garden ramble: planned and planted

So, we’re underway. The past few weeks of preparation have given way to a solid Saturday of digging, sowing, planting, watering, labelling and mulching.

I began by creating some wobbly raised planks within the garden beds, so I could get to the produce without compacting the soil too much. This meant I had to divide my planned rows in two, so I re-drew their position once again by laying dowels out on the bare beds.

 

Then I got down to the real work, prepping the rows (except the carrots) with a handful of blood and bone and something else dad gave me; labelling the rows (after scrubbing away the pencilled names from last season); and then, sowing.

I remembered my vow last year not to cram in too many seeds in the one row — to have faith that they would germinate and grow, and that I didn’t need to double up ‘just in case’. It was very hard to be so restrained.

 

Snow peas, snap peas and lazy housewife beans went in last year’s tomato bed (shown above with the big patch of purple violas I can't bear to pull out), which also has a row of garlic on one border and the new mixed lettuce on another.

Golden beetroot, normal purple beetroot and round paris carrots, and another sneaky row of lazy housewifes went in the other bed. This is my largest bed, and it already has a border of spring onions (yet to surface), the resident rhubarb and about-to-flower pyrethrum, and a herb border of lemon thymes, oregano and purple sage, and now also ... the tomatoes.

Hello!

So, only five this year, about half of last year’s crop. Hopefully more realistic for my needs (although there is nothing wrong with a glut of tomatoes). Dad grew our favourite heirloom varieties from seed, and I got two black krims (if I only ever ate one tomato variety for the rest of my life, I would happily eat black krims), a mamma mia, periforme abruzzese, and big beryl. What names! And what fruit, to come.

I had a minor mishap: one of the black krims did not transplant very well and looked very, very poorly. Very. I planted it the way dad instructed me to, and even though it was a warm day, by the cool of evening, all were standing proud and ready, except this one. And it was a black krim! I was beside myself; after a long, physical day in the garden (and probably too ginny a gin and tonic), I sat down and bawled my eyes out. I get so upset when my plants die. I tried to put it in perspective — it’s only a plant, for goodness sake! — and mum jollied me out of my funk when I told her about it later. Oh, she agreed, it’s only a plant! It hasn’t got a heart and a soul! I laughed and said, nor a face or parents!

Luckily, mum and dad decided to come up the next day, so dad brought a replacement (another black krim!). Dad got down on his hands and knees to inspect the failing specimen while I bleated excuses — I did everything you told me to! All the others are standing up! I didn’t hurt it, honestly! — and without sentiment, dad flicked it out of the soil and said look, the base is rotted off, nothing you did; just one of those things. I felt rather deflated by that, for some reason. And rather amazed by dad’s lack of emotion. Yup, I guess it is only a tomato plant.

Fancy lettuce

 

Amongst the plants already in residence, the silverbeet is doing well, some of the sprouting broccolis are just about finished while others are just kicking into action (they overhead me say I was going to pull them out and give them to mum’s chooks!), and my purple podded peas have grown peas! All the fruit trees have got little green fruit on them, and the new lemon tree has many flower buds. The passionfruit are surviving all the frost and heat that mother nature throws at them, and putting out hopeful new tendrils. And there are still blank rows, ready for later plantings of more peas and beans and carrots and beetroot, and space for two zucchini plants from dad (black and yellow).

So we’re off for the new season. It’s exciting to start, once again.

Looks like the country, doesn't it?

 

My lemony banksia rose is the best it's ever been, tumbling down to form a beautiful backdrop to the garden