January 10, 2012. Two thirty in the afternoon. Hot and dry. I write this week’s Secret Garden on a day that’s almost a total contrast to January 10, 2011. This time a year ago, the heavens had opened. Water was pouring across my garden, over the front gate and down my dirt road like a muddy, raging torrent. We were isolated for a couple of days. But, other’s weren’t so lucky, and I offer my thoughts to those still coming to terms with the loss of loved ones last January.

With such a momentous start to the year, 2011 was always bound to be full of highs and lows. From a gardening point of view, the roller coaster ride was no more evident than in the vegie patch. The humidity and full soil moisture profile brought about some miserable results in some plants, but others cropped magnificently. Joy and pain are flip sides of the same coin, so it follows that success and failure are inseparable in the garden as well. But I don’t want to focus on the negatives. I want to share a list of plants that performed brilliantly in my garden last year, just in case you want to have a go at growing them at your place.

Tomato ‘Wapsipinicon Peach’

It may have a confusing tongue twister of a name, but this small, yellowish tomato offered a moment of quiet clarity when I took my first bite. The flavour was magnificent, right up there with my other favourite tomatoes ‘Green Zebra’ and ‘Jaune Flamee’. Unfortunately the plant suffered badly in the wet weather (find me a tomato that didn’t!), so I’m trialling it again this summer in the hope that this fuzzy delight from Iowa proves to be the complete package.

Potato ‘Dutch Cream’

I’ve always had a thing for a good spud, so it came as no real surprise that just yesterday I learned that my grandpa farmed potatoes in the Wangaratta area upon his arrival in Australia in 1924. I wonder whether he was familiar with the old variety ‘Dutch Cream’? If so, I’d suppose that he too was a fan of this oval shaped tuber and its exceptionally rich, creamy flesh. Unlike some of my other spuds, which suffered from potato scab for the first time last year, my Dutch Creams came through with flying colours. A terrific potato!

Kale ‘Red Russian’

For a few years now the darling of kale growers and posh restaurants has been Tuscan kale or cavolo nero. While I’m in no doubt that this is a superb plant, it’s virtues are easily matched by it’s Eastern cousin, ‘Red Russian’ (aka Siberian). Like all kales, Red Russian is incredibly nutritious, but it doesn’t taste “cabbagey” and is actually tender enough to be used in a leafy salad. It is unfazed by frosty mornings, has handsome foliage, and grows very easily from seed. Red Russian must be a contender for one of the best two or three plants I grew in 2011.

Beetroot ‘Cylindra’

If you’d rather pickle your own beetroot than purchase the canned stuff, this is the variety for you. As the name suggests, it forms a long cylindrical root that lays beautifully on a chopping board and is so easy to slice that even the most inept cook could produce a decent result. While not quite my favourite beetroot for roasting (Bull’s Blood takes that honour) it is a very good cropper that produces super-high yields per square metre of space. Love my beets, and this is a really good doer.

Carrot ‘Lubyana’

A Slovenian heirloom with yellow skin and flesh that performed brilliantly for me in 2011. I’m yet to taste an heirloom carrot that isn’t superior in flavour to the boring old orange carrots your get in the shops, but in the case of Lubyana, the difference is palpable. Eaten soon after being pulled, the flesh is has a crisp bite and is beautifully sweet. Ljubljana, Slovenia’s capital and largest city, is described by Lonely Planet as one of the most wonderful and relaxed cities in Europe. The carrot that bears her name is a fitting tribute.

You might find some of these vegies as seedlings at your local nursery, but I grew them all from seed and encourage you to do the same. My seed suppliers of choice are The Diggers Club, The Lost Seed Company, Eden Seeds and Green Harvest. All the best for your vegie patch this year. May the weather be gentler than it was on that fateful day in January 2011.

First published in the Toowoomba Chronicle 31st December 2011.

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

We seem to have slipped gradually into summer this year, but with the official start of the wet season now begun, the question in the back of everyone’s mind concerns the weather. Will we get a repeat dose of January’s floods? The Bureau of Meteorology is predicting above average rainfall and below average maximum temperatures for summer, courtesy of a weak La Nina pattern, and the Queensland Government has reacted to the BOM outlook by releasing water from Wivenhoe Dam. USQ’s Professor Roger Stone suggests taking a “cautious approach” and being “very risk adverse”.

Considering the events of last summer, it’s excellent advice. But for vegie gardeners, Professor Stone’s suggestion is a tough pill to swallow. In our corner of the planet, the frost-free months from December to May are the most productive of the year for growing and harvesting food. We’re lucky enough to be able to grow lots during winter as well, but summer and autumn are seasons of abundance, and I’ll bet my house that nearly every vegie grower in Toowoomba and on the Downs will be sowing and tending and harvesting with abandon.

If the season does prove to be wetter than average, fungal disease will again become public enemy number one, just as it was last summer. Vulnerable plants, particularly those in the Solanaceae (tomato) and Cucurbitaceae (pumpkin) families, will benefit to some extent from fungicide sprays, but be wary of going overboard and always follow a couple of golden rules.

First, remember that fungicides work best as a preventative, so keep an eye on the weather outlook and apply them in advance of a wet spell. Second, use the least toxic chemical available to do the job. A simple spray made from one part full cream milk to five parts water will help control powdery mildew if applied every week. For other fungal diseases, spraying organically approved copper hydroxide or wettable sulphur is the best way to prevent infection. Be aware that any metal based product will persist in the soil, so use them wisely.

Besides keeping an eye out for fungus, the other issue that needs attention in a wet season is soil fertility. Heavy rain leaches nutrients from the soil, making them unavailable to plants. It’s up to gardeners, therefore, to replace what is lost from the soil so that vegetable plants can grow freely. The starting point for fertility in any season is compost. During wet weather, the black gold is even more important than usual because it adds nutrients, and by regulating fluctuations in moisture levels, keeps those nutrients in the soil. Compost also encourages beneficial fungi, which will help fight any soil borne diseases that may develop. So get composting! From a garden’s perspective, decomposed organic matter is the best Christmas present you can offer.

In addition to compost, you’ll probably need to throw around some fertiliser, and perhaps some minerals. As usual, my advice is to go for a fertiliser that not only feeds plants, but helps improve your soil. Pelletised chook manure, sold in brands such as Organic Xtra and Dynamic Lifter, is ideal. Rotted horse, sheep or cow manure is also good, but never use it fresh – a couple of months worth of decomposition is vital.

Lime any beds that need sweetening. Use dolomite on black soils, regular garden lime on red soils. Dolomite contains magnesium, but because red soils are often naturally high in magnesium, adding more will only make them stickier. And for a quick boost, give leafy greens a fortnightly application of liquid fish emulsion. Seaweed extract used every couple of weeks won’t go astray either, providing trace elements and helping plants better cope with stress.

The soil is now warm enough for all summer plants, even the real heat lovers like eggplants and watermelon. Tomatoes, capsicum, chillies, corn, bush beans, climbing beans, pumpkin, squash, zucchini, cucumber and basil, can all go in, along with most herbs and edible flowers. Leafy greens such as lettuce, pak choy, mizuna and rocket are also do-able, but might need some shade on the hottest days.

No doubt the big garden centres will be selling lots of seedlings out of season. My tip is to ignore their seasonless approach to gardening by growing vegies from seed. At this time of year germination is quick and reliable, plus you’ll save yourself a packet, by growing a packet…if you get my drift. Enjoy summer, fill the vegie garden, but don’t work too hard. Take some time with friends and family, and when the heat’s on (or the family gets under your skin), find a shady spot to have a kip, knock back a cold bevvy or two, and do nothing but watch the world drift by.

First published in the Toowoomba Chronicle 3rd December 2011. Photo by Justin Russell, scarlet runner beans, Summerfield, Cabarlah.

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.

September is the most irresistible month of the year. For gardeners living in a four season climate, the few short weeks of transition from winter to spring are so full of promise that it’s difficult not to get carried away.

For the wise heads out there, heed this word of caution. Be patient. Try and curb your enthusiasm just a wee bit. I know it’s hard. The sun’s out, the weather feels warm, the soil’s moist after the recent rains and all the nurseries are selling your favourite summer vegie seedlings. It seems like the perfect growing weather. This is certainly true for some plants, but for true warm season vegies, we’re not quite there yet. The air temperature is warm enough but the soil is still cold. If you doubt me, try the bare bottom test used by medieval peasants. Drop your daks, place your bare bum on the soil surface and test the temperature. I’ll bet it feels darn cold.

The problem with cold soil is that some seeds – corn, beans, pumpkin and tomato for instance – need a soil temperature above 15 Celsius to germinate. Capsicum, eggplant and melons need even warmer soil – 18C or more. Try sowing these seeds early in September and you are likely to be disappointed with the results. Plus, there’s still a chance of late frost and a single decent freeze may wipe out all of your warm season crops and you’ll have to start over. Old timers have learnt to take it slow and steady in September. They know that time lost at the start of spring will be well and truly gained by the end.

Inevitably, some of you will completely ignore this advice and rush headlong into the season without caring a fig what the weather may or may not do. Who am I to judge. Excitement gets the better of us all and I too have been guilty of starting plants too early in spring. If I’m to be really honest, I think I might have lost a few plants on a frosty night or two last October.

So if you simply can’t resist the urge to get some summer plants in the ground, you might want to try planting seedlings. You can purchase these if you like, but you’ll get better value for money, not to mention better plants, if you raise the seedlings yourself from seed. Start the seeds indoors. Light isn’t essential for germination, but warmth is, so look for balmy places like the top of the fridge or a bench top near the oven in the kitchen.

Once the seeds have germinated, which might take anywhere from a few days to a couple of weeks, it’s vital that they go outside into a well lit position. Don’t fall for the mistake of placing them on a sunny windowsill. The tiny seedlings will become weak and leggy as they crane toward the light. Put them out into bright shade or morning sun, and avoid covering the seedlings with those clear plastic mini greenhouses. If the seedlings blow about a bit in the breeze and are in bright light they will develop stout, strong stems that eventually support healthy plants. Also, don’t saturate the soil either before or after germination. Water daily, by all means, but allow the soil to dry out a little between times.

What should you sow the seeds in? I like to use a custom seed raising mix and biodegradable pots. I make the former from fairly sandy commercial seed raising mix (Debco is my favourite brand, if you are wondering) and perlite combined at a ratio of two thirds to one third. It doesn’t really matter what brand or mix you use as long as it is sterile, to avoid problems such as damping off, and reasonably loose. I don’t add any fertiliser to the mix. Instead, I start feeding the little seedlings with a weak fish emulsion fertiliser once they are up and growing.

Biodegradable pots can be made from toilet rolls, egg cartons, or rolled up newspaper. I’ve got a big carton of coir punnets sitting in my propagating area so I use those, but the principle with all the various materials is the same. When it comes time to plant the seedling in the soil, put it in pot and all. The pot will decompose, and the seedling will suffer very little transplant shock. Wouldn’t you be happier if you weren’t squeezed and cajoled and shaken from your bed in the morning? One of the hallmarks of master gardeners is that they have learnt to think like a plant.

All the best for spring everyone. As American farmer Joel Salatin might say, may your earthworms dance with celebration and your carrots grow long and straight.

First puublished in the Toowoomba Chronicle 3rd September 2011. Photo by Justin Russell, pansies.

What a run of magnificent winter weather we’ve just experienced. Frosty dawns and sunny afternoons are tonic for the soul as far as I’m concerned, and it seems the various fruit trees in my garden appreciate the weather just as much as I do. There are signs that my fruit trees are waking from their winter rest. Most notable are the buds. On some trees they are small and slender. On others, the pears and apples in particular, the buds grow fatter and more expectant by the day.

But hard won experience has taught me not to get fooled. It is, after all, barely the start of August. Officially, winter still has a month to run, and in some parts of the Downs, including my little cold pocket on the western fall of the Great Dividing Range, frost can settle on the ground well into October. My enthusiasm for the garden is swelling just as quickly as the buds on my trees, but I’m not quite ready to throw open the windows and embrace the wonders of spring.

Besides, there’s still a mountain of jobs to do in anticipation for the season to come. August is probably the busiest time of the year for food-centric gardeners like me, for the simple reason that if the preparation work isn’t done in earnest now, there will be slim pickings in the vegie garden until the summer crops get started in November. And if I can help it, I prefer to grow my own, rather than depend on the seasonless conveniences offered by the supermarkets.

Traditionally, the period from late winter to early summer was the leanest time of the year in cold climate gardens. People called it the “hungry gap”. It was a time when the stored surplus of autumn began to dwindle but the weather hadn’t thawed sufficiently for fresh produce to be ready to eat. Hunger, even starvation, was a very real possibility. This is why lent is celebrated during the northern hemisphere spring – the religious symbolism of fasting and suffering coincides with the reality of rarely filled bellies.

Thankfully, the situation isn’t quite as dire as it once was. Yes, I loathe the supermarkets, that much is obvious. And I’m very dubious about the perceived security of the modern food system. But compared to the average medieval peasant, or the modern day Somalian for that matter, we’ve got it very easy. The grocery shops offer a safety net that would be inconceivable to many, and our climate is, for the time being at least, conducive to growing a broad range of nutritious vegetables every month of the year.

So for me, it’s head down bum up for the next month, not so much in an effort to avoid the hungry gap, but to build a level of security and sheer deliciousness into my family life that no supermarket can ever begin to match. My Woolies…my big toe! I’ll tell you where my real loyalties lie, and that’s with my garden.

Top of my notepad titled “Jobs for August” is spuds. Some people ask me why I bother growing something so cheap and readily available in the shops. My answer, beside what I just wrote above, is that you must never have tasted a freshly dug spud. Tender, new potatoes bandicooted from the soil before the main crop is ready, are exceptionally flavoursome. I’ll always find some room for them in the garden. At the moment though, my seed potatoes are sitting on the kitchen bench waiting patiently for me to get them into the ground. They’ll go into well drained soil into which I’ve incorporated some compost and a generous scattering of pelletised poultry fertiliser.

Besides potatoes, my next priority is roots. Especially carrots. They are a nightly staple in our household, and the last of our autumn sowing was pulled from the ground this week. This time around I’m trying out an heirloom variety called ‘Danvers’ as well as my old favourite ‘Purple Dragon’, and unlike spuds, both will be sown into well dug soil that has no added compost or fertiliser. Carrots and parsnips prefer lean ground.

Finally, I’m going to sow a “catch crop” of leafy greens. Because greens are so fast growing they can be planted to catch the small window of opportunity that exists between late winter and the first plantings of summer ripening tomatoes, corn and beans in September and October. Rocket, mizuna, kale, Asian cabbage, and lettuce are all easy to start from either seed or seedlings and give quick results when speed is warranted.

There’s plenty to be done. And to be honest, after writing this week’s column I’m almost so keen to get into my vegie patch I could burst quicker than a plum blossom in September. It’s an exciting time of the year.

First published in The Toowoomba Chronicle 30th July 2011. Photo by Justin Russell, unfurling buds on an ornamental peach.

My brother James and his family are staying with us on holidays at the moment, so last night we cooked up a Russell family favourite – a beautifully crackled pork roast served with as many vegies as we could muster from the garden. At least that was the idea in theory. In reality, the only vegies that came from the relatively lean looking veg patch were some herbs, carrots and beetroot. Better than nothing, and true to form, the carrots were wonderfully sweet and the herbs provided the perfect accompaniment. But it was the beetroot that really took James’s fancy.

I accepted his enthusiasm as a great compliment, since we’re talking about a bloke who, as a kid, was so against eating vegetables that he would literally gag on each and every pea that went in his mouth. That’s if a vegie made it into James’s mouth. Sometimes Mum would find secret little stashes of carrot hidden under the dining table days after they were supposed to have been consumed. Yum. To be fair, my brother is probably much healthier than I am. He still won’t come at a pea, but last night at least, he was mightily impressed with the beetroot.

The variety we roasted was ‘Bull’s Blood’. An old American heirloom, the leaves become brilliantly dark red at this time of the year, and are useful in and of themselves for making warm salads. But the roots are the main prize and they rarely disappoint. Last night they were compact but tender, intensely colourful and exceptionally sweet. A tangy balance was provided by a splash of good balsamic vinegar, and woody herbs including rosemary and thyme. Superb!

For the life of me, I can’t understand why beetroot isn’t more commonly grown. Is it because of the tinned stuff from the supermarket? Surely not. Anyone who’s ever grown the vegetable will tell you that there’s more to beetroot than purple pickles slapped on a steak burger, not least of which is a wonderful array of different colours (pink, white yellow and red), shapes (cylindrical, squat, round), and subtle differences in flavour and texture.

As well as Bull’s Blood, I’m currently growing two other varieties: Burpee’s Golden and Cylindra. Both are heirlooms, but as the names suggest, Burpee’s Golden produces stain-free, sunflower yellow roots, while Cylindra grows like a fat, purple, stumpy carrot. They’re both good, but my favourite beet has to be the Italian variety ‘Chioggia’ (pronounced key-odger).

Hailing from a town on the Adriatic Sea just north of Venice, Chioggia produces roots with stunning pink and white, candy stripe style rings. Unfortunately these disappear when the root is cooked, but the flavour of roasted Chioggia is amazing. Sweet, nutty and as far as vegies go, very more-ish. It’s also a good doer in the garden. Most beetroot struggle during summer, but I’m guessing that Chioggia’s Italian heritage confers some useful tolerance to heat and drought. It’s the only beet I bother with post November.

I almost always start beetroot from seed, mostly in early autumn and early spring. Like carrots, the seedlings resent being transplanted and perform much better when sown direct. Sharp eyes will notice that the seed is corky, but what isn’t obvious is that beets produce compound seeds. This simply means that each seed is actually a kind of pod that houses a cluster of seeds. That’s why a single beetroot seed will usually produce three seedlings. Germination can sometimes be erratic though, so it’s worth oversowing slightly, then thinning out the congested seedlings later on.

Beetroot is happy in most soil, though unlike other root vegies it enjoys fertile conditions. I incorporate some pelletised chook manure prior to planting and give the growing plants an occasional liquid feed with dilute fish emulsion. To prevent woodiness, ensure a steady supply of moisture as the roots swell. And don’t forget the boron. All members of the beetroot family, including silverbeet, chard and mangels, are sensitive to deficiencies of this trace element, but on the flip side, they’ll positively burst out of the ground when given a teaspoon of Borax mixed with 9L of water. Never overdo it. One teaspoon is plenty to see the crop through until harvest.

A final tip – when harvesting beetroot, it’s a good idea to twist off the foliage. This will help prevent the root bleeding, and ensures that it doesn’t start to dehydrate. Either throw the leaves to the chooks, feed them to your kids’ silkworms (for pink silk), or use them in the kitchen. A dish I’ve always wanted to try is rolled pork belly stuffed with beetroot leaves, goat feta and walnuts. I wonder whether my brother will go for that?

First published in the Toowoomba Chronicle 23rd July 2011. Photo by Justin Russell.

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.

It’s time to cut my asparagus back. The fronds have turned yellow, indicating to me that photosynthesis has ceased and the plants have begun to store starch in their root system to provide energy for what author Barbara Kingsolver calls “a phallic send-up when winter starts to break”.

Canned, supermarket asparagus bears such faint resemblance to the freshly picked version that you could be forgiven for believing that they are completely different vegetables. Come to think of it, they might as well be. The tinned stuff is mushy, high in salt, is usually imported from overseas and tastes horrible. Home grown asparagus, eaten within hours of being picked, is firm, glossy, full of nutrients and has a unique flavour that is both sweet and earthy.

Every food gardener should grow some asparagus, but for some unknown reason, the plant is shrouded in mystery. The industry group Asparagus Australia describes asparagus as a difficult plant to grow. This is complete nonsense. The opposite is true. Asparagus is an easy vegie for the home grower, which makes me wonder whether the reputation for being difficult is a myth propagated by commercial growers keen to protect their own patch.

Like any vegie, you’ll get the best results from asparagus when you make an effort to learn the basic science behind the plant. The very first thing to understand is that asparagus is a perennial. Unlike annual plants, which complete their life cycle in a single growing season or year, and biennials, that complete their life cycle in two years, perennials live for at least two years, often many more. In the case of asparagus, cropping can continue for as much as twenty years.

Drill down a bit further, and you’ll learn that asparagus is a herbaceous perennial. This means that it grows actively though the warmer months of the year, goes dormant as temperatures drop in autumn, and dies back to a permanent root system or “crown”. Being native to Europe, northern Africa and western Asia, asparagus needs a cold winter to to induce dormancy, making it a plant ideal for the coldest areas across Toowoomba and the Downs.

You can grow asparagus from seed, but because the plant is dioecious (produces male and female reproductive organs on separate plants), you’ll end up with about half female seedlings. Male plants produce the best spears, so the traditional way to get started is by purchasing dormant, two-year-old male crowns in winter. The standard variety is Australia is ‘Mary Washington’, which is stocked during winter by most nurseries and mail order suppliers such as the Diggers Club and Green Harvest.

To produce the fattest, most succulent spears, asparagus needs to be given the royal treatment. Bearing in mind that your asparagus bed will produce crops for two decades or more, you should begin preparations at least a month prior to planting. Select a sunny site with good natural drainage, and work the soil over well, incorporating a generous amount of well rotted manure, some compost, and if drainage is likely to be a problem, some coarse sand and gypsum. A double handful per square metre of blood and bone or pelletised poultry manure won’t go astray either. Water the bed, mulch it, then give the soil a few weeks to settle.

When you’re ready to plant, start by digging a trench about twenty centimetres deep. Form a ridge about 15cm tall running down the length of the trench, then drape the asparagus crowns over the ridge so that the roots hang down on either side like inverted mop heads. Space the plants about 30 cm apart. Work quickly to ensure the crowns don’t dry out while exposed to the air, then backfill, making sure there’s good contact between the plant roots and the soil. Water it all in with some seaweed extract.

Problem is, it will feel like a lifetime before you can harvest your first spears. In the first spring after planting, my advice is to leave the spears alone. They will grow on to produce fronds, and in turn, the fronds will collect solar energy during summer which will feed the crown and help it to bulk up. Cut the fronds back to the ground in early winter once they have yellowed. In the second spring after planting, harvest no more than half the spears. In the spring following you’ll be able to cut spears to your heart’s content.

I reckon you’re missing out if you settle for tinned asparagus. It’s about as junky as junk food gets. And besides, if you grow your own, you get to do what garden writer Monty Don suggests – “ spit in the eye of the seasonless food industry and its joyless inducements of year round treats”.

First published in the Toowoomba Chronicle 18 June 2011. Photo by Susy Morris via flickr.com.

The events come thick and fast at this time of the year. Easter, Anzac Day, and Earth Day last weekend, Gardenfest and Autumnfest this weekend (see Garden Cuttings for more info), and the Hampton Food and Arts Festival in a couple of weeks’ time. One event that’s likely to fly under the radar, but deserves more attention is the inaugural National Permaculture Day, tomorrow, May 1.

Despite being described by veteran environmentalist David Suzuki as “the most important activity that any group is doing on the planet”, Permaculture has yet to gain any real traction in our part of the world. As far as I’m aware, there are no local events being held tomorrow, which is a shame, and though there are a handful of dedicated permaculture gardens hidden around the place, none are throwing open their gates to the public. I wonder why this is the case. Is it because of Toowoomba’s conservatism, where anything and anyone bearing a green tinge generally gets treated with suspicion? Or is it simply that permaculture is a difficult concept to understand?

Conservative our area might be, but in my experience the latter reason is true: most local gardeners have heard of permaculture, but few actually understand what the concept is about. Personally, I find permaculture to be brilliantly conceived, even revolutionary, but it is a very difficult concept to penetrate for the average home gardener with no experience in design or ecology. And while I don’t really consider myself a permaculturalist (and certainly don’t qualify as a permaculture designer), I would like to spend this Saturday and next introducing the permaculture concept and outlining ways we might be able to apply it in our gardens.

As with all concepts, it’s worth starting with a definition. The Oxford English Dictionary defines permaculture as “the development or maintenance of an ecosystem intended to be self-sustaining and to satisfy the living requirements of its inhabitants, esp. by the use of renewable resources”. That hardly pins the concept to the mat, so let’s expand a bit with some history.

The term Permaculture” is a portmanteau of permanent culture, and permanent agriculture. The concept originated in the mid 1970′s when a young ecology student, David Holmgren, and his lecturer at the University of Tasmania, Bill Mollison, published an article in Tasmania’s Organic Farmer and Gardener Magazine. This article was soon followed by an interview on ABC radio, and in 1978, Holmgren and Mollison’s seminal book on the concept, Permaculture One: A perennial Agriculture for Human Settlements.

Sadly, the two visionaries have since gone their separate ways. Mollison, who still lives in Tassie, has focussed on education, believing that permaculture could spread exponentially by teaching students, who would in turn teach others, and so on. He taught the first Permaculture Design Course (known as PDC’s by Permies) at Stanley in Tasmania, in 1979, and thousands of PDC’s have been taught around the world in the years since.

David Holmgren took a different approach. With permaculture gaining widespread publicity, he retreated to a smallholding in Victoria to quietly test his ideas. In 2002, he re-emerged with Permaculture – Principles and Pathways Beyond Sustainability a landmark book that reinterpreted permaculture’s fundamental design principles as a creative adaptation to the decline in non-renewable sources of energy such as oil. I’ll talk more about these principles next week.

Until then, I want to conclude this week’s column by mentioning the three ethics at the core of the Permaculture concept. In Permaculture One, Mollison and Holmgren described these as: Care for the Earth; Care for People; and Fair Share. The first ethic is self explanatory. The second suggests that all people should have access to what they need to live a safe, and healthy life. The third is a principle that most gardening and farming models overlook, and is based on the ethic we’re all taught as kids – only take what you need, and share the rest. Some permies call this, “return of the surplus”.

While some elements of permaculture are ripe for critique, I confess to having a great admiration for any movement that is built upon a set of foundational ethics like those above. What’s more, I believe they are the right ethics to build upon. We’re living in an age when most big, established institutions – business, politics and religion – are being white-anted from within by self interest and a desperation to cling to the status quo. In some cases, ethical foundations rotted away years ago. Permaculture offers a creative response.

Next week – The Principles of Permaculture Design

First published in the Toowoomba Chronicle 30th April, 2011.

“Heirloom Seeds or Flinty Hybrids”. This is the title of an article I came across last week in the gardening section of the New York Times, and what interested me about it was the way an argument was framed like a showdown between competing ideologies. The author, Michael Tortorello writes about “heirloom heresy”and “a kind of orthodoxy amongst right thinking gardeners…called heirloomism.”. Tortello effectively suggests that growing heirloom vegetable varieties is about nothing more than nostalgia.

To some extent he’s right. It is easy to romanticise old seed varieties. They often bear colourful names and have equally colourful stories. To illustrate this point consider a tomato, bred by “Radiator Charlie” of West Virginia in the 1940′s. When Charlie Byles’s radiator repair business slumped during the Great Depression, the self taught mechanic tried his hand at plant breeding to make ends meet. Byles gathered pollen from four of his favourite tomato varieties and dabbed it on the flowers of a large fruited variety called German Johnson.

After seven years, Byles was satisfied that his new tomato had all the qualities he was looking for, so he took off his plant breeders hat, and turned his hand to marketing. It was a skill for which he possessed some brilliance. Radiator Charlie started selling seedlings for one dollar a piece, an exorbitant price in those days, but flogged enough seedlings to pay off his $6000 mortgage in six years. His tomato now bears the title ‘Mortgage Lifter’.

For modern plant breeders, the story of Radiator Charlie is a folksy tale of an amateur who got lucky. But for heirloom enthusiasts, the Mortgage Lifter story isn’t just about a tomato – it’s as much about the spirit of a man who never attended a day of school in his life, but through ingenuity and determination was able to create a legacy that growers (and eaters) across the world enjoy to this day. You might say that Mortgage Lifter tomato has soul.

Let’s compare the story behind a modern, patented hybrid tomato. ‘Tomatoberry’™ was developed by the Tokita Seed Company in 2006, and was bred to appeal to Japan’s “kawaii” (cute) culture. The fruit is an attractive, strawberry-shaped cherry tomato that’s been promoted as being ultra-sweet and therefore suitable for modern palettes. Tomatoberry seedlings were everywhere in the spring of 2009. The variety since appears to have gone AWOL, which makes me wonder whether it will still be around in 10 or 100 years time. What is certain is that Tomatoberry seeds won’t be handed down to future generations of gardeners. Besides the fact that the variety is patented, the plant is an F1 hybrid.

In genetic terms, F1 is short for filial one and refers to the first filial generation. This means that an F1 hybrid is the first generation produced from breeding two different parents, but the downside of this process for gardeners is that it’s pointless saving the seed. A Tomatoberry, for example, won’t grow true to type. It’s offspring will throw back to either of the parent varieties, so if you want to grow it again next summer, your only source of Tomatoberry plants or seed will be a nursery that supplies the variety under licence from the Tokita Seed Company.

For my money, I’d much rather an heirloom seed that comes with a story and some soul, than a tricked up hybrid designed to make a multinational company squillions of dollars. I want to have the option of saving seed year after year, selecting the best offspring each season, and over time, giving my favourite varieties the opportunity to adapt to my garden’s specific conditions. I want to be able to give seed freely to fellow gardeners without having to worry about patent infringements and licensing fees.

It’s not that I’m against hybridisation per se. The reality is that all heirloom varieties started life as hybrids, and were produced according to the same principles of 19th century Mendelian genetics as most new varieties are today. But when push comes to shove, I’m reluctant to simply hand control of my food supply over to mammoth agribusinesses who are bent on nothing more than making a profit.

What these big seed companies don’t understand is that gardening is a human endeavour. Seeds, culture and people are intertwined. Old varieties handed down are a touchpoint of connection. There’s a reason some seed varieties are called heirlooms. It’s because they can be as cherished as a diamond engagement ring handed down from mother, to daughter, to granddaughter – generations of people linked by gardening and honest, homegrown food.

First published in the Toowoomba Chronicle 2nd April 2011. Photo by Kimberley McKinnis via flickr.com, Mortgage Lifter tomatoes.