I’ve long referred to the kitchen garden here as the beating heart of the garden, for truly, that’s precisely what it is. Representing a whirl of activity and productivity; the kitchen garden is a central hub where the cycle of life is on full and abundant display.
I’ve long realised too, that the kitchen garden here doesn’t resemble anything like a normal kitchen garden! You see…something happened along the way. Whilst it may have begun in a perfectly traditional manner (at the time my own longing was for just that - neat, tidy, straight rows worthy of a Beatrix Potter illustration), I discovered the pure joy that can come about simply by letting it all go. It doesn’t mean I don’t tend it…I sure do that! But I’m selective in how I do so.
I fully recognise many peeps would think it a mess, whereas I see pure romance and have often mentioned that if someone had told me right at the very beginning, that I could make an abundant wildflower garden simply by allowing veg to go to seed…I may not have made the rest of the garden at all!
Cos this is my idea of heaven! I tried in the early days to make a wildflower meadow but it didn’t work and I’ve long realised that’s just not for us…it doesn’t fit the climate or our landscape. But in creatively nurturing the kitchen garden all these years, all the while I’ve been implementing the current re-wilding phenomena…using chop‘n drop methods, allowing plants to grow where they’re happiest, encouraging insect life and microbial activity. It’s all wobbly with rise and fall within the beds at soil level and hiding places for little creatures. It hums with life and produces our daily veg intake.
Sure…I’m lucky to have the space to do it, and how I love to share it with peeps. It was lovely to have the opportunity last weekend to run a kitchen gardening workshop at a moment in time where all the methods of growing - from the very sensible to the wild and unruly were on display! As we nibbled our way around the garden, there was a great deal of note-taking as explanation after explanation were prompted by questions about structures, layout, planting combinations…the why and wherefore of all the examples on view. It was a completely immersive experience and boy was I knackered on Monday…I hardly drew breath for 6 full hours! I much look forward to seeing how my participants implement all they absorbed as they go about making their very own kitchen gardens and predict they may be able to produce the same lunch we enjoyed on Sunday from their own gardens this time next year!
When I say wild at heart, those words have a two-fold meaning. First, while the exact position of the kitchen garden may not be in the precise centre of the garden, it does occupy a significant transitional space…between the purely ornamental and the surrounding paddocks and landscape. But it’s held firmly, within a strong framework, captured neatly between the Dairy to the east and a long supporting hedge to the west, with hefty, rustic fences to the north and south. In aerial view, its ordered, simple shape and fullness draw the eye and there’s no mistaking it as the very heart of the garden. That its location is such I must walk past or through it a dozen or so times a day, also causes it to be the epicentre of my activity. But whilst its framework is rigid; within those boundaries, it’s wild.
In the same way, there’s a discipline to all the garden here with many enclosures and horizontal planes on repeat. The layout is orderly. Larry and I are both naturally ordered and disciplined humans, liking everything in its place. And yet…I’m wild at heart! A hopeless romantic and so for me…the two forms must happily co-exist side by side. Whilst balancing those two sides of a personality can be a juggling trick, teasing and encouraging both sides of the coin from a garden has the added woes of vagaries of weather, alongside an array of pests all of which are likely to pull the plug on my fun at any moment. But right now…this season,I have both order and wild in full and balanced flight! Well…in the garden anyway!
Oh but how life gets into a mess doesn’t it? I decided on Monday I could face my desk no longer! All winter long, the little wood-burning fire that sits just behind has kept me toasty, but my weekly cinderella activity of emptying the ash (despite my best efforts) had delivered a fine layer of dust that had built up and settled over the corner where I spend so much of my days!
I cleared the desk completely…vowing not to put so much back. But you know how that went, don’t you? How I love to be able to access the little drawers with ease…they contain all manner of writing materials - they’re filled to bursting with postcards that might be just the thing for a message to wing off, and twistsof ribbon that could be just the length to wrap a little something; with letters and notes from all manner of peeps and drawings the girls made when they were little, photographs of times long gone…and all kinds of prompts that set my imagination alight. I can’t possibly look at them all…even on a cleaning day…just a few…enough to trigger little thought processes!
But before I knew it, the drawers were obscured once again! And whilst I threw out a LOT…I just cannot seem to leave it bare! I love to delve into all these books and files. Each one of them is there for a reason and dusting them off individually (not a trace of dust to be found now!) is a reminder of something, contains inspiration or is just a part of daily life - like the amber jar reminding me to order Lap Sang Souchong tea in good time for Christmas and the now empty jar of Wild Beauty Balm that needs replenishing from AS Apothecary! They’re both still sitting in front of me ‘to-do’ whilst I’m delighted to say the loose pieces of paper have gone!
(As an aside…have you ever noticed the French run the lettering on the spines of their books in the opposite direction to the rest of us? Maddening…I like to load lots of books on top of each other and the French ones all need to be placed upside down to read the titles right way up!)
Oh but…then I added another book!
Yesterday evening I attended the launch of David Mabberley’s exquisite new book at The Royal Botanic Garden in Sydney: CITRUS, A World History (Thames and Hudson) and I cannot wait to have a moment to delve into its pages! (So as with all things ‘of the moment’ and/or ‘urgent’ it’s now teetering on top of the pile to the right on my desk!). You already know the significance I place on the citrus family - as garden specimens for their shape and form, as well as the perfume of their blossom and the bounty of fruit they provide to our diet…indeed our health.
Citrus were some of the very first trees we planted here (scribblings of lemons littered a little book I had on our honeymoon in Italy all those years ago and so they were a priority from the beginning!) and of course we have a spot spot for anything to do with a Clementine! David’s book promises adventure and exploration across the centuries, through art, literature, religion, cuisine and societies around the world. I also know it contains page upon page of the kind of illustrations I find so enthralling…from those iconic C17th citrus specimens threaded through with ribbons announcing the names of each fruit, through plates of grand Orangeries and allegorical engravings. Literally cannot wait! Though I’ll have to!
Thanks to one lovely downpour (sometimes that’s all it takes) the Crinum lilies just outside our bedroom have begun to unfurl. I adore the promise they hold at this stage…a cluster of lime-tipped buds held tight as each individual flower opens to release its delicate scent. Much as I’d love to pick each and every stem to bring inside, if I do I’ll spoil the short-lived view from our window that I so look forward to each late spring; and I’d be ensuring they don’t have the opportunity to multiply! Each flower will become a bulb (given the chance) from which new plants will grow, and though they’ve been planted in this clump for around 25 years, they are not yet as densely packed as I would like. So I’ll allow myself a couple of stems inside during their flowering but I must allow the rest to grow on through their full cycle and grow more babies!
Another beauty to join the throng this week is the giant Burmese honeysuckle. The first fine, elegant, long-fingered, purply buds are held erect; then gradually, as each fine flower opens cream and its colour deepens to a glorious golden hue, the entire cluster becomes pendulous. In full bloom, the vision is quite arresting and the perfume…for this one really is perfume, is one that seeps in through every open window and carries in a swirl all about the house from the great mound it makes over the laundry roof and little window canopy. If all goes well, it will do that next week but this week…I’m enjoying the buds!
The only other specimen I’ve ever seen growing is at Bronte House in Sydney and is where I got the idea to source this one a long time ago. The one there is a beauty and (assuming it’s still there…I haven’t driven past in awhile!) spills over the rear of the house and adjoining pavement. Silly me…I saw Leo Schofield last night and should have asked him if he was responsible for planting that one when he was custodian of that beguiling house. He was responsible for creating the garden and to this day his book, The Garden at Bronte, along with the gazillion images I took on those early visits were a huge inspiration to me here.
Down in the Borders, the Buddleja davidii ‘Black Knight’ is at its very best and its liquid-honey perfume is so intense it’s enough to make one giddy. The deep purple flowers signal the next stage as individual plants run through their annual progress, where altogether more sturdy, waxy, summertime blooms are on the brink.
Even mop-head hydrangeas decided to get a sprint on this week, signalling I’ll need to get my shading antics together for when the cloud lifts. Although they nominally face south-east, they cop a whack of sun from either side of the Barn during the hot months…from first ‘til last light. But nothing would persuade me to move them!
On the easterly face of the Barn, the Allards Lavender, Lavandula allardii is at full throttle, its tall flower spikes a simple foil for that rustic building of sturdy old ironbark planks. For the most part, this pocket is one that’s overlooked, a little path rarely trod, but when the lavender’s in flower, I’m drawn to look through its spires and on through the gap in the hedge to Big Hill, where if we’re lucky, a storm may be brewing behind!

The canna lilies are coming…not yet at full height but their presence is creating bulk now and putting paid to that very pink stage we went through just a few short weeks ago. How I love their apricot tones that sit so well with all the rust (real rust) around and about!
The apricot cannas arrived just in time to cross over with the final phase of the peony poppy pods; that faded from green through blue-grey to bruised mauve and onto paper-bag brown in the space of a week. Once they popped their pagoda hats, revealing all their little windows, it was time to bring the last…even the ones inside the fig cages, inside.
The bare mulch displayed in the Borders just a couple of months ago, post winter-prune, is now completely smothered in a flush of growth…green speckled yellow and magenta, a tapestry of simplicity that’s just waiting for the dahlias to join the party between these happy campers, and for the frangipanis to fill out behind to complete the picture. With patience, they too, will arrive.
On the way to the field, the little enclosures are drawing insect life - this one a collection of fennel and carrot flowers, making an enticing landing-pad for bees on their way from the hives in the paddock to the garden.

And down in the field itself, it won’t be long now ‘til the lavender itself is a big drawcard for the bees. But for me…it’s this stage of the lavender’s journey that I so adore! All feathery and green with just a hint of purple beginning to develop. Of course I can’t hold it back…but if I could…it would be right now!

Gardening for me is such an impulsive thing. On Tuesday I literally dropped everything…I just sensed a change in the air. We’ve had clouds develop and dissipate for days. On Tuesday at first I thought it would be the same and settled happily at my desk to get to work, when suddenly there was a shift in the atmosphere and a brief, sharp shower heightened my sense of urgency. I changed tac (and my clothes!), picked up my secateurs and carried out a wild array of jobs like a mad woman, in a short space of time!
The Cistus ladanifer (that I seem to mention pretty much every week, due to the heady aroma that exudes from its stems), missed its annual trim last year (my hand again) and I simply could bear it no longer! With yellowing leaves, the poor thing looked miserable, and the idea of it gathering more sickly leaves in intermittent showers was not worth consideration. It had just one last red-blotched flower remaining from its big spring flush and I took to liberating it from its overgrowth with a sense of glee! With sticky, resinous fingers now, and water trickling down my back, I wielded the secateurs ‘til there was nought left but bare stems and a handful of tiny new leaves, and a heaving barrow of growth to wheel away with speed to the compost…all the while immersed in the soothing balm of a labdanum-filled atmosphere!

The sun emerged and quickly dried off any lingering droplets…it was one of those days that are stinking hot and humid as the atmosphere builds. I hauled out the remnants of the cape gooseberries down the back and went about sowing flower seeds….zinnias and sunflowers.
By now everything was bone-dry again, so out came the last of the tall stems of Red-Elk mustard where seed had been curing and adding to my delight in the wilds of the kitchen garden with their elongated, bleached capsules. I whisked them inside.
Then as the sky darkened, on the spur of the moment I decided to haul out the last of the rocket, the vast majority of seed pods had baked to a ready crisp…and I really didn’t want them to turn to mush. As the first big droplets fell I sprinted up the path to the back door of the Dairy in just the nick of time…and as thunder rolled and a huge downpour descended, the flyscreen snapped shut behind me and I plonked the mound on the Dairy floor, to join the bucket loads of peony poppy heads brought in the day before. Phew!
I raced to the house to close all the windows…including upstairs where the agave spike is making quite a spectacle outside the bathroom…and especially in driving rain!
And then the rain stopped and a rainbow appeared…it’s end seemingly tucked into the trees somewhere just behind the sodden spotted gum that’s shedding all its outer layer of bark, revealing a smooth, cream trunk beneath. The sun came out, the air was clear and everything shone and sparkled, glimmered and glistened…I could almost see new growth right before my eyes!
Towering above the eye-level of the upstairs window as predicted and snapped earlier in the week, the Agave spike is beginning to resemble a futuristic kind of antenna! I do find its habit fascinating and know this will be the last I see in close observation for a good many years…if ever again!
Before I leave you…not so much a recipe as a leaf tip! A few weeks ago as I was preparing dinner, Gardening Australia was on the television in the background…it tends not to be a show I sit and watch but I do like to keep an ear and eye alert as I go about my chopping and stirring! When Clarence popped up with a suggestion for saltbush leaves, my ears pricked up! I’ve only had a saltbush in the garden for a few years and hadn’t tried this suggestion, so the very next day I did! And truly? This could not be more simple or delicious! You just need an old man saltbush, Atriplex nummularia, and why would you not plant one?
Saltbush Leaves
Pick as many as you fancy…I’m trying to fashion mine to a loose ball in the garden so I pick any long stems that are bound to have a few good size leaves
Warm a glug of olive oil in a frying pan and tip to coat the base
Drop in the leaves (I do keep them separate from each other) and allow to gently fry for a minute or so…no need to turn them over…just ‘til they shrivel a bit and crisp
Drain on paper towel
We had dear friends to dinner on Saturday night and I made several batches. The leaves are simply delicious and made a lovely little something to eat with a drink …all crispy and salty and simply yum! I scattered those we didn’t demolish before over our dinner and there wasn’t one left to be seen!
And here’s a garlic update! I’m still using this season’s harvest sparingly but Saturday’s lamb called for garlic and the cloves are slowly curing…
Although still ‘wet’, this season’s garlic is ready to use and positively delicious!
The last of the season’s cape gooseberries that I mentioned I collected last week, went into a delicious batch of ice cream!
Cape Gooseberry Ice Cream
Shell the fruit from its case and for a batch of ice cream you’ll need a minimum of one cup of golden fruit (I didn’t measure but may have had one and a half and if you have two cups, that’s even better!)
Cover the fruit with water in a small saucepan (just cover…no need to swamp them) add a lid, bring to the boil then simmer ‘til all the water has evaporated and the fruit is soft and has collapsed. (Be sure not to boil them dry and burn the pan!)
Then follow the Seville Orange Ice Cream recipe…simply adding the cooked gooseberries instead, where it says to add marmalade. The link to that recipe is included in the post titled ‘In the pink’ and you can find it here…just scroll down towards the bottom!
Do use rapadura rather than caster sugar! The result was so delicious I may have to have a spoonful right now - there wasn’t much left and it will be the only batch of the season! And it just so happens that as I write it’s tea-party time…(as we’ve always been inclined to call our afternoon cuppa time!).
This has been the first week without a workshop in the making for awhile! Last Sunday’s was divine, intense and immersive…and at this time of year, still very much about seed, which I’ll be sowing more of this weekend. Today and yesterday had been slated for India Flint’s two day workshop, but due to an unforeseen anomaly at India’s end, we had to postpone. Which is why I was able to clean and re-set my desk and to go-a-midweek-gardening this week! An unexpected breather in a hectic schedule which will set me in good stead for the weeks ahead.
I hope you’ve had rain too…I know many of us are hanging out for more…or even some - the downpours have been very localised.
My tip for the weekend ahead? Go and buy a Saltbush!
With warmest wishes
Mickey
Productive garden notes:
Eating from the garden:
Lemons (stored now rather than on the tree!), rhubarb, mulberry (still going!). Beetroot, parsnip, asparagus, leeks. Coloured chard, warrigal greens, lettuce. Fennel fronds, mint, rosemary, thyme, chives, first sprigs of lovage. Nasturtium petals and chive flowers. Fresh fennel seed and fennel pollen (new) and micro rocket leaves that are just emerging from a seed flinging. Tiny cucumber flowers - I’m inclined to pick them off ‘til the vine grows as I want the strength in the vine and those flowers with tiny fruit attached are delicious.
And…the dried Speckled Cranberry Borlotti Beans! (where would we be without them? Although they’re almost gone…note to self to sow even more this year!)
Going / gone: lemons (plenty in store though), cape gooseberry, leeks, calendula and borage petals
Seed saving: peony poppy, rocket, mustard leaf
Sowing: beetroot, parsnip, carrot, beans, corn, zucchini, cucumber, watermelon, rockmelon, rocket, parsley, basil, sunflower and zinnia.
Planting: lettuce, tomatoes, aubergines, capsicums, cucumbers and zucchini seedlings
Ornamental garden notes:
Picking for the house: Burmese honeysuckle, Crinum lily, roses and picking for the dairy on a bigger scale, fennel flowers, carrot flowers and elderflowers
Perfumes and aromas: Burmese honeysuckle, Crinum lily, Buddleja and Japanese honeysuckle, Lonicera japonica* have superseded everyone else this week though the Chinese star jasmine is still going strong. The Rosa brunonii and philadelphus are fading fast and the bountiful first flush of roses has had its moment - it’s time for the repeat flowering roses to step in. Now I’ve cut the Cistus ladanifer so hard, it will take a back seat for the weeks ahead! The Perpetual spinach in the kitchen garden is still on high olfactory volume and the air is sweet with the fresh smell of fine misty rain…today anyway! It’s good growing weather…
*the commonly found honeysuckle is referred to as a noxious weed in many parts but I struggle to grow it here at all and delight in its growth over the old cubby house
Pruning and other: I had to ask Thalia to prune back the Melianthus and Roldana in the Arc while I worked away at the Cistus - all were equally in need of urgent attention in tandem with the weather. Once I’d cut all the peony poppy stems (trying to keep them upright so as not to spill their seed everywhere) I pruned the fig trees, then asked Thalia to pull out all the stems and weed before trailering up the mulch and forest fines for the figs and also to the beds of dentata lavender she finished pruning last week. These are the jobs that can’t be done in the winter…we have to wait ‘til the spring - so they’re a mid-season task. There’s been weeding in the field - the only downside of rain is that it encourages weeds…but I’m not complaining on that score! And today Thalia has been cutting back the row of indigenous plants in the field…it too burgeons and flowers through early spring, so its time had come. Next week it will need compost and mulch. But this weekend…it’s the guild side of the kitchen garden for me!
😊
Oh Suse goodness!!!! 😘 I'd love you to grow all those plants...including the veg!!! Love a rainbow...wherever the end may land. Mxx