If you had told me a few weeks ago that you were trying to grow tomatoes outside during the winter, I would probably have looked at you incredulously and wished you luck. It just can't be done, because tomatoes are a tropical crop that we grow during our summers like an annual. But perhaps I have been wrong.
Yet again our first tomatoes ripened in early January, and the plants were all but done at the end of March. That's only three months of tomato production in a climate that is reliably frost-free for nine months of the year! So in a quest to conquer tomato production I went on a global research quest (courtesy of Google of course) to discover varieties that might significantly lengthen our tomato season. And the result of this was a crash course in tomatology, and some glimmers of hope for tomatoes in the cooler months.
The tomato is native to western South America and belongs to the genus Lycopersicon, which has around 10 species. Tomatoes are thought to have been first domesticated by the Aztecs over 2000 years ago, and tomatoes were widely cultivated in Mexico by the 1500s. Following the Spanish invasion of Central America, the tomato was then spread to Europe and the Phillipines, and subsequently, to the remainder of the world.
The existence of 10 species in the genus Lycopersicon is the critical factor that allowed the development of the phenomenal number of tomato varieties that exist today. All species in the genus can interbreed, with new varieties arising from crossings and chance mutations. Wild tomato varieties are still being used as a genetic resource to impart traits such as salt and drought tolerance (from a species native to the Galapagos Islands) and disease resistance. Specific varieties have also been developed to best fit the climate where they are grown, from localities as widely spread as Siberia, southern Canada, China, Ukraine, Ethiopia, and New Zealand. Seed catalogues in New Zealand list up to 166 tomato varieties (e.g. www.bristol.co.nz) but globally, estimates range from at least 10,000 varieties, to a mind-numbing 25,000 (US Department of Agriculture). So surely, somewhere out there, is a variety that will extend our fruiting season.
Tomatoes can be red, green, yellow, orange, purple, white, or green, and round, oblong, turban-shaped, or pleated. Size can range from the size of a currant, to a whopping 3.5 kg (a variety called "Delicious"). The variety of names is extraordinary, reflecting the wide geographic spread of tomato cultivation, and I suspect to some degree, breeder fanaticism. So step aside Beefsteak and Russian Red. Here's my pick for the best or most bizarre variety names (well, the ones that are for general audiences anyway...)
Stupice (maybe this tomato lacks intelligence?)
Stump of the World (absolutely no idea what was being aimed for here!)
Silvery Fir Tree (multi-use for timber?)
Amazon Chocolate (now that sounds good)
Green Sausage (sausage-shaped, and striped yellow and green)
Hawaiian Pineapple (massive tomato, yellowy green)
Missouri Love Apple
Heritage #624 ex Bob Lord (now there's a marketable name....)
Dancing with Smurfs (red with a blue cap)
Geza's Strawberry Potato (hey everyone, this year I'm growing Geza's Strawberry Potato Tomatoes....)
The most exhaustive list I have found so far, with links to further details of each variety, is on the website linked below:
http://t.tatianastomatobase.com:88/wiki/Category:Tomato_Variety_List
For me though, selecting tomato varieties is not just about length of season, but also taste, colour, size, and disease tolerance. I want naturally-healthy tomato plants that produce lots of good tasting fruit over a long season. After pouring through a multitude of websites, and learning about everything from tomato festivals to online tomato forums, I came up with a short-list. I will be trialing these and with a bit of luck, I might be able to grow tomatoes in the winter too.
My top picks are as follows:
Siberian
Subarctic Plenty
Oregon Spring
Paul Robeson
Stupice
Sunsets Red Horizon
Red Currant
Japanese Black Trifele (which hails from the Ukraine, of course)
So its now mid-autumn, and I'm sowing tomato seeds. Madness? I'll keep you posted.
Tim
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Current tasks in the garden (early-mid Autumn)
Harvesting now:
Capsicums
Mesclun
Swiss Chard
Strawberries
Raspberries
Rhubarb
White Welsh Onions
Apples
Peaches
Sowing now:
Lettuces
Tomatoes
Spring Onion
Mesclun
Transplanting now:
Broccoli
Cauliflower
Beetroot
Brussels Sprouts
Lettuces
Stumble It! 
The Weed Oxymoron
My garden has many weeds, which draws me to ponder just what they really are. Common definitions of weeds often revolve around them being "unwanted plants" or "plants without value", so what is a weed is heavily dependent on context. For example, a walnut tree could be a valued plant if it was growing in an orchard, or an unwanted plant, and therefore a weed, if it grew on a sports field.
So this makes me wonder just how weedy my garden actually is. The more uses I have for weeds, the more they are wanted, and the less weeds, by definition, I have. I can passively weed the garden by doing nothing but changing my philosophy.
So there are really three types of plants in my garden, species that are intentionally propagated, species that were originally planted but now self-seed to form sustaining populations, and species that, through neglect or oversight, grow there unassisted. Some of the latter are true weeds, unwanted in any form, whilst others I am discovering, are not actually weeds at all.
Its midsummer at the moment. Most of our salad greens have turned bitter or bolted to seed, and it takes quite a bit of foraging to harvest a salad - a few remaining lettuce leaves, tat soi, chicory, the last of last winter's corn salad, and some sorrel. Yesterday, while picking such a salad I remembered the edible qualities of young dandelion leaves. Sweet, and I was soon to learn, rich in a multitude of minerals and vitamins, including folate, Vitamin A, Vitamin C, Magnesium, Calcium, and many others. Despite my best efforts, dandelions grow with wild abandon from the paths, garden edges, and forgotten corners of my garden. Tentatively tasting the young shoots I had the epiphany that this plant was actually an overlooked and under-utilised resource. I successfully unleashed the leaves on unsuspecting dinner guests, and a new vegetable was born. Dandelion has joined the growing list of "self-sown" vegetables on offer, and another weed is gone.
So what 'wanted weeds' are there in your garden?
So this makes me wonder just how weedy my garden actually is. The more uses I have for weeds, the more they are wanted, and the less weeds, by definition, I have. I can passively weed the garden by doing nothing but changing my philosophy.
So there are really three types of plants in my garden, species that are intentionally propagated, species that were originally planted but now self-seed to form sustaining populations, and species that, through neglect or oversight, grow there unassisted. Some of the latter are true weeds, unwanted in any form, whilst others I am discovering, are not actually weeds at all.
Its midsummer at the moment. Most of our salad greens have turned bitter or bolted to seed, and it takes quite a bit of foraging to harvest a salad - a few remaining lettuce leaves, tat soi, chicory, the last of last winter's corn salad, and some sorrel. Yesterday, while picking such a salad I remembered the edible qualities of young dandelion leaves. Sweet, and I was soon to learn, rich in a multitude of minerals and vitamins, including folate, Vitamin A, Vitamin C, Magnesium, Calcium, and many others. Despite my best efforts, dandelions grow with wild abandon from the paths, garden edges, and forgotten corners of my garden. Tentatively tasting the young shoots I had the epiphany that this plant was actually an overlooked and under-utilised resource. I successfully unleashed the leaves on unsuspecting dinner guests, and a new vegetable was born. Dandelion has joined the growing list of "self-sown" vegetables on offer, and another weed is gone.
So what 'wanted weeds' are there in your garden?
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| Dandelion on the garden path |
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| All of our swiss chard (silverbeet) is produced by letting them grow wherever they self-seed. |
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| I wasn't planning on growing pumpkin this year, but nature had other ideas. This pumpkin plant germinated from our compost. |
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| Self-sown tomato "Gold Nugget". We often get our late tomato crop (March-May) from self-sown plants that germinate in November-December. |
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| A self-sown parsnip that will now provide the seeds for a self-sown crop in the winter-spring of 2014 |
Summer
Summer, my favourite time of year. The heat, the sunshine, the sudden downpours in the afternoons that drench the ground and cool the air. The garden is lush and burgeoning with food, and the kids spend hour upon hour playing in the yard. The sprinkler often doubles as a garden watering device and child coolant.
Our tomatoes have rocketed up their stakes and now reach the eaves of our house. The beans are beaning, and the summer onslaught of seemingly endless courgettes has begun. The apple trees are laden, and we have a slow but steady trickle of strawberries and raspberries. Fresh-picked salads are a regular part of our diet, and we are working our way through the last of the potato crop. I delight in simple meals that have been completely home-grown and caught - early season potatoes, salad, and snapper caught off the west coast. We can even cook the fish in olive oil produced on family land in Northland. These meals may not cost much, but its dining that makes me feel like a king. Nature's riches are more profound than bank notes.
Within 6 m of the walls of our home there are lettuces, sweet corn, beans, tomatoes, squash, rockmelon, rhubarb, tomatillo, strawberries, swiss chard, capers, raspberries, onions, blackberries, boysenberries, grape, apples, peaches, cucumber, courgettes, kale, mizuna, tat soi, lemons, limes, oranges, Jerusalem artichoke, potatoes, rosemary, sage, parsley, thyme, basil, coriander, and avocado. Our yard is not large, but everything is crammed in, forming a visual riot of production. And whilst I yearn for a larger garden, our current home has taught me just how much you can do with what you have got.
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| Courgette "Gold Rush" |
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| Tomatillo - a Mexican fruit that tastes like a lime-infused tomato |
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| Dwarf beans |
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| Espaliered Fuji apples |
For me, producing food from the land is a blessing and a real privilege.
"The foolish man seeks happiness in the distance, the wise grows it under his feet."
James Oppenheim
I write therefore I....
Blogging. I am often driven to wrestle my thoughts onto paper and send them off into the electronic ether. Sometimes, I admit, it simply acts as therapy. It allows me to take hold of random thoughts, to view them at a distance, and to make sense of them. At other times, I think I am clear and decisive about what needs to be said - I feel an urge to say things that need to be expressed, to hopefully inspire or challenge, or to simply share knowledge.
I believe that writing can give people a voice. In a world of six billion people, it is easy to have a false sense of the insignificance of an individual. What effect can one person have? And how many people think like me? For when I see actions and events so contrary to the very core of my being, the frustration is that I can feel alone. But you reading this blog assures me that there are many people, be they in my home country, Russia, Germany, China, or Kenya, that relate to the thoughts I express here. Most of you I have never met, but I want to say I appreciate your readership.
Not that I view myself as perfect by any means of course. I am inconsistent. I can be thoughtless. I seek reconciliation between who I am and who I want to be, and often I fail. I need to remind myself that I can simply make the best use of who I am to make this world better. Even if it's just for one person, somehow, somewhere. And part of this journey for me is to write, and hopefully something I write might resonate with a reader.
For I wholeheartedly and firmly believe that everyone is deeply significant. We are all meant to be here and each one of us can achieve good that only we can achieve. We have all been made to be vital, creative, impacting people, who, through a deep and truthful sense of who we are, can change the world around us. First think me, then my neighbour, then the world. Person by person, city by city, nation by nation. Grandiose? Maybe. But people are meant to be visionary, it's a part of who we are. Like it or not we are completely and utterly changing our world. The question is, which way will we help it to go?
I believe that writing can give people a voice. In a world of six billion people, it is easy to have a false sense of the insignificance of an individual. What effect can one person have? And how many people think like me? For when I see actions and events so contrary to the very core of my being, the frustration is that I can feel alone. But you reading this blog assures me that there are many people, be they in my home country, Russia, Germany, China, or Kenya, that relate to the thoughts I express here. Most of you I have never met, but I want to say I appreciate your readership.
Not that I view myself as perfect by any means of course. I am inconsistent. I can be thoughtless. I seek reconciliation between who I am and who I want to be, and often I fail. I need to remind myself that I can simply make the best use of who I am to make this world better. Even if it's just for one person, somehow, somewhere. And part of this journey for me is to write, and hopefully something I write might resonate with a reader.
For I wholeheartedly and firmly believe that everyone is deeply significant. We are all meant to be here and each one of us can achieve good that only we can achieve. We have all been made to be vital, creative, impacting people, who, through a deep and truthful sense of who we are, can change the world around us. First think me, then my neighbour, then the world. Person by person, city by city, nation by nation. Grandiose? Maybe. But people are meant to be visionary, it's a part of who we are. Like it or not we are completely and utterly changing our world. The question is, which way will we help it to go?
Love and Freedom
My parents gave me great riches. Not the material kind of course, but an inheritance of far greater intrinsic value. Who I am, they played a key role in nurturing and forming. And that, I think, is a critical part of a parent's love for a child.
I don't think my mother and father raised me with preordained ideas as who I should be. They certainly didn't try to fulfill any of their lost dreams by foisting them on to me - I would have made a very poor nuclear physicist, my father's first academic love. And I wasn't pushed or prodded into any childhood hobbies. There were no piano lessons, no after-school school cricket, no French lessons. But I wasn't ignored or left in want of attention either. Instead, my parents sought to understand my natural leanings, and then to encourage these to their utmost.
And my natural leanings, to many, were in hindsight a bit odd. I wasn't a typical kid. Sure I occasionally played with action men, blowing them up by strapping fire-crackers to their chests. I even dabbled for one season in rugby, playing for Marist as a rather small and lazy-eyed nine-year old. But my lack of hand-eye coordination, still little improved, probably made it quite a relief that my real passions lay elsewhere. And there began a career that I still have today.
For as far back as primary school, the natural world around me enraptured my attention. My ideal Saturday would be to go to a local drain, so I could traipse through the water and muck finding pond snails, leeches, and water-boatmen. As a young child I didn't roam the neighborhood on my own of course - while other parents watched their kids from the sideline, mine watched me from the stream side. Then I would take them home and study them under a desk lamp, making scientific observations in a notebook on behaviour, habitat, or diet. And my interests didn't stop at bugs. I remember one day gathering my plant collection together in a row on the deck, then marching my entire family dutifully past them as I staged a "plant exhibition". I guess my sister was long-suffering also.
On a steady diet of "childrens" books, including the authors David Attenborough and Gerald Durrell, I saw myself as a true-blue animal collector. The only bounds my parents placed on this was a rat ban - one family member who can remain anonymous had, and still has, muriphobia. I milked these wide boundaries for all they were worth. I raised tadpoles to frogs in my bedroom, and had multiple fish tanks, axolotyls, rabbits, skinks, ringneck parakeets, finches, and cockatiels. And in addition to these the family pets added, at various points in time, dogs, cats, goats, possums, chickens, and bees. The schools I went to weren't exempt either. I kept a plant collection in my Standard 3 classroom, that I would diligently air outside at lunchtimes for extra light, and at intermediate school I kept a tank of golden bell frogs in the school library. This was probably in hindsight not a good call - I would spend many lunchtimes catching flies by the school compost heap, much to the ridicule of my ball-sport playing peers. Eventually the frog's incessant croaking made the librarian request their removal - "the library is a quiet place". I was not to be deterred. Tanks and their denizens continued to multiply and by the age of 14, I had a dedicated fish-room in the downstairs basement. I remember having shelves after shelves all stacked with tanks, and breeding creatures to feed to breeding creatures. I had whole food-chains going with predators and prey.
And yet my parent's still encouraged me. Not phased by the prospect of old age without a white-collared son to support them, they fostered this mad love of the living. There was no pressure at high school to take one subject over another - only to make sure I selected the subjects I loved. So I finished my schooling with an eclectic mix of English, Sciences, and Practical Art. I even had their encouragement to pursue a double degree in Fine Arts and Science though, as it turned out, the university couldn't cope with such a disparate conjoint degree. I remember my dad disparagingly discussing what the university would have done if Leonardo da Vinci had wanted to do the same!
And so childhood passions, fostered by loving parents, had the freedom to flourish into the interests of a lifetime. Entering university, I finally found "critical mass" of like-minded people. My hobbies were no longer strange and I pursued my academic interests unhindered through a BSc, MSc, and PhD. Perhaps my parents knew all along that a child will find success in the working world if they love what they do. Now for work, I sometimes find myself thrown back 30 years. Dredging through a drain to discover what lives there, or catching fish, I sometimes think "I am paid to do this??!!"
So this is a big public "thank you" to my parents for their incredible love and freedom. You allowed me to become who I was meant to be. I await the blossoming of my children's interests with anticipation.
I don't think my mother and father raised me with preordained ideas as who I should be. They certainly didn't try to fulfill any of their lost dreams by foisting them on to me - I would have made a very poor nuclear physicist, my father's first academic love. And I wasn't pushed or prodded into any childhood hobbies. There were no piano lessons, no after-school school cricket, no French lessons. But I wasn't ignored or left in want of attention either. Instead, my parents sought to understand my natural leanings, and then to encourage these to their utmost.
And my natural leanings, to many, were in hindsight a bit odd. I wasn't a typical kid. Sure I occasionally played with action men, blowing them up by strapping fire-crackers to their chests. I even dabbled for one season in rugby, playing for Marist as a rather small and lazy-eyed nine-year old. But my lack of hand-eye coordination, still little improved, probably made it quite a relief that my real passions lay elsewhere. And there began a career that I still have today.
For as far back as primary school, the natural world around me enraptured my attention. My ideal Saturday would be to go to a local drain, so I could traipse through the water and muck finding pond snails, leeches, and water-boatmen. As a young child I didn't roam the neighborhood on my own of course - while other parents watched their kids from the sideline, mine watched me from the stream side. Then I would take them home and study them under a desk lamp, making scientific observations in a notebook on behaviour, habitat, or diet. And my interests didn't stop at bugs. I remember one day gathering my plant collection together in a row on the deck, then marching my entire family dutifully past them as I staged a "plant exhibition". I guess my sister was long-suffering also.
On a steady diet of "childrens" books, including the authors David Attenborough and Gerald Durrell, I saw myself as a true-blue animal collector. The only bounds my parents placed on this was a rat ban - one family member who can remain anonymous had, and still has, muriphobia. I milked these wide boundaries for all they were worth. I raised tadpoles to frogs in my bedroom, and had multiple fish tanks, axolotyls, rabbits, skinks, ringneck parakeets, finches, and cockatiels. And in addition to these the family pets added, at various points in time, dogs, cats, goats, possums, chickens, and bees. The schools I went to weren't exempt either. I kept a plant collection in my Standard 3 classroom, that I would diligently air outside at lunchtimes for extra light, and at intermediate school I kept a tank of golden bell frogs in the school library. This was probably in hindsight not a good call - I would spend many lunchtimes catching flies by the school compost heap, much to the ridicule of my ball-sport playing peers. Eventually the frog's incessant croaking made the librarian request their removal - "the library is a quiet place". I was not to be deterred. Tanks and their denizens continued to multiply and by the age of 14, I had a dedicated fish-room in the downstairs basement. I remember having shelves after shelves all stacked with tanks, and breeding creatures to feed to breeding creatures. I had whole food-chains going with predators and prey.
And yet my parent's still encouraged me. Not phased by the prospect of old age without a white-collared son to support them, they fostered this mad love of the living. There was no pressure at high school to take one subject over another - only to make sure I selected the subjects I loved. So I finished my schooling with an eclectic mix of English, Sciences, and Practical Art. I even had their encouragement to pursue a double degree in Fine Arts and Science though, as it turned out, the university couldn't cope with such a disparate conjoint degree. I remember my dad disparagingly discussing what the university would have done if Leonardo da Vinci had wanted to do the same!
And so childhood passions, fostered by loving parents, had the freedom to flourish into the interests of a lifetime. Entering university, I finally found "critical mass" of like-minded people. My hobbies were no longer strange and I pursued my academic interests unhindered through a BSc, MSc, and PhD. Perhaps my parents knew all along that a child will find success in the working world if they love what they do. Now for work, I sometimes find myself thrown back 30 years. Dredging through a drain to discover what lives there, or catching fish, I sometimes think "I am paid to do this??!!"
So this is a big public "thank you" to my parents for their incredible love and freedom. You allowed me to become who I was meant to be. I await the blossoming of my children's interests with anticipation.
I grew a tree
I grew a tree. Not just any tree, but a Dunn's white gum (Eucalyptus dunnii). Heralding from southern Queensland and northern New South Wales, this spectacular gum tree grows to 50 m tall, with a smooth trunk, coloured white or grey. A friend of mine imported some seed from the Queensland Forestry Department, and knowing that I was plant-mad (even as a teenager), he gave some seed to me. So 19 years ago, at the age of 16, I sowed some seeds.
They were tiny, like short lengths of orangy-red hair. Small and light enough to disperse by simply being blown about in the wind. And after they germinated, I planted three small seedlings on a hillside near a stream, at a place called Takou Bay, Northland. In this far and often neglected corner of the family farm, the young trees grew, fighting through the gorse to reach the Northland sun. And each year, they faithfully converted soil nutrients, the sun's rays, and rain into an ever accumulating biomass of roots, trunk, branches and leaves. That little seed contained all the templates needed to be a Dunn's white gum. Yes, it's just the growth of a plant, a biological process that occurs in most places, across the globe, day after day. But for some reason I never cease to marvel at this miracle. That something so small can grow to colossal proportions.
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Already, for this Dunn's white gum, the youthful exuberance of rapid growth is giving way to maturity. It now stands tall in the landscape, providing shade and shelter, and flowers and seeds will soon be forthcoming. Many storms have assailed it, but have only succeeded in adding to its character. Gnarled branches and tree holes mark the location of past wounds, but only add to the tree's beauty.
Unbeknownst to me then, the place where this tree grows would become deeply rooted as a part of my life. I have sown, planted, harvested, and consumed from this land ever since, the very soils of the place becoming engrained in my skin and psyche. And as I think about the passage of time between then and now, I realise that the growth of trees is an incredibly apt marker for a man's passage of time. The trees and I, we grow old together.
They were tiny, like short lengths of orangy-red hair. Small and light enough to disperse by simply being blown about in the wind. And after they germinated, I planted three small seedlings on a hillside near a stream, at a place called Takou Bay, Northland. In this far and often neglected corner of the family farm, the young trees grew, fighting through the gorse to reach the Northland sun. And each year, they faithfully converted soil nutrients, the sun's rays, and rain into an ever accumulating biomass of roots, trunk, branches and leaves. That little seed contained all the templates needed to be a Dunn's white gum. Yes, it's just the growth of a plant, a biological process that occurs in most places, across the globe, day after day. But for some reason I never cease to marvel at this miracle. That something so small can grow to colossal proportions.
.JPG)
Already, for this Dunn's white gum, the youthful exuberance of rapid growth is giving way to maturity. It now stands tall in the landscape, providing shade and shelter, and flowers and seeds will soon be forthcoming. Many storms have assailed it, but have only succeeded in adding to its character. Gnarled branches and tree holes mark the location of past wounds, but only add to the tree's beauty.
Unbeknownst to me then, the place where this tree grows would become deeply rooted as a part of my life. I have sown, planted, harvested, and consumed from this land ever since, the very soils of the place becoming engrained in my skin and psyche. And as I think about the passage of time between then and now, I realise that the growth of trees is an incredibly apt marker for a man's passage of time. The trees and I, we grow old together.
Rain
The rain drenched me. Large drops, falling on my head, slipped down my face and fell to the dirt. It didn't chill me, it warmed me. The first real rain for several months, this drought-breaking rain was a gift, and it lifted my soul. Working alongside me was my son, Shepard, who at only 20 months old would already rather be outside with me, whatever the weather. His little body was soaked, but ever-determined, he wrestled with a full-size garden fork, turning the soil.
Sensing the opportunity of the moment, I had come outside to plant, and he had followed. The seemingly ever present heat of the sun had made transplanting a difficult task; small seedlings had wilted in the heat, despite judicious watering, their disturbed roots struggling to transport adequate water from roots to xylem to leaves. But today was different. The heat of the sun was tempered by rain; the water was drops of delightful coolness. A moment to plant.
So that is what we were doing. A father, a son, six lettuce plants, and a punnet of coriander. And thinking about today, now late at night and my family asleep, I sense something ordinarily mundane had become a lasting memory. Inked deeply into my mind like a cerebral tattoo. A moment of togetherness with a common purpose. And after a summer of parched earth and failing crops its enough to keep me going. The prospect of the autumn rains, a refreshed land, and a deepening relationship between a father and a much loved son.
Blessings,
Tim
Sensing the opportunity of the moment, I had come outside to plant, and he had followed. The seemingly ever present heat of the sun had made transplanting a difficult task; small seedlings had wilted in the heat, despite judicious watering, their disturbed roots struggling to transport adequate water from roots to xylem to leaves. But today was different. The heat of the sun was tempered by rain; the water was drops of delightful coolness. A moment to plant.
So that is what we were doing. A father, a son, six lettuce plants, and a punnet of coriander. And thinking about today, now late at night and my family asleep, I sense something ordinarily mundane had become a lasting memory. Inked deeply into my mind like a cerebral tattoo. A moment of togetherness with a common purpose. And after a summer of parched earth and failing crops its enough to keep me going. The prospect of the autumn rains, a refreshed land, and a deepening relationship between a father and a much loved son.
Blessings,
Tim
The Interconnected Garden: A Parable of Community
We all need each other. It doesn't matter our gifts or talents, our faults or failings, we all have a role to play in sustaining each other, and enriching each others lives. Even the small and seemingly insignificant things we do can have ramifications far beyond the immediately tangible outcomes of our actions. Nearly 2000 years ago, Paul, a follower of Christ wrote the following in 1 Corinthians Chapter 12:
"The human body has many parts, but the many parts make up one whole body. So it is with the body of Christ....... If the foot says, "I am not a part of the body because I am not a hand," that does not make it any less a part of the body. And if the ear says, "I am not part of the body because I am not an eye," would that make it any less a part of the body? If the whole body were an eye, how would you hear? Or if your whole body were an ear, how would you smell anything? But our bodies have many parts, and God has put each part just where he wants it. How strange a body would be if it had only one part! Yes, there are many parts, but only one body. The eye can never say to the hand, "I don't need you." The head can't say to the feet, "I don't need you." In fact, some parts of the body that seem weakest and least important are actually the most necessary"
Thinking about the high diversity of species within my garden, and the interconnectedness of it all, I can't help but think about it as a thriving community. A healthy garden has parallels with healthy human communities, and further illustrates Paul's thoughts of two millennia ago. How is that you may ask? How is a cabbage dependent on a parsnip, or a tomato on a bean? How is a chaotic and eclectic vegetable garden less prone to catastrophe than an orderly field of potatoes? All things are interrelated, and the answer lies in community. All the fruits and vegetables are part of a greater whole, and each have a role to play. Now before you think I am stretching a point, allow me to illustrate.
Some vegetables and herbs such as parsnip, carrot, coriander, and parsley have value far beyond their edible roots, or the garnish they provide. These plants (all in the family Apiaceae) have umbrella-shaped flowers that attract helpful predators to your garden, such as ladybugs and parasitic wasps. These insects will fly in to visit the flowers and then hunt for pesky caterpillars on adjacent crops. So even if you don't like the the taste of coriander, or crave sweet roasted parsnips in mid winter, these are plants that are beneficial to your garden community.
Other vegetables do well following on from another crop, much like some people are leaders and others are better followers. Potatoes are great at breaking up new soil, and don't mind lumpy soils, or lower amounts of organic matter. Other vegetables, such as carrots, are followers. They need a well-worked fine soil, with manure that was applied before the previous crop. Beans also do well in soils not recently manured, and by fixing atmospheric nitrogen they prepare the way for more nitrogen-hungry vegetables such as sweetcorn. Each vegetable grows bigger, better, and healthier by being part of a greater community.
A true community not only recognizes differences but celebrates them. I am glad the species that comprise my garden community have different needs and yields. That enables me to grow a interdependent community that is productive and resilient. Each season throws different challenges, such as prolonged summer rain, or plagues of leaf hoppers, but every year I know that some species will thrive and keep home-grown food on the table. And by growing a wide range of crops, I know that one plant disease can't wipe out all of a harvest.
So as we move into 2013, and the joys and challenges it will bring, I will try to foster even greater diversity in the garden. I am currently growing hyssop, galangal, ginger, caper bush, chickpeas, and adzuki beans to add to the mix - I know I will be able to find some space for them somewhere. And I will also strive to cultivate deeper friendship within my community, seeking to encourage and value the overlooked, the weakest, and the supposedly 'least important". And if I do this, I know that my life will be enriched in the process.
All the best for a bountiful 2013
Tim
"The human body has many parts, but the many parts make up one whole body. So it is with the body of Christ....... If the foot says, "I am not a part of the body because I am not a hand," that does not make it any less a part of the body. And if the ear says, "I am not part of the body because I am not an eye," would that make it any less a part of the body? If the whole body were an eye, how would you hear? Or if your whole body were an ear, how would you smell anything? But our bodies have many parts, and God has put each part just where he wants it. How strange a body would be if it had only one part! Yes, there are many parts, but only one body. The eye can never say to the hand, "I don't need you." The head can't say to the feet, "I don't need you." In fact, some parts of the body that seem weakest and least important are actually the most necessary"
Thinking about the high diversity of species within my garden, and the interconnectedness of it all, I can't help but think about it as a thriving community. A healthy garden has parallels with healthy human communities, and further illustrates Paul's thoughts of two millennia ago. How is that you may ask? How is a cabbage dependent on a parsnip, or a tomato on a bean? How is a chaotic and eclectic vegetable garden less prone to catastrophe than an orderly field of potatoes? All things are interrelated, and the answer lies in community. All the fruits and vegetables are part of a greater whole, and each have a role to play. Now before you think I am stretching a point, allow me to illustrate.
Some vegetables and herbs such as parsnip, carrot, coriander, and parsley have value far beyond their edible roots, or the garnish they provide. These plants (all in the family Apiaceae) have umbrella-shaped flowers that attract helpful predators to your garden, such as ladybugs and parasitic wasps. These insects will fly in to visit the flowers and then hunt for pesky caterpillars on adjacent crops. So even if you don't like the the taste of coriander, or crave sweet roasted parsnips in mid winter, these are plants that are beneficial to your garden community.
Other vegetables do well following on from another crop, much like some people are leaders and others are better followers. Potatoes are great at breaking up new soil, and don't mind lumpy soils, or lower amounts of organic matter. Other vegetables, such as carrots, are followers. They need a well-worked fine soil, with manure that was applied before the previous crop. Beans also do well in soils not recently manured, and by fixing atmospheric nitrogen they prepare the way for more nitrogen-hungry vegetables such as sweetcorn. Each vegetable grows bigger, better, and healthier by being part of a greater community.
A true community not only recognizes differences but celebrates them. I am glad the species that comprise my garden community have different needs and yields. That enables me to grow a interdependent community that is productive and resilient. Each season throws different challenges, such as prolonged summer rain, or plagues of leaf hoppers, but every year I know that some species will thrive and keep home-grown food on the table. And by growing a wide range of crops, I know that one plant disease can't wipe out all of a harvest.
So as we move into 2013, and the joys and challenges it will bring, I will try to foster even greater diversity in the garden. I am currently growing hyssop, galangal, ginger, caper bush, chickpeas, and adzuki beans to add to the mix - I know I will be able to find some space for them somewhere. And I will also strive to cultivate deeper friendship within my community, seeking to encourage and value the overlooked, the weakest, and the supposedly 'least important". And if I do this, I know that my life will be enriched in the process.
All the best for a bountiful 2013
Tim
A Lizard in my Lettuces
Today there was a lizard in my lettuces. A copper skink (Oligosoma aenea) to be exact. I was out picking some leaves to from our Green Oak Leaf and and Pink Freckles lettuces and it quickly scuttled away. It was a beautiful rich bronze-brown, and about 10 cm long (or 4 inches for my USA readers).
As an ecologist, this is something to be celebrated. Copper skinks aren't like slugs or snails - introduced pests that voraciously prey on my vegetables - but are a lizard species unique to New Zealand that FEED on my garden pests. I feel honoured that this "production-focused" area of my garden has been deemed an appropriate residence by local wildlife. Copper skinks are only found in New Zealand, and whilst still the most commonly occurring native lizard in my city, are increasingly under threat from land "development" - that euphemism for "bulldoze the trees and build something", and are preyed upon by many of the mammalian predators we introduced to this land (including stoats, ferrets, weasels, ship rat, Norway rat, house mice, hedgehogs, and the list goes on). We really did stuff it up when we set about enriching this land with species from our respective homelands! But what copper skink really like is not so much pristine native forests but lots of cover and hiding places, some sunshine to bask in, and plenty of small invertebrates to eat. So my garden with compost heaps (three of them!), and ramshackle wooden garden edging, dense plantings of vegetables to smother the weeds, and lots of thick mulch, is quite a happy environment for my local reptiles. In fact, in my professional work, its sometimes surprising where this species turns up. I have searched through mature forest within proposed subdivisions and roads, only to find them in wood piles or under discarded rotting carpet and corrugated iron or in piles of broken concrete. Which tells me that "biological treasure" can be found in strange places, even a lettuce patch.
So how can we be better stewards of our world in our vegetable gardens? How do we encourage courgettes and copper skinks? (hey, I am a sucker for alliteration). As I have previously alluded to, encouraging helpful wildlife and increasing the food production within your patch is, for the most part, complimentary. Here are a few starters:
.JPG) |
| Copper skink. This isn't the one from my garden (that one wouldn't wait for a photograph) but another one seen recently in Auckland. |
As an ecologist, this is something to be celebrated. Copper skinks aren't like slugs or snails - introduced pests that voraciously prey on my vegetables - but are a lizard species unique to New Zealand that FEED on my garden pests. I feel honoured that this "production-focused" area of my garden has been deemed an appropriate residence by local wildlife. Copper skinks are only found in New Zealand, and whilst still the most commonly occurring native lizard in my city, are increasingly under threat from land "development" - that euphemism for "bulldoze the trees and build something", and are preyed upon by many of the mammalian predators we introduced to this land (including stoats, ferrets, weasels, ship rat, Norway rat, house mice, hedgehogs, and the list goes on). We really did stuff it up when we set about enriching this land with species from our respective homelands! But what copper skink really like is not so much pristine native forests but lots of cover and hiding places, some sunshine to bask in, and plenty of small invertebrates to eat. So my garden with compost heaps (three of them!), and ramshackle wooden garden edging, dense plantings of vegetables to smother the weeds, and lots of thick mulch, is quite a happy environment for my local reptiles. In fact, in my professional work, its sometimes surprising where this species turns up. I have searched through mature forest within proposed subdivisions and roads, only to find them in wood piles or under discarded rotting carpet and corrugated iron or in piles of broken concrete. Which tells me that "biological treasure" can be found in strange places, even a lettuce patch.
So how can we be better stewards of our world in our vegetable gardens? How do we encourage courgettes and copper skinks? (hey, I am a sucker for alliteration). As I have previously alluded to, encouraging helpful wildlife and increasing the food production within your patch is, for the most part, complimentary. Here are a few starters:
- Mulch heavily to retain moisture and reduce weed growth. As the mulch rots, it will also add humus to the soil, further increasing moisture retention and soil nutrients. Mulching is great for skinks, as they love to hide under it to avoid predators such as rats.
- Raise your garden beds using wooden surrounds (I use railway sleepers and whatever other scraps of timber I can find). Raised beds improve soil drainage and increase soil temperature over the wet winter months, and provide additional hiding places for small creatures. My railway sleepers have holes in them where they formerly had bolts going through them.
- Minimise the use of pesticides. I occasionally resort to some pesticide use for problematic infestations of aphids, but I only do so if plants are getting very stressed by them. Don't leap for a chemical fix until other options (including "do nothing") have been exhausted. If an insect isn't causing harm, its probably performing some useful purpose in nutrient or soil cycling, or is prey for something else that is of benefit.
- Compost. While emptying a compost bin I once found a copper skink happily living inside the compost bin! I guess it gained plenty of warmth from the decomposition process, and didn't have to go far to get its dinner.
- And for something more controversial, don't get a cat, or if you do have one, don't replace it when it dies of old age. Cats are notorious predators of our reptiles, many of which are threatened species. Did you know there are about 100 species of lizards in New Zealand, which gives us more species by land area than Australia (which is regarded as the global hot spot for reptile diversity). Living in the city doesn't excuse cat ownership - the ornate skink, which has an conservation status of "At Risk-Declining", is found throughout Auckland City.
All of which is quite a digression from my usual gardening prose, but then I did promise to write about anything that makes me tick.
Till next time,
Tim
The Recipe for Tomatoes
Some people, upon seeing my garden, declare that I must have "Green Fingers" (defined by the Oxford Dictionary as "a natural ability to grow plants"). The term conjures up some magical explanation for why some people's gardens flourish while other people, despite their best efforts, only seem to fail. It implies that from birth, some people have a 'hidden gardening gene' that ensures that everything that person attempts to grow will thrive, flower, and fruit. But above all, I suspect the kind of people who label others as "green fingered" are first and foremost justifying their own inability to grow things. This inability I suspect is firmly and simply planted in a lack of gardening knowledge, or perhaps just a lack of time to tend the crops.
As I can tell, green fingers don't exist. If they did, I think I would have them, and I am certain that I don't.
My best efforts at growing watermelons end up with unripe fruits the size of a golf-ball, before the plants shrivel and die. I have tried multiple times, but have in the end given up in disgust. Its a bit puzzling, since other cucurbits such as cucumbers, courgettes, and pumpkins I grow with ease. I am also particularly adept at growing carrots that compete with Medusa for their number of extremities, and pencil-thin parsnips. Winter cabbages are a flop to the extent that my wife questions my sanity each time I valiantly try again, and again.
No, if I had green fingers, several crops that defy me would regularly grace out tables.
But for most things, I think gardening is akin to baking. If you can follow a recipe, you can grow a crop. Skimp on one thing, and your efforts may well be doomed. Forget the baking powder, and your cake might be better used as a landscaping paver.
So given it is early summer, here is my recipe for a good tomato crop. Follow it to the letter and you will be giving them to your neighbours, or making chutney, before you know it.
Ingredients
For the more adventurous, I love the following varieties:
Tommy Toe
Garden Peach
Tigerella
Black Cherry
Oregon Spring
I find the larger tomato varieties are very prone to rotting in the humid Auckland summers. If you want a tomato plant that produces huge trusses of up to 20 medium-sized fruit, try Tommy Toe.
http://www.kingsseeds.co.nz/shop/Vegetables/Vegetable+Groups/Tomatoes/Search+by+Colour+Height+or+Fruit+Size/By+Fruit+Size/65-120g/Tomato+Tommy+Toe-8605.html
May you be inundated with tomatoes this summer,
Tim
As I can tell, green fingers don't exist. If they did, I think I would have them, and I am certain that I don't.
My best efforts at growing watermelons end up with unripe fruits the size of a golf-ball, before the plants shrivel and die. I have tried multiple times, but have in the end given up in disgust. Its a bit puzzling, since other cucurbits such as cucumbers, courgettes, and pumpkins I grow with ease. I am also particularly adept at growing carrots that compete with Medusa for their number of extremities, and pencil-thin parsnips. Winter cabbages are a flop to the extent that my wife questions my sanity each time I valiantly try again, and again.
No, if I had green fingers, several crops that defy me would regularly grace out tables.
But for most things, I think gardening is akin to baking. If you can follow a recipe, you can grow a crop. Skimp on one thing, and your efforts may well be doomed. Forget the baking powder, and your cake might be better used as a landscaping paver.
So given it is early summer, here is my recipe for a good tomato crop. Follow it to the letter and you will be giving them to your neighbours, or making chutney, before you know it.
Ingredients
- One tomato plant (for beginners try Moneymaker, or a cherry tomato (e.g. Sweet 100)
- A sunny part in the garden with well-worked soil that has not previously grown tomatoes in the last 3 years
- A strong stake at least 2 m tall (bamboo is great)
- Two heaped spadefuls of compost (bought or make your own)
- Something to tie the plant up with (I use strips of old pantyhose)
- Fertiliser (something with N, P, and K (Nitrogen, Phosphorus, Potassium) and trace elements. Or you can use blood and bone, or fish-based fertilisers.
Makes enough tomatoes for one person from New Year until late April or May. Multiply the recipe for the number of people you want to feed.
How to make them:
- In late October through till early December dig over the ground until it has a crumbly texture. If growing multiple plants, prepare planting holes at spacings of at least 0.8 m (between plants and between rows).
- Push the stake firmly down into the ground and test for firmness. The top can wiggle but the stake should resist being pulled back out.
- Dig in the compost and a heaped tablespoon of fertiliser at the base of each stake.
- Remove the plant from the pot and plant it 2-3 cm deeper than the soil level. This encourages more roots and a sturdier plant.
- Give the plant a mulch of hay or pea-straw 2-3 cm thick over an area at least the size of a dinner plate. Don't let the mulch touch the stem.
- Wait until the plant is 30 cm tall and then tie it loosely to the stake with a strip of pantyhose or other soft material.
- Remove the side branches that grow in the forks between the main stem and each leaf - do this by regularly by pinching them off with your fingers.
- Keep on tying up at regular intervals before the unsupported top is long enough to flop over.
- Only water during dry spells, keep the water off the leaves, and water deeply. Once or twice a week, with several litres per plant, is a lot better than a sprinkling once a day.
- Pick tomatoes. If any develop that have brown or black spots pick them and dispose of away from the crop.
- Pick more tomatoes.
- Enjoy them sliced, sprinkled with balsamic vinegar and home-grown basil leaves.
- Invent even more ways of eating tomatoes.
- Give tomatoes away.
- Freeze tomatoes.
- Make chutney.
- Save seeds from your favourite plants (put them through a sieve to remove pulp, dry on a saucer, and then store them in a labelled plastic clip-seal bag).
- At the end of the season, when the plant is dying, pull them up for the winter and compost them. Remember where you grew them so you can plant them somewhere else the following spring.
Tommy Toe
Garden Peach
Tigerella
Black Cherry
Oregon Spring
I find the larger tomato varieties are very prone to rotting in the humid Auckland summers. If you want a tomato plant that produces huge trusses of up to 20 medium-sized fruit, try Tommy Toe.
http://www.kingsseeds.co.nz/shop/Vegetables/Vegetable+Groups/Tomatoes/Search+by+Colour+Height+or+Fruit+Size/By+Fruit+Size/65-120g/Tomato+Tommy+Toe-8605.html
May you be inundated with tomatoes this summer,
Tim
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