Wood to water: the seasons turn

Our response to light is primal. Its change with the seasons brings a feeling of gentle disquiet, as we ease into its dictates.  Spring and autumn are energising, transitional times of change that call for a reevaluation. Yesterday, I cleaned the ash from the fireplace and removed the wood buckets. Watering replaces woodchopping, the outdoor furniture retreats into the shady spots and cooking is planned for early in the morning or after dark.

Daikon radish pods

In the garden, the days take on their own pattern. The early morning is the time to pick leafy greens and soft fruits then, as the dew evaporates, calendula and lavender flowers. Early evening, I am  harvesting the winter seed: poppies, coriander, rocket, daikon and watercress and  in a week or two will be picking pick sun warmed tomatoes and capsicums at their end of day best. There are water bowls, bird baths, pot plants and the pond that need topping up with water and rainwater tanks to monitor. The reassuring grinding as the mechanisms in watering stations turn on and off tell me my plants will survive if I am not here for a few days.

Calendulas

I monitor the flow of the river over the weir with great interest, willing it to continue as long as possible. Gently tapping the side of the tanks I check their levels to evaluate how long they will last.

The wrens and the silver eyes thank me for the a bath under the sprinkler every couple of days.The black skinks have appeared with the bobtails and I hear snakes are about too. The bush rats are into my seed buckets and I have bought them inside to clean and pack away for autumn planting. The warm nights allow us to reacquaint with the ring tailed possums and mosquitos while enjoying the music of the frogs and the moon carolling magpies. The day time chorus is of crows and kookaburras, cicadas and sandgropers.

It is a shift in awareness from wet to dry, cold to hot - a changing of clothes, diet and activities. The world expands, comes out to play to plan holidays and enjoy the beach and the forest. I am grateful for this reminder of change and renewal in nature. The seasons here may not be as dramatic as in other climates but it is there. Wherever you live and whether you will be eating pudding by the fire or lobster at the beach, I wish you all a gentle joy in the turning of the year.

Go well, now and always,

Nirala

Is That a Potato?

I’m glad it was Margaret that called in for a visit while I was harvesting potatoes the other day... In spring I had encouraged my partner to plant something he loved to eat so he would spend more time in the garden. We had selected the perfect site - leaving some compost in the winter compost heap and adding a pot pourris of manure. Real seed potatoes were purchased and all were hand watered and lovingly tended and watched over.

Judgment day: after much digging, a very small basketful was all we could find. To admit this was our complete crop (we had also dug some rogue Kiplers that had grown by themselves) made me feel a complete failure. Margaret was sympathetic - hers had grown well this year.

Gardens can be like that though. The more I garden, the less attached to results I get. If something proves hard to grow, after several tries I try something else. It seems we all have vegetables we have an affinity with, that do well for us. Often, those same plants won’t grow next door in the same soil and conditions for our neighbours.

We have this idea that we have control over our patches of dirt. The reality is that nature calls the shots. The idea of failure never occurs in its cycles. It is us human beings that get upset when things don’t work out as we have planned. As I get older I am less goal-orientated and enjoy the act of creation for its own sake whether it is gardening, knitting or writing. While I’m curious to know why things happen as they do, I no longer take it as a personal failing if what I end up with is not perfect in my own very critical estimation.

There is magic in the unexpected and the different if we can look with the eyes of a child. If we need potatoes, we’ll ask Margaret!