Too much? Oh but what an eyeful! Perhaps it’s even out of focus (but you know…it’s just me here!): the evocative content simply captures the moment that is today; this fleeting, ephemeral moment of delicate paperwhite blossom with its pink undercarriage and fine, pollen-coated stamens, the bee so busily about its work it isn’t still for even a nano-second…that I just can’t resist placing it top and centre! If it makes your eyes go funny I apologise…read on! (Lean Timms…look away!).
But is this not the most intoxicating way to begin a day? If I didn’t ‘water by hand’ even I might miss such beauty - how easy it is to look without seeing, to notice without focussing (goodness knows how much I miss anyway) but how I wish the whole world could begin their day so!
This morning I scheduled a newsletter to land with those on the mailing list about the next Kitchen Gardening Day (Sunday 10 November) in hope of persuading another group to join me on their own kitchen gardening adventure. There have been hundreds participate over the years, in those completely immersive days that are filled to the brim with such a bounty of information; and I continue to run them as I truly believe in this kitchen gardening way of life. I also recognise though, that there’s a place and time for this: I’m delighted my ‘school run’ and ‘office hours’ days are behind me - it’s not that I don’t work (heavens I think I work harder and my life is more fragmented than ever!) but…these days I’m able to skew my working hours to suit, which does allow me the flexibility to begin a morning thus - watering by hand and observing, whilst planning my day, thinking ahead and also noting what might be on the agenda for the evening pick. It’s a privilege that I fully recognise.
Oh but what a week it’s been! The wind…howling, wild, dangerous. We lost power (again!) on Monday, literally as a group of lovely seniors from the Holroyd Garden Club were about to arrive. When we lose power, we lose everything…not just electricity but water - not a drop drips from a tap (let alone a loo!) and of course our internet drops out too. They were a hardy group (as gardeners tend to be) and as I pretty much already had all in place, lunch went ahead, although my washing up did not! We were all just lucky not to blow away like Mary Poppins on our tour of the garden.
Usually, when we have a power cut (I’m convinced our supplier turns off the switch in case of misadventure, which is probably not a silly idea) it does usually return by mid-evening. But not this time. We were candlelit, and what any of us is meant to do in the future without a gas hob I’ve no idea. After last week’s cut, with more wind predicted, I had the foresight to fill all the bottles I use at events in the Dairy with drinking water, so I wasn’t too fussed. But next day…with no hum to be heard, the house inert, there was nought to do but…go gardening! Before I move on though…I cannot understand why, when we have solar panels and battery storage…we’re not operating on solar all day once the battery is full and shouldn’t the battery then power us into the evening? I fear all this technology is so new, that something along the line is not quite right there….
Anyway…there were a multitude of tasks beckoning and I’ll hazard a guess that without the power cut and inability to ‘work’, I’d not have tackled one of the bigger jobs on my list…
Wild, untamed, unruly…these missed their turn last year, so it’s entirely my own fault the last original clump of Agave Americana, that I planted in 2001, was a mess.
We couldn’t even walk along the verandah…let alone sit on the chair! (Err…not that I have much time to sit on the chair!). So I suggested to Thalia the moment had arrived! She knows what we’re in for, though on reflection, she’s actually had the simplified end of this task. Ten years ago, all four clumps were at their zenith, and the very first flower spike appeared the year we photographed the book (what a bit of serendipity!). So in the years leading up to that point and the ones that followed…there were four clumps (as well as the two at the front gate, so six in all).
At the beginning, when I first hatched the idea to plant the Agaves, how to care for them was not on my radar. I’m sure I’ve explained here before but…my intention was to anchor the house firmly to the ground, as well as to the era in which the original stone dwelling was built - a time when such specimens were making their away on the high seas around the globe, during that colonising, plant-hunting age. They just seem right here (if in fact the whole is wrong). This area, in close proximity to Sydney, was early to be colonised, and so in those historical terms, viewed through that particular lens, the Agaves fit.
And how I love them! Their heavily embossed leaves (as each leaf forms it becomes imprinted with the mark of the one behind, creating a texture I liken to that of embossed stationary); their steely blue/grey, elongated body, trimmed in a fine edge of dark purple/indigo, with a continuous shallow scallop of spiky points that culminate in one sharp pointed needle at its tip. They’re handsome, majestic.
One is aware of their presence here from so many aspects, both inside and out. I’m always astonished though, to see their size if I happen to also be in the frame! Which is rare, but Clemmie snapped this one of me (above) as I was on hands and knees doing what is actually the most difficult part of the exercise - pulling the pups away from the main plant which must be done in order, like a puzzle: once you find the first piece, the rest come away with more ease..well…kind of! But I look simply dwarfed by its size!
It was many years before I even needed to consider doing anything about the care of these gigantic specimens. But as with all things, time eventually catches up and the day came when I recognised something must be done. Hmmm….I recall one Saturday afternoon, hands on hips and wondering. As I’d never tried to cut one of those thick leaves before and had no idea what consistency to expect.…what to use? Where to start? I fetched my big knife - there’s an ugly but incredibly useful one I keep in my gardening basket. It has a very long blade and is ideal for say…cutting through the hefty stem of a cabbage or cauliflower, but it hadn’t yet met with an Agave! I got down on hands and knees, chose an angle and began. To my surprise that first attempt went rather well, although I quickly recognised the knife blade was neither long nor sturdy enough! But with zeal and gusto, I managed to prize away that first leaf and could see that although it required effort and labour, it was a job that could be done.
Way back then, Brian was helping in the garden one day a week. It was before all the workshops and events, so visitors were not so regular and funnily enough, my life was much more straightforward! I had weekends to garden and so was much more on top of things, gleaning a solid week perhaps of excess gardening during school holidays. These days there are no school holidays to give myself a week - I haven’t thought of that before…no wonder I get so behind!
Anyway, poor Brian…he was the first to be coaxed into tackling this task with me! Slaying the dragons he’d call it! I have to admit, I did have fun working with Brian - notoriously politically incorrect, we sometimes laughed so much we’d almost cry. Next it was Alex, who I’ve mentioned before came to us as a ‘proper’ apprentice as he was completing his horticultural studies. I thought Alex the most methodical person I’d ever met, until Jack - both of them also very good humoured and I thoroughly enjoyed the time each of them spent here. It was each of them who bore the brunt of work the six clumps of Agaves caused. Well…and me! By the time Thalia arrived, we were down to three as once they flower, they die.
It’s then we bring in the big gun…that is Larry, with his tractor and a big chain, for those spent specimens have to be pulled out of the ground completely. For a few years, that seemed like an annual or bi-annual winter weekend job, as the clumps flowered almost like a set of dominoes, one after the other. All except for this last.
Each time, Larry and I have replaced the flowering specimen with good size pups from around the base (there are always a few that grow well and make good replacements for the one that’s expired), keeping their shallow roots in place with bricks for a year or so ‘til we’re sure they’ve ‘taken’. It will be a good many years ‘til this second round dare to send up a flower spike, and indeed a good many years before they’ll need any attention at all. So whilst it may sound like a lot of work…there are probably a good 8 years or so of doing nothing. And even then, it’s one day (per clump). So they’re really not high maintenance…it’s just that when they are, they really, really are!
With each cut, a clean sweep of dense, white fibre is revealed. With that first cut I made all those years ago, I dubbed them ‘Jagger Lips’ and can’t help but smile as each one appears, accumulating one after the other, til the base resembles a gigantic pineapple of sorts.
Working at this with Thalia goes well, as she’s left-handed, whilst I’m right…and we take the job in turns as each leaf requires a different angle at which to cut. She who isn’t cutting holds the surrounding serrated leaves aloft, though despite all best efforts, we’re both sporting multiple pricks all over! Most of them come from the smaller plants around the base, which make access to the big leaves awkward, but you can’t access the smaller to pull them ‘til the bigger leaves are cut away. And each single leaf weighs a tonne - we drag them one by one to piles and then to pick each up to load into the trailer, you literally need to bend ze knees and use both hands and forearms to lift them.
What a workout! And then the next day, we began work on the Aloes at the end of the verandah, that are not dissimilar in form but almost more spiky than the Agaves! Suckers for punishment! We didn’t finish there as the power was back on, and there are more urgent jobs to be done. It’s one to which we’ll have to return and I wish I could just garden day after day to complete it all! These are the kind of jobs that you put off, but the moment you begin they’re addictive, and you don’t want to stop ‘til they’re complete. I hate leaving a job half done! Let’s hope it doesn’t take another power cut for me to get back to this one.
Down at the Hayshed, the Cherokee rose, Rosa laevigata is gradually coming into flower. I’m not sure if it will hit peak this year as we pruned it so hard at the wrong time…just one of those things. After years of struggle to get it to grow at all, like so many plants that are known to be vigorous…it went bonkers! There are reasons why some plants should only be given a place where there truly is space, and this is one. It’s why you see it so often in country gardens - it’s hardy, rampant, sprawling and given the right position, utterly enchanting.
I was given a couple of runners by my dear friend Angie who has them lining her drive (which is a vision to behold). At the time, we’d just lost the row of pines that had joined together, making a convenient hedge in this spot (one of the first things we planted) blocking the view of the adjacent carpark that we use for events (how I hate seeing cars from the Hayshed!). So there were a number of distressing years in between, but from the Hayshed these days, you’d be hard pressed to see a double-decker bus!
Thinking of plants making their way around the world in earlier times, I just did a little google search of this rose and discovered that: The species was introduced to the southeastern United Sates in about 1780, where it soon became naturalised and was then given its English common name. Does that date ring a bell? Hmmm? And also: The flower has no association to Cherokee culture. It is a non-indigenous invasive species that climbs over and smothers existing vegetation. Take note!
Though it has no connection to the Cherokee Nation, it is occasionally used as a symbol of Cherokee resistance following their eviction from the southern United States via the Trail of Tears. Yep…wherever we look.
I’m hugely thankful to Ange, and think of her whenever I’m in this space, whether the rose is in flower or no. Such is the notoriety of friendship and plants…this garden is filled with friends.
The jasmine at the pantry is on overload…heavy with blossom, heady with fragrance, like a beacon beckoning from every angle, its presence is intoxicating!
Bright and feathery foliage is quickly infilling the space that was but a sea of bare branches just a week ago. Newly minted, tinted leaves of such vibrancy are so fleeting…by this time next week, they’ll likely be hitting their stride…
A favourite for new leaf display are the pair of old Persimmons - their lime green leaves set against the red-tinged hedge of Photinia is one I anticipate from spring to spring. I talked about the Persimmon trees a lot during the autumn posts…so here you see them as they begin their annual journey - all shiny and new.
Step up and over the wall (no you can’t really…at least not without standing on the bench, so in fact back up a few paces, walk to your left, then access the Persimmon Lawn by ducking under the branches of the Kapok tree) and walk to base of the lone pine, then spin around to look at the view in reverse…
It would have been at exactly this time of year in 2015 that Daniel Shipp snapped the iconic image glimpsed through the newly unfurling leaves of the Persimmon, that would make the cover of The House and Garden at Glenmore.
As soon as the power returned, I carried out a job that’s been in my peripheral thought pattern for a good couple of weeks. Just as the plants in the garden set my agenda for their care and nurture, they also guide me in to the optimum time for distillation; and a sense of urgency has been gripping me now for a good couple of weeks. By Wednesday, it hit fever pitch! For without a ‘citric acid clean’ that must precede any distillation, I will not be ready when the moment arrives!
Carefully I dissolved the citric acid into my big rubber bucket and filled it with water to the brim (rubber gloves donned and being careful of the eyes); then slowly plunged each part of the Still in for its own turn in the ‘bath’. It’s a job to be carried out with caution, as every part of the still has leaky parts - in that coils and spouts accept water in at one end and spill it out the other - and its very easy to find it coming out where you hadn’t intended! There are also a lot of air bubbles that gurgle as each part descends to the depths, so caution is required at every stage. As each part has its turn, I then give it a good rinse, first in soapy, then clean water. Watching the tarnish vanish is very satisfying…and knowing that any possible residue from the last distillation will be vanquished is a relief (I don’t want any contamination from one botanical to affect the purity of the next distillation).
With every piece bathed, washed and rinsed, Hildegard took a long bake in the glorious spring sun, warming her through and drying every last drop from each slim pipe, from her dome to her belly. And now? She’s gleaming, ready (and raring!) for action!
I know I said that this week I’d tell you all about the Field of Flowers and the Botanical Waters! I seem to have got distracted with unforeseen tasks and realise that I need to focus on those two subjects in complete isolation because together, they make for one helluva tangent! If I can get this away to you early today, I might try to embark upon the beginning, so it’s ready to share as a one-off next week (I do seem to be adding to that list - I have yet to write the next Gallivanting instalment, but on that score, I’m inclined to think time will do that telling no harm…as it’s often in retrospect that clarity shines through…it will come!).
I also have a garden full of photographers and models right now…and the vast team and equipment that accompanies such a product shoot. We don’t have many of these (from a financial perspective I wish we had a whole lot more!) but from time to time, it happens. I find it distracting and not a little unsettling - and have just realised how many stipulations I make out of concern for the welfare of everyone on site, whilst somehow never conveying (in writing anyway) that the welfare of my garden should be their absolute priority! Sometimes I just need to turn a blind eye…and pick up the pieces later.
It also brings up a raft of childhood memories…children are involved in this shoot, and I remember all too well being primped and preened and told to smile. That was my Mum’s world and I’m so glad she had the good sense to pull me out of it by the age of 9 or 10. By then I’d graced the back of the All Bran packet (age 6 months), spreads of Bonds undies and singlets (3 / 4); spent a lot of time in studios with white paper backdrop rolls and flashes that accompanied each click of the camera while looking this way or that, sitting still or standing just so, in the name of mother/daughter handbags/outfits, as well as department store parades (I’ll never forget one incident at Grace Brothers where I refused point blank to walk down the catwalk whether I was holding a grown-up’s hand and there was a balloon in the offing or not - there was a clown at the far end!). I must have been 3 or 4. Uggghhh…. and I still hate having my photo taken - you’ll find no selfies here!!!
I pray for all there’s no more wind…we may have suffered inconvenience here, but I know there are peeps who have suffered very badly indeed.
Til the next post,
Sending warmest wishes
Mickey x
ps yes I am racing because I really want to get onto drafting the Field of Flowers post which is looking increasingly unlikely!
pps ooops! I just realised no recipes…next week!
Productive garden notes:
Eating from the garden:
Navel oranges (on the very last), mandarins (going), Lisbon lemons, rhubarb; Jerusalem artichokes (going), parsnip, celeriac, pumpkins (going). Leaves of all kinds - spinach, kale - cavolo nero (now the weather has turned it’s leaves are a quite different consistency and although perfectly edible, there is a distinct difference between kale leaves that have been deeply chilled and those which haven’t!). Leeks, lettuce, radicchio (going), rocket (bolting!), red elk mustard leaf (bolting), warrigal greens. Cauliflower (pulled the last which seemed to explode from nought to huge in one day!), broccoli (going), fennel bulbs, radish. Plentiful peas, broad bean tips AND…the very first broad bean - pod and all!, Savoy Cabbage! Fennel fronds, parsley, mint, rosemary, thyme, chives, coriander, nasturtium and calendula petals, borage flowers.
And…the dried Speckled Cranberry Borlotti Beans!
Going / gone: mandarins, Navel oranges, Jerusalem artichokes, pumpkins, broccoli, cabbage, cauliflower
Seed saving: none
Sowing: rocket this Sunday - I’m so far behind and will only have myself to blame when we have a ‘hungry gap’. But there’s a market tomorrow so I should be able to get some new lettuce seedlings and at the same time as planting I’ll bring out my rocket seed. I’m turning the tomato seedlings around to face towards the north each day.
Planting: potatoes (mine are in but you have time), lettuce
Ornamental garden notes:
Picking for the house: Solandra trumpets, Jasmine, Clivea, ornamental Crabapple and Quince blossom, Sydney Rock Orchid, Dendrobium speciosum
Perfumes and aromas: Jasmine, Solandra, Ceanothus, the first Wisteria and Orange blossom...intoxicating…there will be a great deal more about it next week! Oh and the pungent aroma of Agave Americana - one cut, and it permeates the air and also the faint, waxy perfume of the pendulous stems of the Sydney Rock Orchids - there were just three or four when we came here all those years ago and I’ve never managed to persuade them to multiply! This is their week…
Pruning and other: Agave…it’s been all about the Agaves, and Aloes! And today, Thalia has been trying to weave her way around the cast of thousands, as she trailers loads of compost from the carpark to the field to complete the rose rows! Too many cameras and props and people are making for road blocks!