On Sunday, before the rain began in earnest, I spent a very happy time pottering about Magic Garden, sprinkling blood and bone like fairy dust and deheading the last of the roses. Miss C helped me plant the first of the broad beans and in the space where most of my echium had been, we made a bed of leeks. During some harsh winds last week, the echium I'd bought at the last Bilpin Rare Plant Fair had had its central stem blown clear away. It had been no bigger than my hand and I'd congratulated myself regularly on how wonderful it was looking. Well over a metre high and a good two wide. Pride goes before a fall, they say...only three lateral branches remain and I'm hoping to encourage them to set root. Who knows if it'll work, I've gone for the layering technique as they were all but on the soil anyway and have heaped some lovely, potent vegie patch mix from Tunks over each. I've a feeling they might be too woody to take, we shall see.

Whilst I was admiring these sasanqua camellias out the front, I was stopped by a gentleman who had known Magic Garden's original owner, Mrs Batty. I often think of her and it tickles me that this happens, people who knew Mrs Batty are so keen to let me know how thrilled she'd be to know her garden was being restored with love and mindfulness. Positive reinforcement makes a world of difference, particularly when it sometimes feels that progress is slow. It's nice to know that others can see the improvement and that the person who had gardened so lavishly and passionately would approve. Well into her nineties, Mrs Batty could be seen working away in the gloaming and I can only hope that I might be just as spry.

Things your mother told you...

No matter how frigid the weather outside, up mountainside if the sun is shining and the wind factor is low, you have to be happy...except if you've sucumbed to some random illness and then given it to both your children. Then malaise of epic proportions sets in and it seems there's not enough stiff up lip in the world to get you out and about. And worst of all, you know that the smallest effort will make all the difference. Sometimes I think my totem animal is the hippotamus, I love a good wallow.

Thankfully, after a week of this carry on, on Saturday I finally managed to shake off the shackles and get out into Magic Garden. A simple afternoon in the autumn sunshine, planting clever clover, radish and more garlic; transplanting some succulents and the last if the butterfly plant.

It's true: fresh air does you the world of good.

finally...

The problem as viewed from Miss C's bedroom.

As I mentioned recently, I have what some might call a procrastination problem...I prefer to reconceptualise this issue as a gestational solutions-based paradigm. Which means, I simply can't stand making a decision for the sake of being able to say I have done. I'd rather take my time and allow the way of proceeding to present itself in the fullness of time. And when it comes pecolating down or bubbling up or however it arrives, it feels good and right and you can move forward knowing you've not wasted time or more frustratingly, money. This approach is more correctly called a discipline, as it requires much; it is especially well suited to matters of the heart...and gardening.

Since we took on Magic Garden, Husbando and I had loosely decided to work front to back; pruning, removing noxious weeds and improving the soil with mushroom compost and sugar cane mulch. Then, the plan was to leave it for a year and see what happened. To be truthful, finances didn't really allow for much else! But now that our self-imposed moratorium on decision making has passed, it feels like it's time to start slowly making some improvements. As always, the onus is there to avoid pointless, pretty, busy work and focus on things that actually need doing. Ah, the conundrums of modern life...what happens when you're aware of what needs to be done but can't decide on the resolution? Enter the gestational solutions-based paradigm and allow the universe to provide!

In the front yard of Magic Garden, there was a clearing that had been loosely paved by very old rock. Nothing too special, it was slippery and uneven and featured a horror show of a blackberry infestation. In my frugal state of mind, I decided that I could use that rock to make an attractive stone wall elsewhere and dug it all out. Of course, the stone wall got waylaid and now I have an even weedier mess than I started with. Oh, the joy of pointless pretty, busy work! However, now that I have repackaged high calibre indecisiveness as a gestational solution-based paradigm, I am proud to announce my course of action has been revealed...in the UK mag, Living etc.


The solution kindly provided by Living etc. May 2011

Using the hot pink rhodo as a central point, recycled sleepers will radiate out like spokes on a bike. These will act like stepping stones of sorts and also break up the expanse of gravel in between. Only question now is what type of gravel? I'm leaning towards crushed pink granite, which should work nicely when the rhodo is in bloom. And if it ever stops raining and we get this project sorted before we see the first blossoms, I'll be very pleased.

I'm a fall...

Every season has it's joys but up here mountainside, it can be hard to decide which season provides the most cause for celebration and delight. Summer is looked upon fondly when warmth seems too far away and spring is all open garden showmanship and the pizazz of petals. Winter is brisk walks and hot chocolate and well, autumn...autumn can feel like the most mixed blessing of all. There's a sadness as the air turns cold, especially this year as we seem to have bypassed the Indian summer of years gone by. I hope this is just a meteorological blip and not further climate change confusion; I love how crisp mornings burn off into long, hot afternoons, just perfect for finishing off those little jobs as the last of daylight savings ebbs away. But c'est la vie, not to be this year and so this post is a simple share and declare. I hope you enjoy the colours of Magic Garden in all it's autumnal finery.

The beautiful weeping maple that is the autumn's centrepiece in out front yard. I have enlarged the bed beneath it and will be planting daffodil bulbs this weekend...rain, hail, preferably shine.

Ugg boots have replaced thongs in my gardening footwear selection. FYI: they have been waterproofed.

Dusky red sedum, another gratefully received donation from my lovely next door neighbour.

Prehistoric mystery plant...the flowers (fruit?) look like they should be swaying beneath the sea...in an octopus's garden, in the shade.


Definitely fruit this time! This viburnum is just to the right of where my grand plan vegie patch will be situated. Now, if only I could lock off the design as I really want to have this patch up and running for next summer. Whilst I'm a big believer the positives of procrastination; I feel that a period of gestation allows the right path to come forward. Sometimes, though, you just have to make a decision or otherwise, life just keeps passing you by.

This is the type of countenance I strive for when gardening. She is tremendously tacky and definitely not what Husbando has in mind for the Magic Garden sculpture park! But for some reason, she and her smaller twin stay insitu.

The last of summer's sweetpeas...oh, the sadness.

larvae maria!

The beast with two backs has bred! I wasn't sure at the time, whether I had actually caught the lady beetle inflagrante or if it was simply one rude beetle trampling over another but now with the help of wikipedia, I am sure. The fuzzy yellow sausage on the left is the larva which changes skins four times before pupation occurs. Four times! Basically, the skin doesn't grow with the beetle, so the old skin splits and a new larger skin is revealed beneath. If only my battles with dress size was so easily resolved. And unlike many insects, the larvae do not have the protection of a cocoon as they go into the pupate stage. I had been perplexed by this process as the newly revealed beetles seem to have especially soft, almost dull shells. It is though only time and exposure to air will harden them up. I tried to capture this delicate stage in the image on the left but for once, the iPhone camera has let me down.

Thanks to kidcyber.com.au for this delightful image.

I have been so excited to see the next generation of lady beetles emerge in Magic Garden. Not only are they fun to watch with little kids, they do a marvellous job of helping to keep the aphid and scale population in check. Plus, they are simply gorgeous little spots of colour. Though if you check the site below, you'll see that many species of lady beetle are actually grey or brown or black. What fascinating creatures they are!

http://www.ento.csiro.au/biology/ladybirds/imageGallery.php?pageNo=3

On one of our frequent lady beetle inspections, divine miss C and I uncovered this bobbydazzler of a zucchini turned marrow. I was sure it'd be rotten on the underside considering just how wet it's been but no, this marrow was intact and ready to eat. Thanks to Stephanie Alexander for the handy marrow scale of measurement (somehow a matchbox just wouldn't cut it!) and also for her spag bog recipe, which in a very pleasing instance of serendipity, I had made a batch of the day before. I do love a spot of freezer stockpiling and long for the day when I have a more freezer real estate.

It's easy when you cook in a solarium...

Voila! Marrow stuffed with Bolognaise! As I already had the spag bog sorted, this dinner was as easy as slicing the marrow and scooping out the seedy centre. I mixed the seedy goodness back into the bolognaise and then whacked it back into the marrow boat. Husbando grated some cheese over the top and we popped it in the oven at around 180 degrees C. 45 minutes later, the marrow was soft with the bolognaise's oily goodness and we served it up with garlic bread and broccoli. Delicious and even tastier for having used the marrow.

Under the rainbow

Straight from the Digger's Catalogue

There are many ways to celebrate St Patrick's Day but for this lady gardener, it's never been about drinking copious amounts of green beer. I like to speak to my grandmother as it's her birthday and then follow up with a sweet pea planting extravaganza. For some reason, St Patrick's Day is the traditional day to plant peas in the Southern Hemisphere, though apparently you have until Anzac Day to get your seeds in place. I've tried to find out why St Pat's is the day but to no avail. I wonder if it might be as simple as tying the reminder to an actual 'day' is a good way to get it into people's consciousness. However, today is a drizzly delight and not so conducive to planting with my 3 and a half year old helper in tow plus the seeds I've ordered ('Painted Lady' and 'Matcuana' from the Digger's Club catalogue) haven't arrived yet. This is no fault of the Digger's, my deliberations took an overly long time. I'll use the seeds I saved from this summer's flowers as well but I'd like to introduce more reds and pinks this time round and start moving away from quite so much purple.


With a quiet day planned, only so much lego can be built and fairy snap played so I needed to come up with an alternate St Pat's Day plan fast. I've been meaning to make a batch of green tomato chutney for weeks now and today proved to be perfect. Serendipity at its finest! I collected a good 2 kilos of green tomatoes while Miss E was sleeping and Miss C was busy with Play School. Half an hour later, we were in business. The beauty of of this chutney is two-fold; by removing some of the green fruit, it frees up the plant's energy to ripen up the remainder. This is specially helpful if your summer hasn't been consistently hot and let's you utilise fruit that may have spilt due to too much rain following intense heat. This year, the mountains seem to have had every possible permutation. The second advantage is that green tomato chutney is quite simply and totally delicious, well worth stock piling. I find it really hard to get the keep/give away ratio right and by the time I've run out, I'm cursing my largess. If only there wasa reliable way to estimate how much chutney I'll need to last through to next year...


The littlest sous chef in action - love that motion blur!

The recipe I use is very simple and based onthe one in the Australian Women's Weekly's 'Book of Perserves.' I'm not sure if this treasure is still in print but it's a fabulous resource so snap it up if you come across it on ebay or at a garage sale. AWW say to use dry mustard powder but I prefer to use freshly roasted mustard seeds, ground in a mortar and pestle.



You'll need:

1 kilo of green tomatoes, washed and roughly chopped
- feel free to throw in some ripe ones if you can't quite make up the full kilo
1 large onion, red or brown, whatever's in the pantry
1 cup cider vinegar
3/4 cup raw sugar
2 tsp freshly ground mustard seeds
1 tsp curry powder
1 tsp tumeric
1/4 tsp chilli powder
1 tbsp cider vinegar
1 tbsp cornflour

Throw all the ingredients, except for the last tbsp of vinegar and cornflour.
Bring to the boil and then simmer covered for 40 mins until the mixture is pulpy.
Then ass the remaining vinegar and cornflour and stir until the mixture boils again and thickens.



Quite the tub ring in this shot...


While the mixture is still hot, pour into hot sterilised jars and then seal once cold. For more infomation on sterilisation, check Google. I cheat and use the baby's steriliser in the microwave.

All that's missing from this picture are the gingham lids tied with apron strings of love!

Whilst this chutney doesn't look the prettiest, it is super tasty and loves to served with any type of pork product, a sharp cheddar or the vegetable and lentil pie from Hominy bakery in Katoomba.

Please note: I am the queen of not necessarily following recipes to the letter. this batch, I forgot to 'cover and simmer for 40 mins' and instead I just let it simmer for hours on end. As the pot I used was extremely heavy, this took hours. If dancing you're own steps here like moi, take to keep stirring as you don't want the mix to burn and catch on the bottom. This recipe should make approx. 3 cups but I did a double batch and that's why there are so many more jars in the final shot above. Such a bounty, I'm well pleased with myself.

I'll be with you in cherry blossom time...

Early last spring, Husbando and I found ourselves off to Young, NSW. Australia's cherry capital is still an old fashioned country town, the main drag is wide and quickly leads to the industrial end of town. There's only the slightest whiff of gentrification, with a combo deli-cafe on Boowora St and the local interior designer's HQ in the block behind. Good design is needed everywhere, I guess. As blossoms had begun to pop mountainside, I was anticipating a fervent show from the local fruit trees but I was to be disappointed with the exception of the geranium below.

And this is where I must make a confession...on occasion, I am inclined to theft. Never anything with an actual price tag, almost only ever snatches of geranium and pelagoriums. However, this instance is a sobering one as I quite willfully and in broad daylight, snapped off three pieces of this geranium...which was found outside the church where the funeral we'd attended had been held. As my hand reached out, I remember thinking that this could risk the wrath of god* but the garish colour held sway and I plucked away, quickly jamming the pieces into my handbag. At home, I popped them in some water and waited for them to grow roots before planting them out.

Of course, it is far nicer practise to approach the owner of the plant you'd like to pilfer and ask if they'd mind if you took a cutting. Most gardeners enjoy the complement and are more than happy to oblige, particularly if you whip out your own secateurs, rather than just breaking plants willy-nilly. Alas, my manners where somewhere else that day and I didn't find the priest who officiated to ask if he felt his God would mind. Obviously he did as a couple of weeks later, I got to my front door where I'd recently planted out some salmon coloured geranium cuttings and they'd disappeared. Spooky! I think I have really pissed off a god that I'm not even sure I believe in...I kid you not!

*nb: small g is intentional in a multi-denominational world, in encouragement of a more pluralistic sense of spirituality. I'm not sure how I can really justify my behaviour that day except to say that when the two surviving cuttings are really flourishing, I intend to give one to the person whose father we farewelled that day. But what to say?