It's as regular as the full moon each month or the arrival of the rufous fantail in November: come mid-winter the seed catalogues arrive. For three years I have been virtuously (almost) ignoring them, due to surgery, imminent more surgery, as well as drought and last year's knowledge that bushfires were looming even if those in political power refused to believe the experts. Last winter was not a time to luxuriate with plant catalogues.
Subscribe now for unlimited access.
$0/
(min cost $0)
or signup to continue reading
This year I'm buying seeds.
It's partly because the seeds I like to keep as backup are now getting elderly, and most of the new seeds I don't use this year will still be mostly viable next year, and the year after that. (A few seeds, like parsnip, need to be fresh). But even though we are almost back into drought now, I'm still going to plant spring and summer veg, as I finally have enough energy to bucket water to them if I have to. A few tomato plants, a cucumber vine and parsley and basil, the staples of other years, are suddenly not enough.
Seed catalogues are a joy. Once you have the confidence that those dead specks really will turn into miniature plants within three weeks of planting, you will find a vastly greater variety of seeds that are cheaper and sturdier than those in punnets, most of which have been forced in green houses.
If possible, plant seeds directly into the soil so there's no transplanting shock, but in our climate there are some frost vulnerable veg that are worth starting off on a sunny windowsill, or in a protected glasshouse or tunnel. This year I am finally experimenting with an indoor grow lamp to get good-sized watermelon plants, rockmelons, pumpkin, basil, tomatoes and corn to plant out in late October, and, just possibly, have a crop by Christmas.
And those watermelons! Ours will be mini melons that ripen in 65 days as well as small, super sweet Japanese melons that ripen just a little later. Neighbours down the valley have been gifting us a few homegrown melons each year. In over six decades of dedicated watermelon eating, I have never tasted any as good, or not since I was a kid and picked the wild ones growing on what were the sand hills that have become Surfers Paradise.
This year, too, we will grow three kinds of sweet corn, including purple maize so I can watch the grandkids' faces when they peel back the silk and yell 'It's gone purple Grandma!'.
There will be tiny orange eggplant, because I am the only member of the family who adores eggplant, and as always, apple cucumbers, as they are the hardiest variety in either heat or cold, and the most productive. There will be purple beans and yellow beans and red and white spotted beans to delight the kids.
Even if I don't quite manage to plant, mulch and water everything I have ordered, I have had enormous joy plotting vegie plots, and imagining the kids' faces at the harvest, not to mention the casseroles of eggplant parmigiana which is one of my favourite foods in the world, the corn fresh from the stalk, fresh beans with fresh garlic, olive oil and lemon juice...
The first 'seeds' to go in won't actually be seeds at all but 'seed potatoes', small guaranteed virus free potatoes that should be arriving this week from a specialist supplier. This year I'm planting the low GI Maiflower variety, as well as 'Nicola', an all-round potato that tolerates cold snaps, heat waves, gives prolific crops and is good for baking, mashing or chips.
Other years I've grown Tasmanian Pink eye, which I adore, Kipfler and any purple potatoes. Sadly, we seem to get about four spuds per plant maximum with all of those, so I'm going back to varieties that produce 'lots' instead. Any homegrown spud fresh from the ground is a treat, and a rare one in these days of cheap but elderly supermarket spuds. Wash your homegrown spud well, rub with a tiny amount of olive oil, or don't bother, slash four times so the skins don't explode in the oven, and bake. They will be magnificent. A good harvest of spuds - or even enough to 'bandicoot' by wriggling your hand under the plant to pull out a few small 'new potatoes' - gives an enormous sense of security.
None of us knows what the rest of this year holds in so many aspects of life. But once you order your spring seeds you can be sure of something - unless the wallabies find their way into the garden beds - summer will be delicious.
This week I am:
- Finally pruning the dead wood out of the camellias. Definitely, absolutely. Though probably not tomorrow...
- Blinking at the sasanquas camellias that usually bloom in early autumn, but obviously didn't feel up to it. So they all sprang into bloom yesterday, literally overnight.
- Full of good intentions to eat at least some of the approximately 1000 winter lettuce I rashly planted in autumn, forgetting that in winter I just don't feel like lettuce. Lettuce seed is very small, germinates lavishly and it feels mean not to give every seedling a chance to live.
- Picking the first Earlicheer jonquils, as well as fragrant Paperwhites. The house smells delicious.
- Baking some of last season's garlic: bung the whole bulb in the oven then squeeze the now far milder baked insides onto cheese toasties or pizza or for a more mellow garlic tang, to soup.