We have an acre of ground where we live. There is a back paddock where two goats eat the grass. They are named Joseph and Mary because they were purchased on Christmas eve a few years ago. We used to run some milking goats which was fun, but these days there is no time for that. We have a hen house with currently three old hens still laying.
Then we have about five areas of vege garden fenced off, 5.5 metres long, varying in width. (3 at 3 metres with wider ones) These areas lie among long grass and weeds on the pathways. In the days before Habitat for Humanity started it was all very neat and the garden area a lot bigger. We had rabbits in cages that we moved around the pathways to keep the pathways short. The whole back paddock, including the area where our garden is was gorse, broom with a couple of little patches of marijuana by the creek, when we moved in 22 years ago. (But that's another story). Today I enjoyed rotary hoeing (The ancient machine is a threat to my Christianity!) and planting out one of the areas of garden. (2 rows of potatoes, a row of cabbage plants, a row of broccoli, a row of swedes, a row with spring onions with six silverbeet plants in it and a row of two different varieties of turnip seeds. I still have space for at least one more row of veges in that patch. I enjoyed the day even though there were periods of rain. There is something therapeutic about working the soil, feeding it with manure (horse poo) and lovingly planting plants. And fresh produce is so much nicer than store bought stuff. For lunch we had bread rolls with vegemite on them, with leaves from two different varieties of lettuce.... fresh, crisp, two-minutes-out of the garden leaves... beautiful! (No chemical spray etc. etc.)
My dad valiantly attempted vegetable gardening when we were kids. His health was often not all it should be, but four boisterous boys, their mates and backyard cricket pitches meant the veges never stood a chance. I got my love of vege gardening after my father died. I was around 14 years of age and we were as poor as church mice and "Uncle" Harry (Married to a cousin of my fathers) came to us with an offer. He had almost an acre of ground just up the hill from where we lived and he said that if we boys came and worked with him in his vege garden we could have produce from it as a family. I tended to be the boy that did it most frequently. Throughout my teens a part of my Saturday (All of it if there was no sport I was involved in) was spent working with Uncle Harry in his garden up North East Valley. It was my way of helping to feed the family. I learned a lot about gardening from Uncle Harry. His voice still runs through my mind as I garden today. We produced some fine crops. I learned a lot about life from Uncle Harry. He would stop work from time to time, light up a cigarette, pat the bank next to him and say, "Sit down mee boy, have a rest." He would tell me stories about his life, his war experiences, his friendship with my father and their adventures and in the process teach me about life. I will always remember on the Saturday before I was to marry I went up to help him. We had cut a lot of grass and shrubbery and we were standing around a fire burning it and chatting. In an embarrassed way, he stammered something like, "This getting married and all that, what do you know about it? Is there anything you want to ask?" I assured him we had been to an engaged couple's course and were prepared. (As if???) I appreciated his very nervous attempt to broach the subject.
I get annoyed these days because my vege gardening is often a hurried attempt to get something in or catch up. Today I enjoyed working away at a consistent but steady pace, just enjoying the silence, the feel of the soil and the surroundings. I feel rejuvenated, though physically tired.
Photos:
(1) My wife's runner bean wigwam... her wigwam produces heaps of beans each year.
(2) Some lovely big fresh cabbages almost ready for the table.
(3) Today garden patch all planted out. We have a total of 7 rows of spuds growing now.
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