downie, because after the tree has dropped its leaves, it remains covered in small yellow crabs well into July. Again, the crabs make delicious preserves.

The list of gardenworthy crab apples is quite long really. ‘Aldenhamensis’ produces stunning wine-red flowers in spring followed by bronze foliage and large purple crabs, Malus floribunda ‘Pendula’ is probably the best weeping variety, and ‘Evereste’, regarded by many as the most ornamental of all crab apples, is a true four season plant with cherry sized crabs hanging into winter. Some of these less common varieties can be difficult to track to down. Try asking whether your favourite local nursery can order a couple of plants in for you.

The secret to getting the best out of crab apples is to grow them fairly lean. Don’t enrich the soil with fertiliser at planting time, and avoid applying any nitrogen-based food unless the plant is really struggling to grow. Instead focus on regular applications of seaweed. By giving crab apples a tough time of it, not only will they stay compact, but most importantly, the trees will put most of their energy into producing an abundance of spring blossom, which in turn, will translate into a fruitful autumn.

First published in the Toowoomba Chronicle 9th July 2011. Photo by Peter Repetti via flickr.com – John Downie crab apples.

In July, it can be tempting to believe that the garden has become a cold, drab, lifeless wasteland dominated by bare branches and frost-bleached grass. I’ve fallen for the myth lots of times, but in reality, it’s simply not true. When I actually slow down and really pay attention, I see a garden bursting with energy and colour. In this week’s Secret Garden I want to give a snapshot of what’s happening in my garden during July, with the hope that you’ll be inspired to see your own winter garden in a new light.

We’ll start in my favourite part of the garden – the vegie patch. Come winter, spring, summer or autumn, the patch is the beating heart of Thistlebrook. This is true in a physical sense, because the patch is located roughly in the centre of the most productive part of the property (right next door to the chooks and espalier orchard). But more importantly, the vegie patch brings to life our ideas of what good gardening, and good living, is all about.

The vegie patch feeds my family all year round. Winter moves at a slower pace than spring and summer, of course, but there’s still something to harvest every day. The two carrot varieties I sowed back in early autumn, Lubyana and St Valery, have been feeding us for months and there are still enough roots in the ground for a few weeks yet. The bed of leafy greens I sowed with my daughter in March is still providing fresh leaves of rocket, bok choy, mizuna, lettuce, spinach, and lots of beautiful Tuscan, and Red Russian kale. I’m growing the latter for the first time and it’s a winner – tender and delicious and quietly beautiful in the garden.

The brassicas are coming along well. A row of broccoli is sprouting dozens of side shoots, extending the harvest, and an adjacent row of purple cauliflower is big and tall and starting to form a startling violet coloured head. Next to the cauliflower is some young purple sprouting broccoli, a row of cabbage and finally, a row of wombok, now ready to be picked. All of the plants are thriving in soil that previously grew potatoes, and was enriched with lots of home made compost, some lime, and a decent scattering of pelletised chook manure.

My garlic is powering along. In addition to bulbs I saved from last spring, I’m experimenting with some heirloom varieties this year and so far, the results are good. The bulbs were tiny when they arrived in the post, and I was worried they wouldn’t grow. But garlic is tougher than people give it credit for and every clove bar one sprouted. I can’t wait for harvest in November. Nearby, in a permanent bed, is my prized rhubarb. The variety I grow is called Highfields Ever Red, and true to it’s name, produces glowing scarlet stems almost all year round before dying back to the crown in mid-winter. This year it’s still going strong.

The potted Eureka lemon tree, which has struggled along for a few years in the face of drought, frost, flood and the beautiful, but very hungry, orchard swallowtail butterfly caterpillars, is finally bearing fruit. Not a lot, and quite under-size compared to my neighbours’ lemons. But all fruit, whether abundant or scarce, is welcome in this household and I’m looking forward to this tree’s first harvest. A better performer is the blood orange. It’s going gangbusters for a young tree, and is covered with half ripe oranges that I’m hoping will survive July’s hard frosts.

There’s much more to this garden than just edible plants, and though flowers are scarce in July, observant visitors still manage to spot the odd beauty. Forget-me-nots planted beneath and old flowering peach are still producing their electric blue flowers, a red grevillea and a neighbouring teucrium are making a brilliant combination and out the back, along the rear boundary fence, a Mutabilis rose hedge continues to be a show stopper. This variety needs space, but it ranks as one of the most garden-worthy plants I’ve ever grown.

Now if that all sounds a bit too idyllic, take heart. Thistlebrook is hardly the perfect garden that some people imagine it to be. And to be honest, I wouldn’t have it any other way. Perfect gardens are an illusion, often created by a hyper-dedicated property owner or a small army of gardeners working day in and day out to create something that for most of us, is out of reach. Give me a garden that’s rough around the edges, but productive and beautiful, over a micro-managed show piece any day of the week. Let’s aim to keep it real.

First puublished in the Toowoomba Chronicle 2nd July 2011. Photo by Justin Russell, forget-me-not flowers.