The Cutting of the Pumpkin
You know it's truly autumn when you cut your first pumpkin. Sensible gardeners will have grown the smaller, faster growing pumpkins that can be eaten in a single meal. Traditional gardeners may grow a few of those too - but it doesn't truly feel like winter till you plunge a knife to a hard-skinned monster pumpkin.
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There are several tricks to this. One is to use an axe instead of a knife. Another is to stab the pumpkin then throw the pumpkin, still with the knife embedded into it, onto a cement floor - not tiled, or you may crack the floor, not the pumpkin. The pumpkin should then split into manageable bits. Hunks of pumpkin can be more easily peeled by microwaving them for about 30 seconds then letting them cool.
There is no getting away from the fact that big, hard-skinned pumpkins have better textured flesh than the new easy-to-peel varieties, the kind that can be slowly cooked for two hours to true sweet pumpkiness. The smaller ones may be sweet, but simply don't have the same density of taste or texture.
I've recently discovered the maple syrup trick - dribble about a teaspoon on each hunk of pumpkin you bake. This doesn't so much make the flesh sweeter as draw out the juice, so the piece of pumpkin shrinks to about a third its original size and increases its flavour tenfold. The result is firm, not fibrous, and irresistible.
The Flouring of the Cabbages
This isn't an ancient fertility ritual, just a relatively old-fashioned way to kill the caterpillars that devastate your cabbages or curl up inside to add some unwanted protein to a cabbage stir-fry. Springle flour between the leaves. Repeat after watering and rain. That's all. Ingesting flour kills cabbage white and cabbage moth caterpillars. Hopefully the flour will sift down between the leaves, tempting all caterpillars who have squeezed inside.
The Gathering of the Autumn Leaves
Leave autumn foliage on the ground till it turns brown and yuk - half the glory of autumn leaves is the red, gold or orange carpet they create after they've fallen. Now either rake them up into piles, or put the catcher on the mower and mow over them, both shredding the leaves and collecting them at the same time. Do not use a leaf blower. The sound irritates neighbours, from birds to cats to humans, and hefting the thing is as much work as raking or sweeping the paving, both of which are better exercise and less likely to wear out your knees and hips with the weight of a noisy appliance.
The Gathering of the Compost
This is the time to build a compost heap of layers of old corn stalks, prunings, and autumn leaves, making sure all is light and airy. Sprinkle with blood and bone or old hen manure or any organic fertiliser, water well, then toss around every week or so for the most brilliant soft, moisture-retaining fertile compost to use as mulch or seed raising mix in spring.
The Mooch Along the Streets
The Autumn Mooch is an old Canberra tradition dating back to at least 1954. Try to decide exactly which street in Canberra has the most stunning autumn leaves. Usually this is one of the older streets, with big old trees, but new plantings mean new contenders every year. There is something serenely satisfying about spending an afternoon gazing at autumn coloured trees.
The Picnic below the Autumn Leaves
This may be the last of the picnic weather till late spring. Take a blanket to sit on, a basket containing much varied deliciousness, and a thermos or six of anything from soup to tea to ginger sorbet. Find a tree with bright autumn leaves and sit below it. Traditionally every leaf that lands on you will give you a month of good luck in the year to come. If you sit under the tree long enough you might even accumulate enough luck to spread to others. This has been a stinker of a year for many of us - a few basketsful of luck to spread around is a Good Thing.
This week I am:
- Picking the first confused jonquils that decided the recent cold snap was winter and are blooming up by the lemon trees.
- Discovering that if you leave green native limes on the tree long enough they turn bright yellow, large, and rather coarse inside, with a few seeds that you can plant to grow more native limes.
- Working out where to plant three more date palms having discovered that date palms will actually fruit in our climate, even if not every year.
- Explaining to the hens that it is not yet mid-winter; they are still young, well fed and cosseted, so should be giving us a lot more eggs. Please.
- Very, very gradually getting rid of the weeds from three years of drought and three months of bushfire followed by four floods, mostly using a whipper-snipper and grass seeds. Another decade of slash and seed might do it.
- Doing the Araluen equivalent of a rain dance, which involves dashing out into the garden with bags of organic fertiliser as soon as it begins to rain, and throwing the stuff madly under the fruit trees to soak into the wet soil, then heading back in to wash my now filthy clothes and even grubbier self.