Where to begin...
Each week, this is the question...literally!
Another week has slipped by and once again it’s Substack Friday! Just a couple of months ago (already?) I couldn’t have predicted this might be how my routine would pan out…for the year? Forever perhaps? But Substack Friday (or substacking!) seems to have settled, made itself at home…become a new term in my vocabulary…a new constant in my calendar (although it isn’t written). Trying to clear the decks by Thursday now carries a sense of urgency (in fact I would prefer to begin writing on Thursday but despite my best intentions that just isn’t happening!). From Wednesday, my head is filled with fleeting thoughts, wisps of ideas…each momentary flash quickly usurped by another, depending where I’m standing, which task I’m at: in the kitchen, the temptation is to begin with a tale of food, an ingredient, a still life. A quick nip outside and it’s an emerging seed, a shaft of light catching a plant just so or perhaps the gut-wrenching tug of beauty in decay that captures my imagination. Which image to set the tone that might lead the post to who knows where? And then an urgent task takes over and the thought is lost - another twist vanishes into the ether.
So today, on a whim, to lead is a snapshot of a shelf scape - just as it is, dust and all! Untweaked, real life. Why? Because it makes me smile and brings forth a flood of thoughts! The decorator in me wants to take it all apart, dust every pot and plate and shell and card and drawing (and for goodness sake straighten them up!). Definitely to swap the size of terracotta pot the orchid is sitting in and to smother its ugly black plastic with sphagnum moss! What’s in the screw-top jar? Who put that there? All by myself….(I sometimes think…I want to live all-by-myself…) but of course really I don’t! The obvious is right there in the last italics - just add ‘ish!). The decorator in me does and I do my best to fight her tooth and nail! She wants everything in its place and in that I know she’s not alone! Especially in this crazy world of perfection that appears on our little screens and in our hands at every turn. But when we choose people and relationships over stuff…well, we really just need to get a grip! The realist in me knows that real life is the real deal…and it’s part of the reason I’ve run away from that career…much as it reels me back in with alarming regularity. I’m lucky my longterm clients know me well, and are well over the ‘tidy up before Mickey gets here’ sense of panic they may once have harboured. Mickey too, has stacks of stuff piled high! Good bones are easily jooshed with a Mary Poppins-like attitude!
Today my kitchen bench is covered…like so many who work from home and certainly if they also cook and garden, in produce waiting its turn to be eaten or cooked, with books and articles to read, a recipe on stand-by, jars of pens, and littered with lists. As I sit here tapping away, there’s chicken broth on the cook top and batches of figs are drying in the oven. The phone rings, a delightful conversation is to be had…a new collaboration, there’s a stack of correspondence to deal with. This…is real life at home with Mickey!
So why lead with all this? And the top image? It all began with the Slipper Orchid…I’m holding it responsible! The Slipper Orchid came from The Collectors’ Plant Fair…which leads to several trains of thought!
How excited I was to set out last Saturday morning in the pre-dawn on a little excursion…pointing the nose of my car in the direction of the narrow, winding road that leads directly up and over Big Hill (the one I can see from the kitchen sink), spitting me out on higher ground at the top, from where I could then zoom along the quiet back roads, through a village here and there, til the brief chaos around Penrith, and then…the part of this little jaunt I so look forward to taking each year…the vast flats and waters (where little patches of low-lying cloud hover in the pale morning light) that hug the valley floor before the first rise of the Blue Mountains…so near you can almost touch them. That first rise is so low, the early settlers must have thought them little more than a hill if viewed from this aspect, but zip a little further along the Castlereagh Road and a dramatic break in that rise appears - through which you can glimpse just a hint of what we now know lies beyond. It’s a view I find captivating and one that sparks a thrill in me every time I drive in this direction! I know that when the sun goes down, it sets directly between that break that hitherto appears as a constant band as you approach from the south…the gap the kind a child might draw of a hill or mountain-scape.
I know the sun sets there because for several years…in fact five I think, I took a stall myself at The Collectors’ Plant Fair near Richmond…and would drive that route at dawn and dusk several days in a row. Setting-up day was a midday run, after loading not just the ute but the station wagon as well, with all the kit I’d need. I used to build the kind of framework around my stall that I have in the kitchen garden here…so I’d take the multitude of bamboo rods and willow panels, the plant stands…as well as stock to sell. It was a mammoth undertaking. The first year I set it all up with Brian (who used to help one day a week in the garden). The next two with Alex who came to apprentice here. Then with Jack. And lastly with Thalia. I loved having a stall at the fair! So many people to meet, conversations to be had…and how I love seeing all the plants peeps collect together in their trolleys! But I think my stall days are over…my wares are not plants, and so taking a stall outdoors is always a risk with the weather…and at Collectors’ I weathered several wet ones! So now…I go for old times’ sake. I really don’t need more plants…and yet…I found a Musa acuminata (Zebrina banana) to replace the one that died last year ‘between the wings’ and an irresistable aloe for the plant stand on the verandah.
So that’s why I know the sun sets between the gap…viewed from the Castlereagh Road, as I would have three dusk runs and two dawn runs in a row for those years, and ‘tis why I find that drive so captivating! Although close to here in reality (it’s only just over an hour’s drive to Richmond) it’s one I have little other reason to take, but taking it fills me with a sense of some small adventure. I like a small adventure. One completed in a day’s (or in this case, a morning’s) round trip. I find them stimulating, freeing. And I’m reminded just how free we are in this lucky country…to be able to get in a car, on occasion, and drive…into big spaces, with little traffic, to feel small in breathtaking landscapes, and clean air…which such ease. We’re lucky indeed.
Adventure aside, attending The Collectors’ Plant Fair is important: those small independent nurseries, who specialise in very particular breeds of plants need our support - if we don’t buy from them and support their endeavours in continuing to supply the enormous diversity of plant material they do, and rely only on what the mass market provides, the number of plants available to us will dwindle and these expert nurserymen and women with their wonderful knowledge will disappear. Enthusiasts make the world go round…and The Collectors’ Plant Fair is full of them!
But back to the Slipper Orchid! What a time I had choosing one! I haven’t seen one to buy for years…and at the fair there were not one but two stalls boasting a plethora of specimens…each and every one with different markings and colours.
There was a time I was quite obsessed with them. The last time I recall tracking one down though, was literally almost 25 years ago…I can hardly believe that! At the time, I hunted down three, to incorporate into my exhibit at The Interior Decorators’ Fair at the National Trust Property Lindesay, at Darling Point. For this room, the last in which I participated (in fact I believe the last time that wonderful fair took place…and I don’t believe there has ever been any kind of replacement in Sydney) I drew the Dining Room! In previous years I’d drawn a tiny damp room in the cellar (with which I had a wonderful time, filling it with all manner of elegance and beauty), the entrance hall, that I also had enormous fun with - I had the sofa for our ‘gallery’ made in tandem, covered in a swirling contemporary golden damask, borrowed loads of Chelsea Textiles needlepoint cushions, set a huge table with bullion fringed cloth supporting piles of books, a huge arrangement of branches of oak leaves gathered from a friend’s paddock, trugs, wellies…it looked like a proper hall for a large country house! It was at that particular fair that I sat and waited, like a beached whale, for Bonnie to make her arrival. I recall being worried I might not make the installation date for the fair, but having got the install done, I then spent each day at the fair, chatting with visitors, watching the little sailing boats go by at the bottom of the Lindesay garden, where a gap in the planting creates a glorious vignette to the sparkling harbour below. I did however, direct Larry’s dismantling of my exhibit from my hospital room! (In those days, new mothers were kept in for a week after giving birth, where an eye could be kept on the progress and wellbeing of both mother and baby). What a special and crazy time that was!
When I drew the Dining Room…(for memory we literally put in our hand and drew out the name of the room written on a tiny piece of paper from…I don’t think it was a hat…a bowl of some kind!) Bonnie must have been 3 or 4. And it was the biggest Lindesay install I’d done. Although at first I was quite horrified at the idea of having to work around walls covered in red flock wallpaper…in the end I invented a story of a couple inheriting some marvellous old pile and how they were camping out in grand style amongst the dishevelment…I brought in a huge sofa, slip covered in bold teal & white linen stripes (later cut down to cover out own sofa here); lovely big white duck armchairs with turned legs and castors; borrowed some beautiful small collectables, from sailors’ shell mementos to a taxiderm’d turtle (thank you Hawkins both) and…in the middle of a weighty linen cloth covered, handsome Georgian (for memory) Lindesay Dining Table (I took out all the leaves, reducing it to a size fit for four) sat a cluster of Slipper Orchids in little terracotta pots…the rest of the table set with Lindesay silver flatware and borrowed William Yeoward glass. Somewhere here…are loads of photos of my efforts, but it was all pre-digital and would take ages to find!
What a saga…and all of it in an orchid! There’s just one tale of how a simple flower can cause a flood of memories…a whole timeline…(and I really must get some sphagnum moss and put that poor thing somewhere more sensible!).
Next, I really hardly know where to begin. In the very early hours of Sunday morning, I met Cade O’Connell quietly opening our back gates (he just beat me to it!). We’d never met in real life - or indeed even spoken. We’d just been in much correspondence, but I knew…just knew…the kind of day that would unfold as a result of that raft of lovely communication. I’ve long been following Cade’s progress and had invited him here pre-covid. Then he slipped off my radar, til a few months ago…so I thought it was time to invite him here once again. To my delight, he said yes.
I introduced Cade to the Dairy space. Gave him a bowl of warm rhubarb. And quietly, he unpacked. There’s a thing I’ve come to notice since working with peeps who cook. Mostly, like me, they go about their work in silence. I’ve often thought maybe it’s just me. Whilst I love a podcast and music as much as the next person…there’s a time, and place. Cooks…tend to work quietly. I know they have a list, like I do, in my head. An orderly mental list they work through to bring all to fruition. Busy hands doing the bidding of a busy mind.
Cade unloaded his van. He set up, bringing vessel after beautiful vessel, utensil after exquisite hand made / forged utensil to its allocated place with thought, and care. He set clay pots to warm in the sun, gentle flame to charcoal, spooned spices, chopped veg. Don’t get me wrong, he’s an animated conversationalist, with much to share…wise things to share.
I don’t think the Dairy has ever looked so warm and inviting…filled with Cade’s clay pots and stoneware…the weighty, handsome, organic shapes and colours, the ingredients…and aromas, which only amplified as spices were gently warmed. Add people, Cade’s knowledge, gentle conversation amidst nourishing food cooked side by side…it was an inspiring kind of day for everyone here.
Although it won’t be for awhile, I’m pretty sure we’ll see Cade back here again one day, if I can just coax him away from the Byronshire! In the meantime, I really do urge you to get hold of a copy of his beautiful self-published (read truly beautiful) book, Plants Clay & Fire. Then you’ll be ready to pounce on the opportunity to participate in the next workshop when he does return!
In the meantime, there’s been no rest in the garden! Whilst Thalia has spent much of the time she was here this week (she comes less in school hols as she has school age children) up the ladder again in the olive trees, I persuaded her down for a stint in the kitchen garden on Monday, simply to expedite matters! When I lose gardening weekends, I can get behind and a clutch of wigwams made by two is faster work than when made by one! I did spend all Saturday afternoon in the garden…doing my usual tasks…but there was no time for the pressing extras!
So whilst Thalia went off to sieve a load of compost, I set about sorting through pre-used bamboo canes to see if I could scrounge enough for three wigwams. I found just enough…but after this season, we’ll need to get hold of some fresh ones and when we do, I’ll take you on that fun journey! We cut the bottoms from the rods that had seen earlier duty in the earth, and in doing so reduced their height but they’re still plenty tall enough.
Then I got out my copper template. This was first made with newspaper some years back; next cardboard (I still have that one). Then a few years ago I asked the same local copper smith who made the hinged rings I mentioned last week, to make a more solid version. It’s a godsend - truly. I’d love to have them made to sell, but to on-sell would be prohibitively expensive. It’s a wonderful thing, with hinges across the middle, so it folds in half, meaning as soon as the upright rods are in position, I can fold and remove it. It takes all the guesswork and therefore an enormous amount of wasted time out of erecting these structures that I consider to be invaluable in the kitchen garden.
They lend height and structure in their own right, from an aesthetic perspective, as well as support to climbing veg and this season, they’ll be supporting climbing peas.
Over on the guild side of the garden (which this season I have running ahead of the traditional side) the first peas are already up. As I needed their copper rings for sowing on the traditional side, at each germinated cluster, I pinged open its copper ring (of course this means those new seedlings are now susceptible to slug and slater attack so I scattered around some Multiguard snail pellets) and went to work pushing pea-sticks into the ground: in the first instance as a means of defence against birds and rabbits (well…one can only hope!) and second, so that as soon as the peas begin sending out their tendrils, they can latch on and begin their upward growth.
Earlier in the day, I’d popped some seed to soak in water prior to sowing: three different kinds of peas (sugar snap Sugar Ann, podding Telephone and Purple Podded Dutch), broad beans Aquadulce and beetroot Globe.
Whilst I still haven’t attached the cross bars of the broad bean structure, now I’ve sown the seeds, tying-on is a task for the weekend!
At last (and sadly) it was time for the swathe of dried fennel stems to be cut down…even I could delay this no longer! Already shooting new growth from the base, with dried heads at the top, fresh flowers below and a smattering of tiny emerging seedlings on the ground to forage - we are certainly not short on the taste of fennel here! Those stems haven’t gone far though….
It may not look attractive but in this instance I’m adopting the chop & drop method in a bid to fill the beds (as they once were) to either side of the apple tunnel with burgeoning fennel once again. To the south side of the tunnel, the lemon balm got away in the big wet season, choking out the fennel. Rabbits also love to eat the fresh fennel fronds, so between those two issues, the band to the left has had a hard time. I’m hoping that in leaving the strong stems almost as a barrier, they might offer some protection for emerging fennel seedlings. I can always tease them out down the track but for the moment, here they will stay.
Now that the fennel’s cut down and the apples have been pruned too, there’s a much more clear view of the kitchen garden’s bones and the developing winter garden too.
Although the traditional side of the tunnel still feels full and colourful…especially from the perspective of the leafy green bed’s shade canopy!
In the garden, tomatoes are still happily swelling and ripening inside their protective net bags and colourful, newly formed Speckled Cranberry Borlotti beans dangle beneath autumn skies.
Whilst inside, the collection of dried Borlotti beans that I’ve collected just a few at a time (as they’ve ripened on the vine) these past months has reached a great multitude; and for fear of them rotting inside their pods, I’ve spent a few evenings popping them out. This is a task I used to give to the girls when they were little - it’s such a fun one…with a little pressure from the thumb to the seam, the pods open with a delightful crack and as you accumulate a quantity, swishing them around in a bowl makes a very satisfying, tumbling sound. Of course all the pod shells go off to the compost where they make an excellent dry layer in the aerobin (where all our food scraps go….eventually I’ll get around to a big compost chat here!).
There will be no shortage of dried beans to add to winter dishes in this household in the coming months…or seed to share…that’s for sure! They make up a portion of our household food security and food/seed assurance policy.
Already I’ve shared a great deal of Speckled Cranberry seed this year - the most special with the son of one of our guests…at just ten years old, his Mum told me he’s listened to every one of my podcast episodes and his visit made for a very happy and engaging one in the kitchen garden. How I hope he will grow those beans next summer…and every summer for the rest of his life, sharing them each season as he goes. This particular variety is an heirloom with records dating back to the 1700’s…and sharing them around is the very best way to keep them going.
This week I’ve been so excited to pick pomegranates from the hedge. Although it’s a sparse kind of hedge and in reality we’re too humid to grow them well, on occasion they surprise us with a bounty of good fruit.
This is one such year and oh the colour of that morning juice is just exquisite!
The fig leaves are crumpling on the trees now but still the fruits ripen. Although they no longer have the moisture content they did some weeks back and are better for cooking, the odd one surprises with luscious delight and the scent of drying leaves as they gather on the ground inside the fig cages is sweet, smokey and aromatic.
I brought in an enormous load and now have some drying in the oven (hopefully…I’m not convinced of the process!) whilst the others I’ll poach for breakfast. I think I’ve mentioned before that I don’t like the jam these ones make, so I always need to find another purpose for the last haul of the season.
As soup-making season is upon us (to be honest I make soups all year round…we’re fans of chilled summer soups too) I’m sure to make a batch of chicken stock at regular intervals. I come from a ‘chicken soup will solve everything’ kind of family and consumed a lot of chicken noodle soup as a child! But I don’t make it the way my Mum did and tend to use it as a base for something else rather than on its own. We are inclined to have roast chicken most Monday nights…one of us gets an organic one on a Sydney trip and that chook will see us through for sandwiches all week (well…Larry anyway!). I add every bone and finally the carcass to a bag in the freezer and when I have the bones from two chooks, it’s time to make the next batch of stock / broth. It keeps things easy (I can’t afford to buy a whole chicken carcass purely for broth and this method yields a golden base for pretty much all the soups I make). All the other ingredients (except the peppercorns!) come from the garden:
Mickey’s Chicken Stock:
Add to a very large, heavy based saucepan (one that has a lid)…
All the bones collected from two chicken carcasses
An onion or two, peeled, halved and diced
Half a dozen or so carrots, unpeeled, sliced / chopped
Celery - a couple of sticks including leaves, chopped
A good bunch of parsley, chopped
Half a dozen black peppercorns
Fill the saucepan with water, covering all the ingredients; put on the lid and bring slowly to a simmer
I put this on the cooktop at breakfast and leave it simmering away pretty much all day
Strain the liquid into a big stainless steel bowl, cool and pop in the fridge overnight
Next morning skim off the fat and ladle into tupperware containers (I use different sizes…knowing I use small amounts for some dishes / or a litre for most single batch soups
And with that, I’ll leave you because…I need to go and strain the stock!
A BIG gardening weekend lies ahead for me! Two whole days…you cannot imagine how very excited I am - I might not even be able to sleep tonight!
I wish you all a wonderful week ahead. Mickey x
One last thought (I still haven’t quite got the order of this right but let’s try again)
Eating from the garden: Fig, pomegranate, persimmon, tomato, aubergine, zucchini, leaves of all kinds - spinach, lettuce, radicchio, fennel fronds, good strong parsley (the last almost always) and lovely mint. Nasturtium flowers and calendula too. Rosemary and thyme are always in supply. The very first Meyer lemons.
Seed saving from the garden: Beans…Speckled Cranberry, Purple King, Rattlesnake, Sunset Runner
Sowing: Peas, broad beans, coriander, chervil, dill
Planting: I have a list of seedlings for this weekend including more leeks, more kale, more fennel, more radicchio, more lettuce. Time to get the onions in and this coming week I will sow my garlic on Anzac Day!
Our grandmothers!!!! Yes...all horrified...even my mother who hates cooking altogether always made chicken soup from raw chicken...and we would eat 'steamed chicken' with overcooked veg...uggghhh.... I don't think she would much approve of my bone situation either! I do approve of your roasting the bones all over again :))) (The best thing for my Mum's steamed chicken was chicken in white sauce with noodles...there were a lot of noodles in my childhood! Or if she was being smart...in vol au vents! I wonder what happened to those???!!!) xx
Oh Sally, you do make me smile! Thank you for subscribing :)) I'll look forward to hearing how your pot-grown garlic grows - I imagine rather well as it seems to me you know what you're doing! And yes...I haven't shopped for garlic for years - I'd hate to have to! Catch you at the next post. M :))