I wish I was a gardener; a proper gardener, with neat raised
beds bursting with winter greens - silverbeet, spinach,
cabbage, cavolo nero, bok choy - and carrots and parsnips
just waiting to be pulled up. Broad beans would be well on
their way to producing a spring crop.
In my kitchen there would be ropes of garlic and plaited
onions from the autumn harvest.
Sacks of potatoes would be stored in the obligatory cool
place. And some would be sprouting ready to sow in time for
my Christmas new potatoes to grow.
My compost heaps would be immaculate: one mature and ready to
be dug into the beds at planting time, one quietly working
its way from waste to black gold, and one being filled up.
In the greenhouse or under cloches would be lettuces and
other greens for my winter salads.
On my windowsill would be my kitchen herbs - coriander,
parsley and later, basil and chives. Tougher herbs would have
their special places in the garden.
And all through the winter days I'd be planning my garden
beds with military precision: spuds out, carrots in; carrots
out, brassicas in; brassicas out, spuds in. Or something.
Alas, I am not a proper gardener. The winter greens in my
garden beds are liberally seasoned with applemint. It's
supposed to make a nice tea, but it doesn't do a lot for
silverbeet.
The broad beans are up and need support. Meanwhile, self-sown
new potatoes are trying to grow among the spinach, and I
can't remember where the chives are to give them some
compost, until they show themselves in the spring.
The windowsill herbs are dead, except the aloe vera, which is
flowering.
And where my planned kitchen garden is, the grass has taken
over.
But every sunny day, no matter how cold, makes me feel more
like planting things. It's time to stop dreaming and get
digging, ready for spring.
A name, residential address, and (preferably residential) telephone number is required from readers who comment on ODT Online. These details will not be visible to site visitors.