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.

Ripgut Brome

November 8, 2016 / Robinne Weiss / 2 Comments

Ripgut brome. How can you not be curious about a plant named ripgut brome?

I was certainly curious, after it took over my yard this spring. I’ve hauled countless wheelbarrow loads of ripgut brome to the compost pile, and I’m still finding it everywhere.

Ripgut brome (Bromus diandrus) is an annual grass native to the Mediterranean region. It probably arrived in New Zealand as a contaminant in grain, or in the wool of imported sheep. It’s a tall, sprawling plant, and seems to spring up overnight to suddenly form a dense thicket anywhere that isn’t regularly mown or grazed.

The leaves of ripgut brome are rough, and feel like sandpaper on bare legs and arms. They leave countless, fine scratches like paper cuts on the unwary weeder.

But the worst part of ripgut brome is the seed. Sharp, and covered in little hooks, the seeds catch and burrow into animals’ fur, eyes, skin, feet and intestines (I assume that’s where the name ripgut comes from).

And like all good weeds, it produces copious seeds (over 3000 per plant), aggressively outcompetes other plants, and is drought tolerant. It has also evolved herbicide resistance in some areas.

There’s only one thing for it on our property—to pull it up before the seeds mature. The good news is, that it’s got a shallow root system, so it’s not difficult to pull. The bad news is that it covers almost every inch of our acre and a half.

Sisyphus had it easy…

Rain

November 7, 2016 / Robinne Weiss / Leave a comment

I wake
To the sound of rain.

It is not morning.

It is the rain
That has dragged me from sleep.

No.

Not dragged.

It has nudged me awake
Accidentally
Like my husband does
When he comes to bed
(Night owl that he is,
And me an early riser).

Like my husband,
The rain has lain down beside me.
A comfort,
Knowing he is there,
Knowing the rain is there
Watering the garden,
Making the grass grow in the paddock,
Tamping down the dust.

The Best Laid Plans…

November 5, 2016 / Robinne Weiss / Leave a comment

Back in mid-August, I blogged about the to-do lists that get me through spring. I make a list and stick to it. That way, everything gets done.

But what if the plants don’t pay attention to the list?

I try to maintain consistency from year to year, and I document planting dates, plant-out dates, potting-up dates. So I know that if I plant my first batch of corn in trays on the 15^th of October, it will be just ready to plant out on Canterbury weekend (around the 15^th of November).

But this year, the corn was ready to plant out by the 30^th of October.

The corn bed wasn’t ready yet. It’s always the last one I prepare, because it’s usually the last one to be planted out. I took the trays of corn seedlings out of my office, so they would have chilly nights to slow down their growth.

It didn’t help. The corn kept growing at a ridiculous rate.

I considered planting the corn in the beds designated for pumpkins, because they were ready. But that would have meant planting pumpkins in the same beds they were in last year. I had a lot of pest problems in those beds last year—I’d be foolish to plant the same crop there again this year.

Last weekend I got frantic. If I didn’t get the corn out to the garden in the next week, it would die in those trays.

Wednesday, I quit work at 2 pm and started preparing the beds. I got them weeded, and the soil turned. Then I realised I was going to need to turn the compost pile in order to get compost for those beds.

Turning the compost pile usually takes at least two weekends of back-breaking work.

This morning, I started on the compost pile around 6.30 am. By the time I’d turned a third of it into the empty compost bay, I was completely exhausted. And I’d only managed to get five wheelbarrow loads of compost for the corn (I really wanted nine).

So I compromised. Five loads of compost would have to be enough. I turned it in, raked the soil smooth and called the beds done. The corn was all in the ground before lunch. Whew!

Of course, it’s a week early. I have learned the hard way not to plant out too early here. My garden sits in a frost pocket. Chances are, the corn will get nipped by frost, but it was either that or watch them die in trays. Crossing my fingers and hoping for warm weather!

On-the-Fly Spinach Tart

November 4, 2016 / Robinne Weiss / Leave a comment

My plan was an easy dinner tonight. I’d been saving a few artichokes—letting them get big, so we could have steamed whole artichokes. I figured I’d make a salad with some leftover cous cous in the fridge, and maybe fry up some tofu crusted with herbs and parmesan cheese. Quick and easy.

Then I went to the garden and saw the spinach. Beautiful, glossy leaves, loving the bit of rain we’ve had recently. There was so much of it, I couldn’t resist.

So instead of a quick, easy meal, I made a spinach tart to go with those artichokes.

Dinner was a little late, but it was well worth it. There wasn’t a crumb left when we were through.

Trying to work quickly, I didn’t bother looking for a recipe. Here’s what I did.

I made a standard pie crust—enough for a single-crust pie. I rolled it out and lined my tart pan, then put it in the fridge to chill while I prepared the filling.

For the filling, I used:

Fresh spinach (maybe 1kg (2 lbs), coarsely chopped)

Fresh chives (a good handful, chopped)

Fresh dill weed (4 Tbsp, chopped)

1 cup grated goat cheddar

4 large eggs

salt and pepper to taste

I cooked the spinach and chives with a few tablespoons of olive oil until the spinach was well cooked, and most of the water had boiled off. I removed it to a bowl to cool. When it was cool enough to handle, I squeezed more water out of the spinach, and drained it off. (You want the spinach pretty dry, to keep the crust from getting soggy.)

I mixed in the dill, cheese, eggs, and salt and pepper, then poured the mix into the prepared crust. I baked it at 190°C (375°F) for about 40 minutes. I let it cool ten minutes before serving.

A New Gardening Lexicon

November 2, 2016 / Robinne Weiss / Leave a comment

A nice tidy rolag.

I’ve noticed that the world of extreme gardening doesn’t have a very good vocabulary. There just aren’t the words to express the particular situations, actions, and states one experiences.

So I’ve developed my own gardening lexicon, to try to fill that gap in the English language. Here are a few of my words:

Chook—verb. To toss something to the chickens. E.g.: Just chook those weeds—they like them.

Chookable—adjective. Suitable for the chickens to eat. E.g.: Those weeds are chookable.

Dinger—noun. A rock in the soil, accidentally struck by a gardening tool.

Goat—verb. To toss something to the goats. E.g.: Goat these branches—they like them.

Goatable—adjective. Suitable for the goats to eat. E.g.: Those branches are goatable.

Grunter—noun. A weed that requires significant effort (and usually a tool) to pull.

Hum-dinger—noun. A particularly large rock in the soil, accidentally struck by a gardening tool.

Pop bead—noun. Insect pest. Name comes from the sound it makes when squished between the fingers.

Rolag—noun. A term borrowed from weaving. Weeds that have been hoed into a tidy roll, ready to be lifted into the wheelbarrow or thrown on the compost heap.

Squeaker—noun. A nest of mice, when overturned accidentally by a shovel or spading fork.

Superman tree—noun. A tree or shrub that looks difficult to cut, but is actually easy to cut, making the cutter feel like Superman. (See also Wonder Woman weed)

Twitch light—noun. Couch grass with unusually fine runners.

Twitch-on-steroids—noun. Couch grass with unusually thick runners.

Twitch-headed—adjective. Having weeded so much that you see weeds when you close your eyes.

Wonder Woman weed—noun. A weed that looks like a grunter, but is actually easy to pull out, and makes the weeder feel like Wonder Woman. (See also Superman tree)

Cat Behaviour

November 1, 2016 / Robinne Weiss / Leave a comment

I think the cat’s getting old.

Unfortunately, he’s not anywhere close to dying—we’re likely to have to put up with him for another 10-15 years.

But I think the Malevolent Beast from Hell is beginning to appreciate comfort and companionship more than he’s willing to admit.

As I type, he is sitting on my lap—a place he has steadfastly refused to ever spend any time before.

And a couple of weeks ago, the evening after I came home from several days away, he jumped up onto the couch with me, and curled up as close as he could—practically on my lap–purring loudly.

This from the cat who has always viewed humans as unclean. He usually tolerates being picked up, but clearly hates the experience, and struggles to get down after just a few seconds.

If he didn’t appear entirely healthy otherwise, I’d think he was sick.

But, then, just this morning he ambushed me in the yard and tried to disembowel me, and he did give me the evil eye when I picked him up, so he must be feeling okay.

But he’s going soft. Next thing you know, he’ll be choosing to be in our presence, maybe even jumping into our laps unbidden.

Or, maybe he’s just lulling us into a sense of security before he eats us…

Aquilegia

October 31, 2016 / Robinne Weiss / Leave a comment

One of my favourite flowers is blooming—Aquilegia, also known as columbine and granny’s bonnet.

I can’t tell you why I like Aquilegia so much. I’m generally not a fan of frilly flowers. Perhaps I like it because, though the flowers look delicate, the plant is tough as nails. This particular specimen is growing in what used to be the driveway—a hopelessly compacted combination of clay and rock, dry as a desert most of the time—and is all but shaded out by the pittosporum behind it. It thrives, and has even seeded itself into other places in the old driveway.

Or maybe I like it because, in the Eastern US where I grew up, the native columbine, Aquilegia canadensis, attracts hummingbirds and hawk moths. Here, the bumble bees visit it, but little else. Apparently, of the 60-70 species of Aquilegia, several have evolved exclusive relationships with particular pollinators.

Whatever the reason I like them, the flowers make me smile every time I pass them.

Apologies, I’m tired…

October 30, 2016 / Robinne Weiss / Leave a comment

When the day’s work is done
And exhaustion kicks in
And you want to collapse
You know you can’t win.

The blog must be written!
It doesn’t matter
That your hands are all blistered
And your mind is a tatter.

Just put down some words
Your readers won’t care
If you spell a few wrong
No need to rip out your hair.

Just type a few rhymes
They don’t need to be good.
Explain that you’re tired,
You’ll be understood.

Just whip out that blog post
In record time.
Then take a hot shower,
And a nice glass of wine.

Midnight Flowers

October 26, 2016 / Robinne Weiss / Leave a comment

We have several pittosporums around the house, mostly Pittosporum tenuifolium, also known as kohuhu. Kohuhu are nice hedging plants, and form lovely dense shrubs when pruned. They’re a great background plant—like mood music—a lot of nice greenery, but little character.

Until they bloom, that is.

And only at night.

Pittosporum flowers are the kind of blooms that you can walk past a hundred times a day and never see. They’re about the same colour as the branches, and sit nestled among the greenery. They attract no bees or butterflies.

But walk past the same bush in the dark, and you’re practically knocked over by the smell. Heavy and clinging, the smell must attract all the night-flying moths and beetles for miles around.

I’m generally not a fan of smelly flowers, but there’s something marvellously incongruous about pittosporum flowers—so inconspicuous during the day, so in-your-face at night. The smell has become as sign of spring for me, and I always make sure my early-morning chores take me close to one of the bushes at this time of year.

Robinne Weiss

Fantasy / Sci-fi / Non-fiction

Rural life