Counting your Quinces

November 28, 2016 / Robinne Weiss / Leave a comment

You know what they say—don’t count your quinces before they ripen…okay, maybe they don’t say that, but they probably should.

I’m pleased to count the little quinces forming this year, though. I know we won’t get to eat all of them, but it’s the most fruit the little quince tree has ever set.

I can almost taste the quince paste now…

I had never encountered quince before coming to New Zealand. It’s an odd fruit. It’s sort of what I imagine pears must have been like before hundreds of years of plant breeding—astringent, hard, and gritty. They’re not a fruit you eat fresh.

But cook them, and all their glorious floral flavours come out. Turned into quince paste, they are one of my favourite foods.

Quince paste is delightfully versatile—pair it with cheese on a cracker for a salty snack or hors d’oeuvres, or spread it on toast for a sweet breakfast treat.

Making quince paste is a lesson in patience. First, you have to wait for the quinces to grow and ripen—they won’t be mature until autumn, and they’re not a fruit you find in the store, even in season. You just have to wait for them.

Then you have to simmer those rock-hard quinces for half an hour until they’re soft enough to mash.

Then you add sugar and cook oh-so-slowly for up to 3 hours, until the mixture turns red.

You pour the hot paste into jars and wait another few hours for it to set.

Finally, you can enjoy your quinces.

So, yeah, don’t count your quinces before they’re paste.

Entogeeks Anonymous

November 26, 2016 / Robinne Weiss / 3 Comments

You know you’re an entomologist when…

You find aphids on your lettuce, and eat it anyway.

You apologise to the grass grubs before squishing them.

You rescue the earwigs and lacewing larvae floating in the sink after washing vegetables.

You drop everything when you hear someone say, “Wow, look at that bug.”

You waste hours at work watching the spider on the window.

You keep a hand lens and a microscope within arms reach at all times, just in case.

The glove box of your car contains a folding insect net and several jars.

You sit down to write the day’s blog (a nice poem, you think), and get sidetracked for an hour trying to determine whether Mantophasmatodea is still considered a separate order or whether it is now grouped with the Grylloblattodea in the new order Notoptera.

*sigh*

Thanksgiving

November 25, 2016 / Robinne Weiss / Leave a comment

Timed to coincide with the last of the autumn harvest, Thanksgiving is traditionally a celebration of the foods that store through winter—pumpkins, apples, potatoes, corn.

Which is why we don’t really celebrate it here. Not in the traditional culinary sense, at least. Apples and potatoes are wrinkled and old by November. The pumpkins are all gone.

But there is much to be thankful for at the beginning of summer, and our Thanksgiving Day meal reflects this—pasta full of spinach, artichokes, and peas; a fresh green salad; and strawberries for dessert. Indeed, every day is a harvest celebration at our house. Every day, I am thankful for the sun, rain, and soil. I am thankful for our ability to produce much of our own food. I am thankful for my children, who understand and appreciate the amount of work that goes into every bite they eat—who thank the cook and the gardener every day.

I am thankful for the partner with whom I share the daily tasks that provide food for our table. I am thankful for the neighbours who help keep animals and plants alive when we go on vacation.

Yes, I’m sometimes a grumpy farmer—there’s never enough rain, the pests are terrible, the neighbour’s weed-killer has wafted across the fence line again…there’s always something to complain about.

But however much I grumble as I’m pulling weeds or dragging irrigation hoses around, dinner is always a time of Thanksgiving.

Poroporo

November 24, 2016 / Robinne Weiss / Leave a comment

Poroporo (Solanum laciniatum) is a native shrub, and one of our few native plants typically classified as a weed. A few years ago, I noticed a tiny poroporo seedling sprouting under our oak trees—planted, no doubt by some bird roosting (and poohing) in the branches above.

At the time, the chickens were quartered under the trees, so I fenced it with a ring of chicken wire to keep it safe from their scratching.

It has now grown into a huge sprawling bush easily three metres in diameter and as tall as me. It is currently covered in gorgeous purple blooms. Later in the summer, it will drip with teardrop shaped yellow fruits. Weed or not, the plant is eye candy.

Eye candy only—not to be taken internally. Like many of the Solanums, poroporo is poisonous (though apparently the fully ripe fruit is edible…sort of). Fever, sweating, nausea, and abdominal pain are the unfortunate effects of poroporo poisoning.

In spite of its poisonous nature (well, actually because of it), poroporo is grown commercially as a source of steroidal alkaloids used medicinally to make cortico-steroid drugs like birth control and eczema treatments.

A pretty and useful weed!

Pick a Path

November 22, 2016 / Robinne Weiss / Leave a comment

A utilitarian path through the vegetable garden.

Paths are as important as the gardens they traverse. They set the mood and change how we walk through different places.

There are utilitarian paths. Straight and low-maintenance, these paths are essential in the production areas of the garden.

An untamed path meanders through tall grass.

Wild and untamed paths don’t go directly to their destinations. They meander. They may be somewhat overgrown. They invite the walker to slow down and experience the world around them.

A formal path through the herb garden.

Formal paths invite strolling. They are straight and potentially utilitarian, but they’re more inclined toward the aesthetic. They may lead to nothing more than a view or a bench.

Some paths aren’t much more than suggestions of a path. A few inviting steps that say, “come this way.”

Bridge over troubled water.

Other paths are clear, built structures that provide a way where none other exists.

Just try walking this path without hopping.

And some are pure whimsy, encouraging locomotion other than walking (This path, between the house and my office, makes it incredibly difficult to carry a cup of coffee without spilling).

I enjoy the wide variety of paths on our property. There’s a path for every mood and need.

A Little Too Much Indoor/Outdoor Flow?

November 21, 2016 / Robinne Weiss / Leave a comment

Fine in the paddock, not welcome indoors.

I always assumed, growing up, that window screens and screen doors were there to keep insects out of the house. It never occurred to me that other wildlife would want to get in, too.

Two nights ago, we woke at 2 am to the sound of the rocking chair on the porch thumping back and forth and claws raking the bedroom window. At first, I cursed the cat—who often sits on the rocking chair meowing in the middle of the night—and rolled over. But the raking claws didn’t stop. The cat never claws at the window. I opened my eyes, then had to get up for a closer look, because I couldn’t believe what I saw. An Australian possum was sitting on the back of the rocking chair, leaning out to scratch the window.

What the heck? Was it trying to get in?

It got me thinking about all the non-insect wildlife we’ve had in the house over the years.

In Panama, there were numerous mice, rats, scorpions, whipscorpions, windscorpions, and tailless whipscorpions…naturally. But there also were a few geckoes, and a skink who spent weeks living with us. We started leaving out water for him on the table, and named him Smaug.

There were the bats. Mostly they were small ones, but occasionally we’d get a massive one, with the wingspan of a pterodactyl. They’d swoop in between the top of the wall and the roof, wheel around the house, then swoop out again.

There were regular chicken incursions, even after we evicted the one brooding a clutch of eggs there when we moved in, and there was a cat who came inside and had kittens on our bookshelf.

The largest visitor was probably the dog, who came into the house chasing a rat, then regularly trotted in after that to see if we had more rats for her.

Here in New Zealand, we’ve had mice and rats, including one bold rat who sauntered into the kitchen through the front door while I was washing dishes one day. Sparrows and the odd starling are regular visitors in the summer—they come in, poo a few times, and leave. Chickens and feral cats are occasionally pop in for a visit, too.

For one magical season, we had a piwakawaka, who would flit into the house every day. He would zip around inside, eating flies, then land on a bird mobile hanging from the kids’ bedroom, bobbing up and down like just another wooden bird.

I can only imagine what mayhem that possum would have caused if it had gotten in last night. Earthquakes would probably seem tame to the havoc of a possum indoors. You can bet I’ll be making sure the windows are all closed tonight—I think I’d like to keep that one outdoors.

Fantasy Gardener

November 20, 2016 / Robinne Weiss / Leave a comment

What if gardening magazines were written like fantasy novels?

The day was hot. Sun glared from a bleached sky, and heat shimmered off the soil.

Robinne squinted into the sun, eyeing her enemies, calculating the risks. They were arrayed in their thousands—rank upon rank of weeds as far as the eye could see. Their green shoots groped for the sky, smothering her unwary crops. She knew their roots ran deep.

This would be no mere skirmish, no quick-strike street fight. This would be a war beyond reckoning.

Sweat beaded on Robinne’s brow as she considered her strategy. She pulled on her gloves and patted the secateurs hanging at her side for reassurance. She could do this. She had to do this. She was the garden’s only hope.

Robinne drew out her weeding tool, Weedlebuzzer—an ancient weapon, handed down through generations of warrior gardeners. The weeding tool thrummed in her hand, eager to get to work. Robinne smiled grimly, opened the gate, and stepped into the garden.

Small Celebration

November 19, 2016 / Robinne Weiss / Leave a comment

Well, I finally made it. Made it to the day I can look at the vegetable garden and not be overwhelmed with jobs to do.

Everything is planted (except successive plantings of things like carrots, etc.), and most everything is mulched. The tomatoes are tied up and pruned, and the potatoes are mounded. Today, I managed to get all but a few small areas weeded, too.

I walked through the garden this afternoon to survey my work, and managed to get all the way through without feeling the need to pull a weed.

To celebrate, I’ve decided to spend the rest of the day pretending that there aren’t a thousand other jobs waiting for me in other areas of the yard. I’ll tackle those tomorrow.

Berries Bought with Blood

November 18, 2016 / Robinne Weiss / Leave a comment

Gooseberries are one of my favourite fruits for jam—high in pectin, a beautiful colour, and wonderfully tart.

I just wish the plants weren’t so vindictive…

I watch the fruits swell with a mix of excitement and trepidation. There will be lots of fruit soon, but the price of picking it will be scratched and bloody hands.

I should probably prune the plants, so there’s more space to get in there and pick. But pruning brings its own blood price, and one of the things I like most about gooseberries is that they pretty much take care of themselves. They do well in dry conditions, and they compete well with the weeds. That they give us fruit without the fuss of pruning is a huge bonus.

All in all, I suppose I can’t complain about the trade-off. A little blood for a harvest of delicious fruit is a good deal.

Vigilance

November 17, 2016 / Robinne Weiss / Leave a comment

Will we wake up to this tomorrow?

I watched the weather forecast closely this week. The week after plant out, when all the frost tender vegetables are newly planted, is when it usually happens.

A day of cold southerly rain, bringing much-needed moisture. The rain is good, and the low daytime temperatures won’t damage the plants.

But somehow, those rain clouds always blow away as the sun sets. The wind dies, and the air grows still as the temperature plummets.

The weather forecasts rarely predict these frosts, but I’ve learned to look out for them.

Today, as the clouds broke just in time for a spectacular rainbow before sunset, I knew the garden would be in trouble before dawn.

I pulled out all the frost cloth I own, and as the light faded, covered as many tender plants as I could. At this point, I can’t possibly cover them all, but I can strategically save those I would be most sorry to lose, and those that are most sensitive to frost.

Before dawn I will be in the garden again checking for frost. If I’m lucky, there will be none. If I’m unlucky, I’ll spend the early hours hosing down the plants I couldn’t cover in the hopes of saving them.

The strategy works…mostly. But just one frost at this time of year can change the landscape in the garden and the food choices we have through the next twelve months. It pays to be vigilant.

Robinne Weiss

Fantasy / Sci-fi / Non-fiction

A Year Outdoors