Gardening

Wisdom

/ Robinne Weiss / Leave a comment
Not strong enough...

Not strong enough…

It was a mistake. I should have known better. But the day was going to be a busy one, and I’d already forgotten to unload the sack of grain from the car the day before.

But it was early in the morning. I hadn’t had breakfast yet and was feeling hungry and not terribly strong. My body hadn’t yet warmed up.

So when I hefted the 40 kg sack of goat feed into the shed, I lifted it poorly, relying too much on my back and too little on my arms and legs.

I will be sore for days…possibly weeks. The result of pushing too hard.

Two weeks ago I was determined to get my pea trellises up. Instead of asking for help, I tried to do it myself. The trellises aren’t heavy, but they are tall. To move them, I have to stretch as high as I can and walk on tiptoe. Of course, I dropped one, cracking one of the supports in half.

I get frustrated with the limitations of my own body—how short and weak I am, how quickly I tire. I know I shouldn’t. Compared with many women my age, I have the strength and stamina of a workhorse. And, of course, there is nothing I can do about my height. Still, my plans are always bigger than myself, and I am regularly frustrated by my weaknesses.

But frustration isn’t all bad. Having big dreams and pushing ourselves to achieve them is what helps us grow. I am stronger and more efficient in my work than I was ten years ago. In spite of age and a lot of grey hair, I can accomplish more in a day now than I could in the past.

But ten years ago, if I lifted a sack of grain poorly, I wouldn’t have paid so dearly for it—a minor twinge in the back, perhaps—not days of pain and stiffness. The body isn’t so resilient as it once was. Perhaps this is where wisdom is born.

When our bodies can no longer live up to our dreams, we learn to expect less, ask for help, work smarter.

I sure hope so…my back would appreciate a little more wisdom.

Vernal equinox

/ Robinne Weiss / Leave a comment

100_3776 smToday is one of my favourite days of the year—the day my side of the planet tips over into the sunshine!

I always try to mark the day with a little something special. It might be a cake decorated as a sun, or cupcakes covered in flowers. This year, it was big chocolate cookies half spread with white chocolate to represent the equal night and day of the equinox.

From now until the solstice always seems like such a rush, with planting, kidding, milking, and harvesting. But today I will simply enjoy the sunlight.

So regardless of whether you are experiencing the vernal or the autumnal equinox today, make it a great one, and enjoy whatever the season offers!

Potting Up

/ Robinne Weiss / 1 Comment

100_3766 smPlanting vegetable seeds is an easy job. Every year, I am surprised at how quickly the task is accomplished.

Then those seeds sprout and I remember that there is potting up to do.

That’s what takes forever—filling all those pots, and carefully teasing apart and planting the young seedlings.

Sometimes I think I’d be better off planting my seeds directly into pots. But every year there are varieties that simply don’t germinate. If I had filled dozens of pots, only to have them stand empty, I would have wasted a lot of effort and greenhouse space (both of which are in short supply in the spring).

So this weekend, I will spend many hours transplanting seedlings. Though it can be tedious, I don’t really mind. To spend a day nurturing plants and breathing in the summery smell of tomatoes isn’t hard to take.

Doing my best

/ Robinne Weiss / Leave a comment

100_3242 copyMy post Springtime Pests was picked up by World Organic News today, and I was bemused.

Not so much that the post was picked up, but that I’ve never particularly thought of myself as an organic gardener.

In the same way, I rarely think of myself as vegetarian.

Or as a blogger.

And, clearly, I’ve not got the blogging thing down, because I have never tagged a post as ‘organic’, and only recently thought to tag a post as ‘vegetarian’.

I grow food.

I eat food.

My only claim is that I think about what I eat and grow, and how I do it.

I am neither perfectly organic, nor perfectly vegetarian, but I do my best.

That’s all we can ask of anyone.

Springtime pests

/ Robinne Weiss / 4 Comments
Netting covering newly-planted pea seedlings

Netting covering newly-planted pea seedlings

Pests are always a concern for me—rats and mice get into my animal feed, hedgehogs eat my cucumbers, brush-tailed possums strip the bark off trees, slugs devour the strawberries, aphids infest the lettuce—but springtime is the worst season for pests.

And English sparrows are perhaps the worst pest I deal with.

Sparrows are a problem year round. In autumn and winter, they roost in the sheds, covering everything with their droppings. They rummage through the compost pile, spreading kitchen scraps everywhere. In spring and summer, they nest in the gutters, causing rainwater to back up into the house instead of going down the drains. Or they nest the sheds, where they make an even bigger mess than they did roosting there all winter.

But the most annoying thing the sparrows do is eat seedlings. They sit in the trees and watch as I plant out my peas and lettuces, then descend upon the garden and gobble them up as soon as my back is turned. Nothing is safe from them until it is at least 30 cm tall.

Until a few years ago, the damage was minimal. The neighbour used to poison the sparrows, and their population was relatively small. Since he retired and sold his farm, however, the sparrow population has increased dramatically. The new owner doesn’t poison the birds…which I’m happy about on one hand, because it is not a humane death (I hated finding dying birds on the property–horrible to watch). On the other hand, the sparrow population has reached plague proportions.

Which means spring planting is an exercise in pest control.

Everything I plant has to be covered with bird netting for a few weeks or it is eaten to the ground. And once I remove the netting, I’m sure to lose some plants as the birds strip half the leaves within a day of the covers coming off.

I suppose I should take the Panamanian approach to planting—three seeds in each hole—one for me, one for God, and one for the pests.

Blooming Broad Beans

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100_3703 smI walked past the garden on my way to the compost pile two days ago, and smelled what has become one of my favourite smells of spring.

It is sickly-sweet, and the first time I smelled it, I thought it was disgusting.

It is the smell of blooming broad beans. And I have grown to love it as a harbinger of spring.

My garden isn’t the only place smelling like an overwrought florist’s shop. Local farmers grow huge fields of broad beans, and the smell wafts into the open windows of the car as I drive by.

Unfortunately, the first blossoms are a tease. They attract primarily bumble bees in the very early weeks of spring. The bumble bees steal nectar by chewing through the base of the flower, and don’t actually pollinate the flower. I won’t get beans from these early flowers.

Later, once the honey bees are fully active, we’ll start seeing the first little beans begin to lengthen. Until then, we’ll have to make do with the smell.

What they see…what I see

/ Robinne Weiss / Leave a comment
What they see...

What they see…

It takes a good imagination to keep plugging away at the garden at this time of year. You’ve got to be able to see what isn’t there. You’ve got to be able to envision the possibilities. If you can’t, you’ll be overwhelmed by the weeds and the slugs, and you’ll give up before your garden even has a chance.

What I see.

What I see.

 

Not unlike parenting, actually. (I do think gardening is like parenting, in so many ways!) As a parent, you’ve got to be able to envision the future—envision the competent and confident adult your child can become. Otherwise you’ll be overwhelmed by the messy room, uncombed hair, terrible manners, and unfinished homework you live with day in and day out.

Gardeners and parents both have to be able to dream a little.

Cabbage Salad

/ Robinne Weiss / 3 Comments

100_3672 smAt Christmastime last year, I walked into a bookstore. I don’t remember what I was looking for, but I know I wasn’t looking for a cookbook.

But there, facing outward on the shelf was Plenty by Yotam Ottolenghi. The simple beauty of the cover made me stop. I picked up the book and opened it, and suddenly my will was no longer my own.

There was an entire chapter on eggplants, and another on mushrooms, and pulses, and brassicas. There was even a chapter titled “Green Things”, featuring everything from artichokes to broad beans to asparagus. All accompanied by mouth-watering photographs.

I had to have the book. So I gave it to my husband for Christmas.

This afternoon, I was faced with cabbage in the garden that either needed to be picked or weeded. I chose to harvest. I had a longing for a cabbage salad, but didn’t want cole slaw. I went to Ottolenghi’s book, and found the perfect recipe.

Not that I actually made the recipe from the book, of course. It called for macadamia nuts, two different kinds of cabbage, mango, papaya, and fresh chilli…none of which I had. But I was intrigued and inspired, particularly by the dressing, which involved lime juice, lemongrass, maple syrup soy sauce and chilli flakes reduced over high heat to a thick syrup, then mixed with sesame oil and vegetable oil.

The original salad had you caramelise the macadamia nuts in butter, sugar and salt. I did the same with pumpkin seeds. I substituted oranges for the mango and papaya, used my one variety of cabbage, and fresh mint and cilantro from the garden.

The result was a marvellously complex, fresh, and delicious salad.

And even more importantly, I learned new flavour combinations and new techniques (the caramelized nuts, and the reduced dressing) for future salads. The best kind of recipe!

Not your ordinary gym experience

/ Robinne Weiss / Leave a comment

DSC_0028 smI don’t exercise. When people ask, I say that the garden is my gym.

It’s true, because the garden provides exercise, but in reality the garden is nothing like a gym.

You go to the gym, and a 5 kg weight is always going to weigh 5 kg. The rowing machine provides smooth, consistent resistance. The treadmill is free of rocks and tripping hazards.

Things are less dependable in the garden. The hoe bounces unexpectedly off tough roots and buried rocks. You’ll be turning soft soil, getting into a nice rhythm when suddenly the soil fights back. Twitch roots grab the spading fork and wrench your back in ways you cannot describe to the physiotherapist. Each forkful of soil is different—live.

At the gym, you go for an hour, you do your routine, and you leave.

In the garden, you start at 7.30 am. You fill the wheelbarrow again and again, and still there is no end to the weeds. At noon you stop for lunch, and your body begs you not to go back to the garden. You go anyway, because there is still so much to do. You work more slowly. Garden work doesn’t encourage good exercise form, and you need to stop frequently to straighten your aching back.

By late afternoon, you feel you can’t possibly pull another weed. You look up from your labour and see that you’re nearly done with this bed. If you can just carry on for another 30 minutes…

You make the final raking of soil and sigh. You can rest now, as soon as you put your tools away and finish the other chores you’ve ignored in order to finish the day’s gardening.

Your back screams as you bend to pick up your tools. You slowly trudge from the garden…

And then an irrigation line breaks. Water gushes everywhere, and you want to weep as you rush to fix the problem, wrestling with wet, muddy pipes.

When you finally stagger inside, it is time to make dinner. You have been at the gym for nearly ten hours.

 

I can’t believe I never thought of this before…

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100_3663smEvery spring when it’s time to mark out the garden beds, I pull out my tape measure and take it our to the garden, along with the hoe, spading fork, wheelbarrow, secateurs, and weeding tool.

The tape measure is fiddly, gets muddy and wet, and is one more thing to forget to bring out, one more thing to forget to take in at the end of the day.

Last year I got smart and made myself a measuring stick from bamboo, with the key measurements marked on it.

But now I feel totally stupid, because this year it occurred to me that I could just mark the measurements on my hoe, which I always have in the garden with me. In fact, it’s the first tool I need once I’ve marked out a bed, so to use it to measure the bed in the first place is logical. So logical, I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before!