We few, we happy few, we band of brothers (and many sisters), are now tucking in to fat white asparagus stems, thinner sweet green asparagus as well as succulent purple ones; munching new red lettuces, plucking round firm zucchinis, seeing the green tomatoes swell and the cucumbers lengthen as their flowers drop off.
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We are the ones who planted in spring. I'm not sure how 'Nyah, nyah' is supposed to be spelled, but consider it said. Sorry, I forgot to add red radishes, crisp beans, wombok cabbages, silver beet, though not carrots because the seed didn't germinate or the snails ate them. Ditto peas … I have no idea what happened to our peas this year, but once more there are none. One crop in 45 years is not a good pea growing record, though possibly a brilliant one in the "failure to grow peas despite trying" category.
But it's still a gloriously bountiful season. And you too can have a delicious crop by Christmas, if as soon as you have finished reading this article, this newspaper, swallowed your coffee and what I hope is a bowl of perfect cherries or a juice dripping peach, you put in a couple of hours work.
Buy a giant grafted tomato seedling with fruit already ripening on it; a few pots of already large, leafy basil and ditto parsley, chives, and cucumber vine twining up its own small trellis. You can also plant seeds and do it all yourself.
Buy six packets of lettuce seed or, just possibly, empty the lettuce seed you collected from a few gone-to-seed lettuces this spring. One gone-to- seed lettuce gives hundreds or, possibly, thousands of seeds. They are small, fine and whiffle all over the place if you breathe on them, so I have never tried to count them.
Now find the hottest spot in your garden or sunniest windowsill, preferably with light and warmth reflected from a hot wall, to double or even quadruple the impact of summer sun. Fill pots or even styrofoam boxes with good soil potting mix or compost (the best of all). Make sure all containers have holes in the bottom for good drainage or the soil may grow sodden and then sour.
Now scatter the seed thickly, though without clumping it together, and ruffle it slightly so it is covered with the least possible amount of soil. You could also scatter on a little sand, if you have it on hand in the sandpit. Water, and water again each day, and watch the seeds germinate into green lace after about three days, then grow some more…
… and you have microgreens. Microgreens are incredibly fashionable these days. I'd like to think it was because they are tender, sweet and perfect for a micro salad on the side of each plate, but suspect the real reason is that they look elegant and pretty, especially if you have grown green, red and brown lettuce varieties, Cos and rabbit ears as well as frills and curls.
Add a scatter of finely chopped chives and you have a salad that is beautiful, sweet and home-grown. Snip it with the scissors, keep watering and feeding and snip again and again or, better still, let the kids do it. If they don't love salad already, they will when it is as pretty as this, grown and picked themselves, served with an olive oil and lemon juice dressing, with just a hint of salt and possibly honey.
Home-grown, and perfect.
This week I am:
- not picking cherries, even though they were almost ripe a few days ago, because in one night or a single day they vanished, probably into the gullets of birds I adore at any other time, but not when they guzzle every single cherry – except the sour ones, which theoretically the birds should love even more than the big fat ones, but so far haven't eaten. We might still just get some sour cherry jam this year, which is one of the best jams possible, especially deeply spread on a sponge cake piled with vanilla scented whipped cream.
- wishing the watermelons would grow more than the three leaves they had when I planted them out – the pumpkins are sprinting down the hill, but for some reason the watermelons are on strike;
- watching fat wombats who have lost all interest in carrots or anything other than lush grass, which will be less lush soon if we don't get a good soaking, or continue to get just enough rain every few days to keep it green;
- aha! and listening to the patter on the roof, which began just as I wrote that – according to the radar it's not going to be a proper soaking, but the sprinkle is welcome – especially for the wombats;
- smelling freshly mown grass, and thanking my husband; and
- not planting anything, including the microgreens I have just advocated. The horde arrives soon, which means that this is not the time to tend seedlings.
