It's true, for the Kitchen Garden never rests and it's been producing well.  As we steadily build towards peak spring harvest, there are some sights that are only to be captured at this time of year.  Like the cauliflower leaves pegged together to keep sunlight at bay (which would otherwise discolour their snow-white heads).... 

And the neat row of coloured chard marching down the centre of the pea tunnel (when the peas are over the chard will stand out in the open for a command performance through summer).

Disciplined rows of parsnip, beetroot, carrot and turnip display diverse foliage, some revealing a colourful cheek emerging from the earth.

Early peas are coming in thick and fast, like purple podded Dutch (who's seed I've been saving each season for around 25 years), sugar snaps and my favourite shelling pea, the Telephone: it contains such sweet morsels that unfortunately, they rarely make it to the kitchen (OK, so I'm a pea-glutton!).  

Elsewhere there are neat rows of leeks, the garlic is growing on well, lettuces are plentiful, the broad beans are in flower and the companion plants are a billowing sea of flowers, just in time to attract the bees to emerging fruit tree blossom.  And though the brassicas are on their way out, branches of orange and lemon are heavily laden with fruit, and plump bulbs of fennel are sublime.  All of which contributed to delicious lunches for end of winter workshops.....

Like Anthia Koullouros's Herbal Garden Workshop. See next post!

I'm sure some of you may think it an odd thing to do, but for years now I've used Anzac Day as my garlic planting marker....if I haven't got it in the ground by 25 April, it's my priority for the day. I don't consider it odd at all - it's a contemplative kind of task....taking down the bunches still hanging in the cellar where I put them after harvest last year; finding the largest heads, then separating the biggest cloves - the finest specimens to plant (while the smaller ones go to the kitchen - how I wish it was the other way around!).

I've been saving garlic from each crop now for years - ever since I had such good results from a fabulous batch from Patrice Newell.  If you don't have space to plant your own, I really do suggest you join her mailing list so you're assured of being notified as soon as she harvests her crop and you can place an order for your kitchen, if not your garden (around November). By coincidence, she's just announced her first press extra virgin olive oil is available and I've sneaked in an order for a few bottles of her precious gold stuff from the Hunter!

But this afternoon I spent a good amount of time on my hands and knees, planting row after row of garlic cloves.  It was a glorious day, and I planted many more seedlings and swathes of mustard leaf seed as well.  Quiet tasks, fresh air and sunshine on a day to remember all that has gone before us.

Events and excitements aside, this is one of the most task-driven times of the year in the Kitchen Garden and a lot has been going on behind the scenes.  First, there were literally barrow loads of fennel seeds to collect.  I may be mad, but I'm just hoping with my fingers and everything crossed, that tossing them out into the long grass in the pumpkin paddock will create a haze of fennel flowers next summer.  Of course, it could be a complete failure, but I'd never know if I didn't try!

The last few days have seen us trying to dismantle the shade structure without destroying my much anticipated loofah collection!  I've been trying to grow loofahs for years with absolutely no luck until now....though I still hesitate to say it's a success.  At the rate they're going, they'll need to sit there for months more to cure and something may get them yet!  Aren't they magical though, in their varying tones of green through to the wrinkled and crinkled butterscotch one that sounds hollow to tap?  I'm so excited about them, I almost can't wait to visit them each morning!

Yesterday saw us dig the crop of sweet potatoes, and what a fantastic yield we have.  I didn't really want to dig it yet, but at least I've learned you don't need to wait for the vine to flower to expect a crop.  I think sweet potato will be on the Glenmore menu for Easter!  

And slightly later than hoped, but better late than never, I picked the heads of parsnip seed that have been curing in the guild beds and sowed a good swathe in the winter root bed. Someone told me years ago that parsnip seed must be fresh for success and I reckon it surely can't be better than taking seed from one garden bed to plant in another.

Though far from complete, crop rotation is well and truly underway in the Kitchen Garden. What a feeling of exhilaration!

Since my last post we've been lucky to enjoy those lazy, hazy, crazy days of Christmas....quiet ones interspersed with myriad visitors for lunch, dinner or to stay a night or two. There have been days of scorching sun and drizzling rain, morning tiptoes through wet grass to the pool for laps, picnics shading under the boughs of trees, flowers who's dizzying perfume we've enjoyed emanating from deep within their petals, and a mountain of tablecloths and linen napkins to wash and iron!

The beans finally got a move on and I've been picking morning and night to keep up with those of deepest amethyst Purple King, blotched and streaked Rattlesnake, creamy yellow Australian Butter and barely flecked Speckled Cranberry (who's colourings and markings deepen as the bean matures, but I think they're at their most succulent before they really begin to swell, when they're almost meaty, for want of a better description).

There are cucumbers....holy moly they've been coming in one after another!  We've never had so many, which equals Tzatziki with everything and raw cucumber at the drop of a hat. The tomatoes, on the other hand, have never been so slow and clearly need more hours of sun, while zucchinis are coming in at a respectable rate.  

In fact, the Kitchen Garden is wild in height, abundance and exuding an aura of romance.  

While all the garden battles the heat and the summer veg are doing their best just to get properly established, some dainty delights are peeking from their hiding places.  To my surprise, this Sunset runner bean is the first to flower (I rarely have much luck with her and have always found her sister the Scarlet runner to be more hardy).  Perhaps I've finally discovered her trick and very much hope she may produce a few beans for Christmas Day.  I think her shell-pink flower is quite delectable, hugging the bamboo pole as her tendrils twine ever higher.

 

Since putting in the beehives last year, I've felt more inclined than ever to allow a good number of veg to flower, which makes them into excellent companion plants, bringing in good bugs and providing pollen for the bees.  I was doing it before with one or two, in order to collect seed, but I've long since recognised this is such a delightful way to enjoy a meadow-like haze in the garden and to discover hitherto unrecognised scent wafting all about.  Have you ever enjoyed the quite breathtaking perfume of a carrot flower?  It's like wild honey!

If you've been following my blog posts for awhile, (or indeed visited Glenmore) you will know about my mild obsession with fennel flowers.... it began simply enough, when I left a few bulbs to go to flower so I could save their seed, then one year I scattered the seed in the companion beds under the apple arch and well, the rest is history!  

They've been perfect for weeks on end now, their clouds of flowers on tall stems swaying in the breeze and each at a different stage of development.  Some, like this one, are still at the new pollen stage, while others have developed their succulent budlets that I add to every leaf salad, baby potato, roast chicken, fish....almost nothing escapes being sprinkled with their juicy, immature seed, that pops with aniseed flavour!  Most of the day, the flowers are humming with bees and covered in all kinds of insects, from ladybirds to hover-flies.  They are good companions indeed and I'll leave them to grow through their full cycle, so I can collect their seed and begin the process all over again.

Things are making a move now......over these last weeks the seed (mostly) has sprouted and tentative growth begun.  Most tomato plants have settled in, strengthened their stems (hopefully they and the cucumber seedlings are over the fragile stage when they're likely to succumb to pests) and although the beans are sending their tendrils spiralling up wigwam and tunnel poles, I don't yet feel we're entirely out of the woods - a certain amount of chomping activity is apparent each morning, despite my best efforts with twigs, sticks, humming wire and net!  But I'm hopeful they're on their way.  

 A little more seed sowing is required to compensate for that which hasn't come up, but on the whole, I think we've got the majority of the summer veg away.....(though I hardly dare say it for fear of jinxing it all!). It's still a 'fingers-crossed', tentative moment....

The cool of a glorious early evening brought the opportunity to pick and weigh rhubarb, collect elderflowers and begin the lengthy, magical process of turning the two into jam....

The last week has disappeared in a flurry of activity....I really meant to post this image of our structure-building efforts this time last week, but with preparation for Saturday's Summer Kitchen Gardening day, I got a bit distracted. Then the scene was no longer wet and rainy, but today I feel justified in posting the image as the newly built structures are covered in droplets of rain once again! 

This week however, there are emerging bean and cucumber seedlings at their feet, which is terribly exciting (you'd think it was the first time I'd done this, wouldn't you??!!).  My excitement at emerging seed never ceases - season to season, year to year, as fragile stems unfurl, the case of the seed still attached like a little hat on top.  Oh but the worry....I've been out there with sawdust to surround each one, in fear of something 'getting them' in the night! Or day - at this early stage, anything can happen...

I know I've mentioned it before, but really I am as enamoured of structures in the garden as I am of plants.  I enjoy the aesthetic they create and that they're there for a reason - to support our climbing beans, cucumbers, tomatoes and sweet potatoes; as well as the sturdy one I've built with Alex this year (best one yet), to support willow panels for shade over our leafy green bed once this overcast weather fades and the summer sun is fierce.

We harvested the bamboo rods once again from our dear friends over the way, spending time in their paddock cutting, trimming and tying the rods together for the trip home in the ute, where they were sorted, grouped and eventually, over a period of days, erected and tied together.  As I write, I'm still intermittently planting the beds as time permits and hope to have most of the 'rotation' beds completed this weekend. 

Also last week, in a panic with the rain (as really garlic oughtn't even to be watered during the final weeks before harvest) I pulled the entire crop on the spur of the moment, for fear it might rot in the ground. The colour is exquisite, and including the ten or so I pulled green, we'll have had a crop of around 150 heads, which I'm delighted with.  Although still 'wet', I'm thoroughly enjoying the pungent new cloves direct from the drying rack and should be able to bundle them up to store in a couple of weeks, once their papery shells have dried.  

All the citrus trees have been in blossom these last weeks - oranges, cumquats, mandarins and lemons, ensuring the garden is filled with their heady perfume (which is truly one of my favourite scents of all).  Sadly though, we're nearing the end of the lemon season, and I'm just hoping to stretch out another batch or two of elderflower cordial with the last of the Lisbons on the tree.

Solomon's Seal gave a pretty display of tiny green-tipped bells the length of its many fine rods near the garden gate 'til those few days of intense heat.

To me, it's always the first flush of any flower in season that's best.  This last week has seen my favourite white Philadelphus Beau Clerk smothered in intoxicatingly scented, simple white buds and flowers nestled into fresh green foliage, setting off the first Abraham Darby roses. Backed by the hedge of Juniper in the Barn Garden, it's a short-lived display that I look forward to with such anticipation each year.

The first flush of artichokes were plucked, poached and photographed for the book one fine day last week, while the second have also been dealt with - while I love their exquisite form in the garden and colourful purple-tinged spectacle during the preparation process (and their taste - too delicious), preparation of a third flush is likely to test my patience!

Which brings me to the last of the broad beans and oh what a glut at the end!  It seemed to be a short-lived season this year, probably due to the intense period of heat we experienced and the main event occurred in a rush. I picked on the Sunday afternoon before last, after which they seemed to overtake the entire fridge! Desperate to clear the shelves, I managed to shell them over two evenings and finally blanched and double-peeled them last night! Oh what a great big job (and prune fingers!). Anyway, they're ready now to make into favourite broad bean puree (to photograph and then to eat) - I still use Anastasia's recipe from the first cooking class she gave here and look forward to this moment of great excitement each year!

 

A couple of weeks ago I took the opportunity to make the Christmas Cake....

Which looks like a beauty!

The potatoes went in (do you think they'll be ready in time for Cooking the Glenmore Christmas Lunch????!!!!)

And I pulled the last of the winter/spring veg from the earth....

Amidst all the hullabaloo and froufrou that spring can bring, it's often the most simple discovery that brings a moment's joy, like this Iceberg against the exposed brick chimney-breast at the Dairy....

And delight of all delights - yesterday the Chinese Star jasmine exploded into flower en masse, suggesting summertime is nigh (though you sure wouldn't know it today!).