Tag Archives: Abbie Jury

Of matters related to social class and social conscience

Cardoon - the next trendy crop for basil sophisticates?

Cardoon - the next trendy crop for basil sophisticates?

I have fun with Twitter, the social networking stream where you have be very brief and succinct and most interaction takes place with strangers. Not that gardening tweeps (the lingo says a participant is a tweep, not a twit or twitterer) are generally inspiring, witty or memorable. But Twitter delivered me two gems this week of a horticultural bent.

The first tweet linked me through to a column from the Dominion Post discussing baby names – which has nothing whatever to do with gardening unless you draw the long bow and comment on the growing popularity of flower names such as Lily and Poppy. Goodness, maybe Daphne is due for a recall. Mark suggested when our daughters were born that we could go for Astelia or Aciphylla – the latter being a spiky native plant and his favoured option, even more so if we chose the botanical reference Dieffenbachii as the poor wee mite’s middle name. But I digress. That column by Dave Armstrong referred to the “basil growing classes”. I laughed out loud. As a definition of middle class, urban, somewhat leftwing New Zealand, the basil growing classes seemed wonderfully apt. There is a limit to how versatile basil is and there is only so much pesto one can eat. Salads of sweet tomatoes, sliced fresh mozzarella and basil leaves are equally delightful but the price of mozzarella (the white stuff cocooned in water, not the nasty long life stuff) limits how often this appears in our household. I can remember that there was indeed Life Before Basil in this country – a time when only those who had backpacked through Italy had been introduced to the seductive fragrance of freshly picked basil leaves. Now it is a defining herb of the middle classes here and to grow your own makes you trendier.

Cardoon flowers are showier than basil flowers

Cardoon flowers are showier than basil flowers

So, if your children bear names like Oliver, Samuel and Amelia, you probably drive an urban SUV but your husband bikes to work, you have tomatoes in a grow bag, a worm farm and pots of basil growing, consider yourself one of the basil growing social class. In which case I have a hot tip – cardoon is my prediction for the new basil. It is sufficiently obscure to be interesting. It is extremely decorative in the garden. It is edible. We have eaten it. To be honest, we weren’t blown away by it (not like Florence fennel) but it is fine. In case you want to know more, instructions for growing it are below.

But I was ever so slightly crushed this week when Mark asked me to Google burdock. He was debating about what to do with the small plants he had growing after being enticed to buy seed from Kings Seed Catalogue. In fact we decided on balance that burdock is probably not worth the garden space, has dangerous weed potential, does not sound particularly tasty at all and has a very low yield to space required. But there, amongst the burdock information was the one line: Burdock: peeled leaf stalks are parboiled and used as a substitute for cardoon.

Wow. Some have never even heard of cardoon. Some don’t know that cardoon is edible. Some are still at the experimental stage of determining how edible it is. It is not yet showing up in any cookbooks I have seen, even though I receive review copies of many of the latest publications. But it is already such a staple in some people’s diets that they have found a substitute for it? I am amazed. My advice is to not delay if you wish to catch the wave of cardoon as a fashion crop. I will try and be earlier with my next prediction.

The second tweet was not so much as a source of amusement as vindicating a stance we have been taking here for some time. An American tweep, @InkandPenstemon, posted the comment: “The static monoculture of a lawn is never more unattractive than when it is exposed in the winter.”

We prefer to talk about grass rather than lawns these days

We prefer to talk about grass rather than lawns these days

It has felt a little lonely at times, standing on our high horse bemoaning the obsession with the perfect lawn. At last I am seeing more talk challenging the high value we place on completely unsustainable and environmentally unfriendly lawn maintenance. There is a column in the latest NZ Gardener by Steve Wratten on this very topic. The author just happens to be Professor of Ecology at Lincoln University. He goes further than we do in that he eschews the motor mower in favour of an electric mower. I will own up to the fact that we use a pretty damn fancy lawnmower and we use it extensively. Because we have an open garden, there are standards we feel obliged to maintain and mowing large areas of grass is part of that. Perhaps we could offset that against the fact that our car usually gets to leave the garage only once or twice a week?

I make no apology for continuing a public crusade. We should not be embracing gardening values which are environmentally damaging and the worst one of all is the perfect lawn. A smooth monoculture of a single species of grass is a completely unnatural state of affairs which can only be maintained with chemical intervention. If you insist on killing off the earthworms as well (as some do to avoid the surface being pocked by worm casts and tilled by birds), your crimes against nature are compounded exponentially. It is time we questioned this particular gardening value.

The irony is that it is probably the very same basil growing classes who are likely to wise up to this situation and act upon it in the first wave of concern. Clearly there is a lot to be said for basil as a defining social measure.

Earlier articles on lawn care here include “What does your lawn say about you?” from 2011 and “The lawn as a political statement” from 2006.

First published in the Waikato Times and reprinted here with their permission.

Grow It Yourself: Cardoon

Cardoon stems resemble giant celery but only in looks

Cardoon stems resemble giant celery but only in looks

The edible cardoon is Cynara cardunculus and it is very closely related to the globe artichoke, though less well known. To be honest, it falls into the novelty class of vegetables, to be grown by those with plenty of space and a sense of curiosity though it is a sufficiently handsome plant to justify a place in the summer border. The flower is a good indication that it is a relative of the thistle – all belong to the asteracae family. Cardoon is native to the Mediterranean and North Africa and in the wild is a great deal pricklier than modern cultivated selections. Its homeland and its silver toned foliage both give a hint that it is a plant adapted to hotter, drier conditions though we have found it exists quite happily on the margins of the vegetable garden. It would benefit from being staked in our wetter climate. It is a perennial and reaches over 1.5m high and about a metre wide so it needs space.

Cardoon is a traditional vegetable in its homeland areas. Most commonly eaten are the leaf stems which are harvested in winter and early spring, before the plant sets flowers. These look a bit like celery and are always cooked before eating. The young flower buds are also eaten in southern Italy. I will admit that we have only tried eating it once and we parboiled it. It was not an exciting experience though it was perfectly acceptable in an anonymous green sort of way. I will try again this winter, using it braised and in soups. Its value may lie in giving a fresh alternative in late winter when other greens are sparse. It is also a source of natural, vegetarian rennet and some artisan cheese makers in this country have returned to this traditional usage.

First published in the Waikato Times and reprinted here with their permission.

Plant Collector: Cyanella capensis

Cyanella capensis - described by Mark as appearing like a blue gypsohila in the garden

Cyanella capensis - described by Mark as appearing like a blue gypsohila in the garden

There is some debate as to whether this plant is accurately named as Cyanella capensis and whether that is in fact synonymous with Cyanella hyacinthoides, but there is no doubt that it has been a quiet star in the rockery for nigh on two months now. Many bulbs are a wonderful, quick, seasonal flash. Plants like the cyanella which just keep going week after week are considerably rarer.

The “capensis” part of the name gives a clue – South African again, from the Cape Province. It is not a big show-stopper. Like some of the species gladiolus and the ixias, the foliage starts to die off and look scruffy as the flowers open but in this case, the flowers have continued long after the foliage has withered away and disappeared. Each six petalled flower is about 15mm across, lilac blue with golden stamens and masses of them just dance on the leafless branch structure, reminiscent of a blue gypsophila.

We have had this cyanella in the rockery for many years now. I have ferreted around looking for the bulbs to spread further afield but clearly they are of the type which can find its own depth and in this case, that is deep. I have failed to find them. Apparently they are edible and somewhat oniony in flavour, also used in times past as a poultice, so they must be a reasonable size. I may have to have another dig to see. The flowers are pollinated by bees and can set viable seed.

There are different species of cyanella – about seven in fact – and we were given the yellow form, Cyanella lutea but it failed to last the distance with us.

First printed in the Waikato Times and reproduced here with their permission.

Tikorangi Notes: Friday January 6, 2012

Latest Posts:
1) A cautionary tale about garden weddings and completely excessive rain (subtitled: “The Bride Wore Orange”).
2) Hydrangea Libelle (white and blue lacecap) in Plant Collector this week.
3) Grow it Yourself – New Zealand yams (which just happen to be different to what the rest of the world call yams, for reasons unknown).
4) Of day to day matters in the garden – container plants and why we are not fans of water retention crystals.

And not my work at all, but check out the poignant study of “Locksley Avenue – A Portrait of a Street” by Adrienne Rewi. If you have ever wondered what happens to gardens when people are forced to walk away, Christchurch has many such examples. It doesn’t take long for nature to take over, even in a dry climate such as that of Canterbury.

We just refer to it as The Trichocereus

We just refer to it as The Trichocereus

To be accurate, it is Echinopsis pachanoi (syn. Trichocereus pachanoi) and it is in full and fragrant flower again this summer.

A Cautionary Tale about Excessive Rain (subtitled: The Bride Wore Orange)

Did I mention the bride wore orange?

Did I mention the bride wore orange?

As a rule we don’t do garden weddings here but the request came from Second Daughter’s Best Friend so we made an exception on New Year’s Eve. It sounded like fun. The ceremony, cocktail party and dance were all to be in the one place, culminating in fireworks at midnight. Our greatest worry was the potential fire hazard if we had a dry spell. Ha!

The preparation was humming along when the rains started last week. We had the garden ready, edges and hedges sharp and the lawns mowed despite the rain. We just needed one dry spell of a few hours to do the final blower round to present it all at is best. The dry spell never came.

Just likeJust like putting up the family tent, really, but on a grand scale and without the arguments (even in the rain). Photo: Michael Jeans putting up the family tent, really, but without the arguments (even in the rains). Photo: Michael Jeans

Just like putting up the family tent, really, but on a grand scale and without the arguments (even in the rain). Photo: Michael Jeans

On the Friday morning, the marquee company came in. And the rains continued. In case you have wondered, putting up a large marquee (in this case 20m by 10m – we do have a large front lawn) is not unlike a glorified version of putting up the family tent but without the arguments. The marquee men were wet to the skin and had the second, smaller marquee up when the bride arrived to point out that the large one was not in the agreed place and it needed to be moved about two metres. To their everlasting credit, they moved it (in the rain) with remarkably good grace.

The second set of contractors was now on site to do the sound, lighting, furniture, stage and dance floor. They too were wet to the skin and amazingly good natured. But the wheels were starting to fall off. We couldn’t dress the marquee because 100% humidity meant tablecloths and seat cushions would all soak up too much moisture. Nor could the parquet dance floor go down. Practicing an aura of calm (after all, it wasn’t my daughter’s wedding), I told the bride’s mother not to worry and I would do it in the morning for her because the bridal party and family all had hair and makeup appointments.

In the morning, the rain was unrelenting. Now all the rain which would normally be absorbed into the lawn was being directed down the sides of the marquees and flowing like a small sea in underneath. Needs must. The dance floor was laid. I dressed the marquees. And as the rain got worse, the need for crisis management grew. We were doing a bit of reconfiguration using four extra small gazebos which was all we could rustle up. I established umbrella stations (we own quite a few brollies) for the dash between covered areas. The cake had to be brought in under an umbrella (couldn’t have the icing pockmarked). The band were loading in gear as fast as they could in the rain. We could at least park the caterers with undercover access though the bar staff were getting saturated moving alcohol and glasses to their location in a wheelbarrow.

By this time, I was soaked to the skin and dressed like an old tramp but abandoned all plans to find the time to get changed and flossied up (we were invited guests at the event) until after the guests had arrived on the three coaches. We have issues with the need to get large vehicles off our road here but are very experienced at managing our available space and can turn and park the largest coach. So did I need to meet prima donna coach drivers who tell me that I have no idea what I am talking about and there is insufficient space? No I did not. But rather than argue in front of guests (I was feeling at a sartorial disadvantage), I headed out to the road to manage any traffic there (it is designated petro chemical highway, is our country road) while the prima donna drivers disgorged passengers and then thought nothing of blocking both lanes as they fluffed around sorting out turning their coaches.

It was about this time, I noticed the rain had stopped. Such are the wonders of our drainage that we only need 20 minutes without rain and all surface water disappears.

I had no idea the garden tour would be so popular

I had no idea the garden tour would be so popular Photo: Michael Jeans

Now, I thought, I shall go and have a hot shower. But no. Two late arrivals on the last coach had been flying for 20 hours and really needed to shower and change. Was that all right? Of course. Unfortunately for me, dear Reader, we may be a five loo establishment but we are a one shower household. All I could do was to change for the… wait for it… garden tour. When first suggested, I had scoffed. “People who come to events here are not interested in the garden,” I said. “They are here for the event and to party.” So I thought maybe 10 of the older guests would join me. In fact I had about 70 or 80. Given that they were teetering along in stilettos wearing cocktail attire, I only did the shortened tour of the top gardens but even so, herding up to 80 people along is a mission.

The rain stopped. It was a miracle. The ceremony could be held outside, as planned.

The rain stopped. It was a miracle. The ceremony could be held outside, as planned.

I finally got to shower and change. And the rains held off. The actual ceremony was, at the last minute, held outside as originally planned. The event ran seamlessly and everybody had a wonderful time and absolutely loved the venue. The fireworks at midnight were spectacular. Nobody wanted to leave so the band played on until 1.30am and I completely ignored the prima donna coach drivers who had to sit out on the road with their hazard lights on and wait for the extra hour. If they had been pleasanter earlier, I might have looked after them.

The torrential rains did not return until the pack out the following morning. Over 20 cm (8 inches) of rain we had in that period of under three days. But the lawns are fine. They will recover quickly.

I, on the other hand, have realised there are good reasons why we don’t do garden weddings here.

First printed in the Waikato Times and reproduced here with their permission.