Bring out the handcuffs, the leg irons. I need help, as I do every time this year. Give me two mornings without frost, a couple of dozen daffodils in bloom, and I have an (almost) irresistible urge to plant tomatoes, beans, corn, basil and the other glories of a summer garden.
There are many so-called infallible ways to know when to plant tomatoes et al. The Aussie version is "don't plant till Melbourne Cup Day". This does work most of the time. But has anyone noticed the weather has been odd lately? Even without climate change, our weather is unpredictable. Frosts can drop on us and frizzle the tomatoes even in November, well after the Melbourne Cup hangovers have faded.
A better test is to watch the land itself. The "English Method" is never to plant to plant summer crops till the apricot blossom falls. Fruit tree blooming can vary by weeks. Some flowering is triggered by day length, but there are many other triggers, including but not limited to soil and air temperature.
There are two drawbacks to the apricot method. The first, of course, is that you may not have an apricot tree. Maybe the state of the apricot blossom should be added to the weather forecast. "There will be showers about the ranges and the apricot blossom is still tightly furled."
The second problem is that apricot trees can be wrong. About one year in five our apricot blossom is cut by frost. We get no apricots and the apricots lose their reputation for infallibility.
The best method I know is yet another old English tradition: have a picnic, if a slightly unconventional one. Pack the basket with good things to eat and drink, everything you need for fun and deliciousness, except a picnic rug. Now place your basket where you plan to put your summer veggies, lower your underpants and sit bare bummed on the soil. If the soil is warm enough to sit there for an entire picnic, then it's time to plant tomatoes, corn, beans, basil and every other summer lovely.
This can be done quite discreetly, by the way. Ladies, wear a wide skirt so no one notices the lack of underwear. Blokes might like to wear a kilt - I have a weakness for kilts and bagpipes at a picnic or anywhere else. Or you might just go for a sarong or even a large beach towel, and pretend you're just out of the spa. Picnic over, you can get planting. And this is the time to get ready for planting by weeding, building above-ground beds, double digging or whatever garden method you prefer.
Because I have a feeling that this is going to be one of those rare wonderful seasons for gardening, with neither bushfire nor so much mist the seeds rot and the bees can't be bothered pollinating. This is going to be a growing season it would be a tragedy to waste.
This week I am:
- Weeding all the soft and sappy weeds that have sprung up despite a load of weed-suppressing mulch.
- Filling the compost bins with weeds ... in a few months they will be excellent garden fertiliser and soil conditioner. Remember - it is truly composted when you can't recognise the original ingredients.
- Rejoicing in hundreds of varied hellebore blooms, jonquils, daffs, camellias and the blossom of a plumcott tree, a cross between a plum and an apricot that seems resistant to fruit fly and sets fruit despite its early blooming - or maybe it is just in a sheltered spot.
- Trying to eat the last of the carrots and kale before they go to seed in spring, and watching the red cabbage and Savoy cabbages begin to heart.
- Wishing I had planted ten times as much English spinach, as it is so much more tender and sweet than silver beet.
- Rejoicing as the snow pea seeds germinate and begin to climb their trellis, and the broad bean plants grow taller and the garlic and Russian garlic grows sturdy stems so we can chop off a few tender leaves for soups and stews and still get fat garlic bulbs. But don't be greedy - one or two leaves per plant only, or come November you won't find sweet fat garlic under the soil. Fresh garlic is one of the gems of spring - flavourful without the pungency of stored garlic, perfect for roasting whole them squeezing out the soft garlic from the cloves onto sourdough toast. Eat with gusto, and with garlic-loving friends.
