The rain came a day late, as usual these days. There are a few theories as to why. Maybe global weather patterns are changing at such a rate that traditional meteorological models don’t work anymore. Maybe the Southern Annular Mode is behaving strangely. Maybe the BOM data analysts are on secondment from the weather bureau to the COVID-19 desk.
Who knows.
Right now, this is what I know: the rain makes a soft, comforting sound on the roof and the garden is loving it. At the kitchen table the maté is steeping, the first hints of warmth are coming from the fire and I am happy.
It’s been a while since I gave the garden much time, either here or in real life. Still, things continue to evolve. That’s the nice thing about the garden: it’s a shared project, even if you feel like you’re on your own. Most days there’s some surprise or another: wattle birds and rosellas jousting amongst the lavender; the march of proud stalks supporting cauliflowers and broad beans; a play of dewdrops rolling around on cabbage leaves. Actually, there are lots of little surprises. So for any aspirant garden people, here’s a glimpse into what you can anticipate:
– – – Your garden may not progress the way you imagined, and you might find yourself feeling unduly protective or insecure. After visiting a friend’s garden in Lawson, or seeing photos of prolific pot-plants in Parramatta you might find yourself wondering: is something wrong with my garden? It’s so small by comparison, almost diminutive. Was the soil dodgy? Does it need more fertiliser, more water, more love? Is it struggling with the cold? Is it slow? Maybe it needs a tarp or something?
Don’t worry too much about this. If you’ve planted well for the season, leave it be. Every garden has its own rhythm.
– – – Veggie shopping will change in a few ways. First, it will take a little longer, because you can’t make it past the beetroots without stopping to marvel at their remarkable, fibrous roots, as long as your hand. You pause by the mushrooms, floored by the fact that you have no idea how they grow, and before you know it you’re staring off into the distance, compiling a list of questions to ask your mushroom-growing friends next time you chat.
But this first change is offset by the second: you won’t need to go as often, and this could happen more quickly than you might expect. Last week I meant to go shopping on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and so on. Got to the weekend and all I had left in the house was basically quinoa and rice. Ah, so a trip to the veg shop it is. But then I remembered the garden.
Did you know you can eat the leaves of radish and cauliflower? They’re very good blanched in a salad, and the cauli ones make great chips baked with oil, salt and a little rosemary.
There really isn’t a whole lot going on in the garden right now – it’s mid-winter in the mountains and growth is slow – but still, it’s enough. So I wandered outside with a bowl, picking a leaf off this lettuce here, that roquette there. Before I knew it, it was rice and fresh salad for dinner
I’m sure I would have survived without it, and I went to the veggie shop the next day . . . still, it felt like a little victory.
– – – When people come around for a cuppa, you might suggest a walk around the garden. Why not? That’s normal enough. But then, like a tone-deaf new pet-owner or parent, you’ll wax lyrical about how far this plant has come – from such a tiny little seed! Look at that amazing stalk, so strong! Can you believe it?! Maybe you’ll find yourself crouching down absentmindedly to tidy up some errant weeds along the way, not realising the extent of your social faux-pas until you look up to see your friend checking their phone, or edging awkwardly back towards the house.
It’s ok. People do this all the time.
– – – You will find things in your sink that have never been there before. Things that don’t belong there. Dirt, for example. And as you wash the dirt down the drain, taking a satisfying crunch of a freshly-washed radish, you’ll feel a little thrill at being so very close to the earth.
– – – A time will come (pretty slowly if you live in a cool-temperate area, but it will come) when you have enough salad stuff in the garden to fill a salad bowl and take it to a pot-luck dinner with friends. You’ll probably want to be cool about it – just put the salad on the table and chat about something else – but most likely you’ll find yourself blurting out ‘it’s a garden salad . . . all from my garden!!!’. Because you’re just a little too excited.
And if you’re lucky, your friends will look up in astonishment and say something like how bloody awesome is that?! Awesome work! Then you’ll start eating, and every few minutes someone will exclaim how damn good those little leaves are, so delicious and fresh, and you’ll be filled with a kind of warmth as you realise that a garden really is a shared project. And a very good one at that