September

by Justin Russell on September 8, 2011

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.

{ 1 comment }

Cherries: Sweet, Sour and Ornamental

by Justin Russell on September 8, 2011

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.

{ 0 comments }

The Basics of Grafting

by Justin Russell on August 26, 2011

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.

{ 0 comments }

The Forgotten Magnolia

by Justin Russell on August 19, 2011

One of the highlights of late winter in Toowoomba is the deciduous magnolia. I absolutely love the things. Their flower display has an air of exoticism that few trees can match, except perhaps for their cousins, the Bull Bay or evergeen magnolias.

Five years ago, Magnolia grandiflora and its offspring were the must-have plants of the moment. Hot shot designers like Jamie Durie were using them all over the place, and nearly every week, shows like Backyard Blitz used them as a feature tree. More than a few trees were snapped up by a gardening public willing to pay $30 or more for what was essentially a fashion statement in a 140mm pot.

But fashions change. In this new era of austerity, expensive little trees are less likely to loosen the purse strings and the evergreen magnolia has joined lots of other gardenworthy plants in a twilight zone of horticultural obscurity. To be honest, even I’m guilty of overlooking the plant. The main reason it’s even getting a run today is because of a road trip my wife and I made last week.

We took off for a couple of days to deliver fruit trees to a property at Kentucky, a village at the southern end of the New England Tablelands in NSW. Sitting between 900 and 1400 metres above sea level, New England is famous for having one of the coldest climates in Australia. Deciduous trees and conifers dominate the landscape, but while driving through the main street of Uralla I spotted a large evergreen tree out of the corner of my eye. When I slowed down for a look, I was surprised to see that the tree was a mature Magnolia grandiflora.

The discovery shouldn’t have been that much of a shock. The Bull Bay magnolia is actually quite a cold tolerant plant. Native to the southern United States, in the wild it often grows in the company of deciduous trees such as liquidambars, tupelos and oaks. In a garden situation it can be found growing as far north as Chicago and British Columbia. We’re talking about one of the oldest exotic plants in cultivation here – Magnolia grandiflora has been grown successfully in Britain since 1726.

The species can be a large tree to about 20 metres tall. There are some handsome plants scattered around the Toowoomba area, particularly in older parks and gardens. A real beauty can be seen growing just outside the cemetery at Cabarlah, but for the average garden, one of the cultivars is a wiser choice. There are around half a dozen to choose from, and all bear the “grand”, heavily-scented white flowers as the species during late summer and autumn.

The variety that caught designers’ imaginations five years ago is ‘Little Gem’. I’ve got one growing in my garden, and while the plant might eventually reach a height of about five metres, it appears to be in no hurry to get there. The foliage is something else: glossy and dark green on top, brown and felty in texture underneath.

If you’re after a faster grower than Little Gem, ‘St Mary’ is a good choice. It will get to about six metres in height and is a more open plant. And if the brown leaf texture doesn’t appeal there is a new variety on the available called ‘Greenback’. The pick of the lot, however, is an oldie called ‘Exmouth’. This exceptionally stately tree will grow a bit bigger than the previous plants to about 10 metres tall but it has a conical shape and will only get to five metres in diameter.

Exmouth was grown by Sir John Colliton in a Devon village during the early 18th century. You might say that Colliton had an entrepreneurial spirit. He leased his tree out to local nurserymen on a rotational basis, collecting five guineas (about $750 in today’s terms) for each young rooted tree sold. He wasn’t however, very astute. The tree was accidentally cut down in 1794.

Evergreen magnolias do best in a loamy soil, but they’re very tolerant of a broad range of conditions. They handle the black soil of the plains and the red soil of the plateaus equally well. You’ll need to water plants regularly during dry spells to get them established, but after the first year or two no supplemental moisture is necessary. Pests are a non event. I’ve yet to find barely a blemished leaf on my Little Gem.

The famous plant explorer Ernest “Chinese” Wilson called magnolias “aristocrats with ancient lineage”. His description was spot on. Ignore the fact that Magnolias aren’t trendy any more. Classic beauty never goes out of style.

First published in the Toowoomba Chronicle 6th August 2011. Photo by Justin Russell, Magnolia ‘Little Gem’, The Laurels, Warwick.

{ 0 comments }

Beware the false spring

by Justin Russell on August 19, 2011

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.

{ 0 comments }

Announcements: A Middle, An End, and a Beginning

by Justin Russell on August 10, 2011

As winter gradually draws to a close and the new season makes its presence felt, Thistlebrook’s 2011 fruit tree season is also coming to an end. It’s been a funny old season, this one – up and down and all over the shop like a punch drunk All Ordinaries index. As a consequence, we still have good stocks of many varieties available for immediate purchase and delivery.

Pop over to our catalogue page, and check out what’s still in stock. They’re quality trees, handled with care, backed by knowledgable service and representing excellent value for money. I’d much rather see them in the ground in your gardens than sitting around in the nursery until next winter, so give me a call or send an email if you’d like to place an order.

Okay, hard sell over, and onto other topics. First, our gardening workshops. Many of you will know that we’ve been running our workshops sporadically over the last couple of years, and some of you will even have attended. If you did come to a workshop, thanks for attending, and I hope it proved helpful. As a passionate home grower, I’m keen to share my enthusiasm for edible gardening with whoever will listen. But we also need to make some sort of a living, which at times requires a hard-nosed decision or two. In this case, after lots of long discussions weighing up the pros and cons Kylie and I have decided to abandon the workshop concept for the forseeable future. We simply weren’t able to generate enough interest to make them viable from a financial point of view, and have no immediate plans to put workshops back on the agenda.

All is not lost, however. I’m still keen to share my aforementioned enthusiasm for growing food, and if you’re keen to be inspired, you may well be interested in a very exciting new project we’ve been incubating over winter. Without giving too much away just yet, I can say that it’s about edible gardening, it’s got a community focus, is a tad philosophical, and just a tiny bit radical (in the truest sense of the word). Best of all, this new project is set to launch at the start of October! Keep your eyes, and your radishes, peeled!

Happy gardening,

Justin

{ 1 comment }

Winter Rose Care

by Justin Russell on August 4, 2011

If you’ve been reading Secret Garden for a few years, you’ll probably be familiar with my love/hate relationship with roses. Every winter, when the bushes are bare and stragglier than a mangy wolfhound, I get tempted to pull the wretched things out and be done with them. By November, I’m in love again. No one grows roses for their winter appearance, me least of all. Flowers are the main attraction. Without fail, I succumb to the promise of beauty in the months ahead and abandon all thoughts of hauling my poor old plants to the tip.

Having earned their pardon, by late July I’m guiltily lavishing the plants with attention. The rose garden becomes like a day spa for plants. First up is a proper pruning, followed by a complete spray, and finished off with a good feed and some tonic.

Pruning is anything but the dark art that some gardeners make it out to be. After all, the practice isn’t a pre-requisite for the plants to produce flowers, and I occasionally commit rose growing heresy by pruning my plants some winters and ignoring them in others. This will have rose aficionados waking in a cold sweat, but the proof is in the pudding – never yet have I had a rose bush refuse to flower. We’re talking here about some of the toughest plants in the world that will do their thing regardless of any intervention from the gardener.

I have to admit, however, that rose pruning is a satisfying job. The rhythmic click of secateurs through rose wood on a sunny day in late winter is quite meditative, so when time’s on my side, I cheerfully give my plants their annual haircut. The basic process for modern bush and hybrid tea roses is pretty straightforward.

Firstly, gather your tools: a spray bottle of metho or tea tree oil to sterilise your gear and prevent the spread of disease; a pair of sturdy gloves to avoid getting thorns stuck in your finger (I find it easier to keep my right hand glove-free); and most importantly, a pair of sharp secateurs. If they’re not sharp, get yourself a simple diamond sharpener from the nursery and use it. For branches larger than a big bloke’s thumb, you’ll need a pair of loppers or a pruning saw as well.

Start the job by appraising the plant. Look for dead, damaged and diseased branches then cut them out. Once that’s done, your aim with bush roses should be to do two things. The first is to open up the centre of the plant to facilitate air flow and reduce fungal disease. Create a goblet or open vase shape by pruning off any branches growing toward the centre of the bush. Secondly, shorten the remaining branches by about a third of their length. Make the cuts a centimetre above an outward facing bud, and ideally, cut on a 45 degree angle sloping away from the bud.

For standard roses, prune the main branches back by about two thirds of their length, in addition to opening the centre and removing dead wood. Climbing roses are trickier, but are best pruned to short two-bud stubs spaced along horizontally trained canes. Once blooming heritage roses are rarely pruned in winter. Do the job in late summer when flowering has ceased.

Once the pruning is complete, it’s time to spray. The traditional over wintering spray for roses is lime sulphur. It’s still a decent choice, being low toxic and suitable for organic gardens, yet effective against a broad range of fungal diseases and dormant insect pests. An even less toxic alternative is a combination of potassium bicarbonate (sold as EcoRose) mixed with a horticultural oil. This will help prevent outbreaks of blackspot and powdery mildew.

Finally some food and a tonic. I use a complete organic fertiliser based on pelletised chook poo for my roses, but you’ll have good success with blood and bone or well rotted manure. To help my plants flower as freely as possible I also throw around some wood ash from the fire, which is high in calcium and potassium. Two or three handfuls per plant is usually plenty. If you don’t heat with wood, choose a fertiliser with a high potassium content or apply some extra potash.

To atone for my rose growing sins I finish the job with a seaweed tonic, a deep watering, and a fresh application of mulch. All of this pampering should produce lush, disease resistant plants that flower so prolifically that they make even the hardest of hearts turn to mush. If you doubt me, try poking your head through the door at a rose grower’s show – most of the competitors are blokes.

 

First published in the Toowoomba Chronicle 30th July 2011. Photo by Justin Russell, Newtown Park, Toowoomba.

{ 0 comments }

Get With The Beet

by Justin Russell on August 4, 2011

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.

{ 0 comments }

Gardenworthy Crab Apples

by Justin Russell on July 15, 2011

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.

{ 0 comments }

Winter garden snapshot

by Justin Russell on July 9, 2011

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.

{ 0 comments }

← Previous Entries

Next Entries →