My Garden Story

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The soil here has a heavy clay base and when it gets wet, it stays wet.  It needs generous amounts of gypsum at planting time, something that did not happen when the landscapers did the original garden beds, hence the losses.  Some parts of the garden are easier than others, but all should be double dug when planting something new. I have only heard about double digging, and I don’t know anyone who practices it, but it seems like an excellent, if slow way of getting new plants underground.  I tend to throw a lot of compost and that certainly helps.  Compost is a very good thing, all gardeners know this, but there is a certain scale to it.

Compost.

I tried, I really did. Grant first suggested it. I had visions of big wooden bins containing early, middle and late composting, having to be forked over regularly like you see on TV garden programs, but could see nowhere to put them. You don’t need those, Grant said, you just need a barrel. I went to Bunnings and bought a heavy blue plastic barrel. It was suspended and could be rotated 360 degrees to mimic the forking over. It seemed like something I could do easily, so in went the vegetable scraps, fruit, eggshells, torn newspaper and dry leaves from under the oak trees. A bit of water, he said, and swing it over every time you add something. Do not add meat, fish, bread or pasta, the former will bring rats and the starches have the wrong enzyme for compost. I kept a special white bucket in the kitchen for composting materials (and no avocado seeds, they never break down) and for a while all went well.  Grant would peer into the barrel every now and then, smells good he said, I though it smelled weird, but what did I know. Is it ready yet?  I’d ask every couple of weeks. Nope, he said, be a while longer. And it’s a bit wet, so add some more newspaper or leaves. I did, and after a while the barrel got so heavy I couldn’t get it to turn over completely so took to just rocking it back and forth. I knew Grant wouldn’t do it so I persevered. The smell in the barrel came more intense but still it wasn’t ready, and becoming a burden. Also, the vegie scrap bucket started to smell, and my son took exception to it.  For heavens sake Mum, he said,

just have a compost heap down near the fence. It will be far enough away from you and the neighbours not to bother anyone.

So a hole was dug by the fence under a giant Manchurian pear, and the contents of the blue barrel (still not ready) was tipped into it. I had been reading about compost and learned that worms helped it break down quickly, so back to Bunnings where I bought a pack apparently containing a thousand worms and emptied it onto the heap, covered it all with leaves and waited. A couple of days later I went to check on the worms and add more scraps, but they had decamped to the garden next door I suspect. I bought another thousand and the same thing happened. They disappeared overnight. End of worms. A long time later I turned it over with a fork and found the bottom layer had broken town to the point where it could be called compost. I harvested it very carefully, a spoonful at a time, and put it where I thought it was most needed. I did not know it was supposed to be covered so when it rained very heavily for many days, all that was left of the compost heap were a few floating eggshells. At which point I admitted defeat and bought 25 kilos from a garden centre. There is a local turkey farmer who makes really nice compost, except when it rains and it's too wet for him to make. I use it liberally at planting time at the bottom of the hole and it seems to give things a good start. I have a slight sense of failure still, I wanted to make my own, but it proved too hard in the end.

The blue barrel, which was perfectly sound, was washed and put out for the next council collection. It disappeared overnight, long before the council truck hove into view.

Mulch.

I tried to mulch with bales of lucerne hay. Don’t do that, said Grant, they are full of grass and weeds. So nothing really happened for a while and then a load of woodchip was delivered. It only covered half the garden beds, and not very thoroughly. It soon turned a pleasing grey colour and then started to disappear.
When Malcolm finally arrived, I was delighted to discover that he loved mulch and he ordered and spread woodchips around liberally. Smothers the weeds, he said, and the way he piled it on, it did.  When I had to get the tree people in after days of high winds when several trees were bent or broken, Malcolm said are they going to chip on the spot.  Yes, they are I said, where do you want it?  He indicated a corner where it was sheltered from the worst of the wind, and after a day of sound and fury, there was a very large, very neat pile of woodchips just waiting for him. It took a couple of weeks, but the pile disappeared and the garden looks neat and tidy, and it offers protection from the worst of the heat and rain. If I am quick enough, I can get some compost under the mulch rather than have to scrape several inches of it away to get at a plant. The garden looks better than it has ever looked thanks to Malcolm, and our current plan to plant only things that rabbits don’t eat.  This is quite challenge, but over the years I have learned not to get too upset when plants disappear overnight, just to make a note not to plant that again.

 

Next time, pests and poisons.