The Valley Returns
Notes from a winter garden
It’s Friday morning in the Valley.
When I look out across the dips, hills and mountains beyond, there is nothing. Just white.
A complete curtain of it hanging silently, blocking the view beyond the fence.
I flip the switch down on the jug, wriggle into my Ugg boots and retrieve the compost bucket from under the sink.
Out the door and across the lawn to my garden. The bucket is a third full. Today’s offering is the tops of lemongrass I’d bunched and given to a friend, ashes from the fire the day before, basil stalks still wafting their mesmerising scent upwards, some wobbly and half-moulded carrots from the fridge and two or three loads of water from the kitchen sink.
If it wasn’t winter I’d be barefoot, but it is, and so I ugg my way along the paths made of wood shavings until I reach the compost.
I tip my load onto the pile.
Then ease down on my haunches to inspect.
It is so much cooler now and the worms have moved in. They are everywhere. If I pull back the black compost I reveal warm, decomposing matter underneath.
The cat has followed me out, her molten shape extended by the fluff of winter.
She watches me intently from under the last of the flowering pink Cosmos that look as though a child might have drawn them.
A bright yellow circular centre with separated pink petals surrounding it.
They bob gently as the cat brushes past.
They are a delight and despite the cooler weather, the seeds they dropped in summer are now germinating, shooting all through the garden in their spindly carpets.
The pumpkins lie in a line along a wooden bench.
Over fifty of them in the end.
Some already eaten. Some given to friends and neighbours.
Most of them huge. Peculiar shapes and sizes.
Their flesh vibrant orange.
Delicious and sweet.
All but three tomato plants have been cut back to the base. The remainder are still producing fruit.
Summer lingers on inside them.
Tiny green shoots push from old stems as though they haven’t noticed winter has arrived.
Broccoli heads have formed, been snapped off and devoured before they made it to the kitchen.
I’ve never grown them before and am completely astounded by the flavour.
It has to be the most broccoli-ey broccoli I’ve ever tasted.
Isn’t that true of everything grown in healthy, thriving soil? It returns to its true taste.
I was worried by the white cabbage moths and their resultant green grubs feasting on the leaves, but as often happens in the garden, eventually they give up, move on, or something else comes to eat them.
My compost pile lies adjacent to the garden beds.
I imagine worms travelling back and forth, spreading their microbial goodness along the way.
Every month or so I sift the pile, return the larger pieces and spread the chocolatey, fluffy compost thinly across the beds.
I do the same with my worm castings, including any worms along for the ride.
No chemicals.
No external additives.
No herbicides.
No pesticides.
You can taste the difference…
By now the fog has begun to lift.
The fence line reappears first, then the trees, then the hills.
Slowly the Valley returns.
It had been there all along.
Thanks so much for reading,
Kylie x
The way you wrote this helped me feel like I was right there touring your garden. I've never grown broccoli before and now I want to!
I'm crazy about winter veg, so if what looks like empty spots in the garden beds are truly empty, allow me to suggest sowing spinach, arugula, Asian mustards, and/or lettuce. They'll take linger to sprout, but in spring lush beds will smile at hou in the morning.