I have been elevating the herbs. Literally.
New dog Ralph is no respecter of gardens and one recent morn, I looked out the window to see him standing in the middle of my self-sown patch of parsley having a pee. Now I can never use that parsley again. Mark suggested washing it well might suffice but I think not.
Then I found something even worse in the mat of marjoram. I have no idea if that was Ralph, Dudley or Thor who likes to visit from next door, but enough is enough.
I am no expert on herbs but I like to use them fresh. None of those dusty packets of dried leaves for me, thank you. I don’t even like buying pre-stuffed chook or herby-coated chicken in the supermarket because all I can smell are those dried herbs.
I keep the herbs I use all the time close to the back door so I can get to pick them without having to put on shoes. Oregano, marjoram, tarragon and rosemary are in the dry, hot border beside the house. Parsley, mint, chives and thyme are in the parallel border just across the drive. I have to walk a little further to get the bay leaves, the self-sown coriander, the second area of self-sown parsley and the less-favoured sage whereas the fennel I harvest and store the seeds. Sometimes Mark will grow basil in the summer vegetable garden. There are many more herbs that can be used but those are the staple herbs we favour.
I have only written about herbs once before that I can remember and that was back in 2009. At the time, I advised never to plant herbs on the corners of garden beds because that is where dogs will pee and cats will spray to mark territory. As far as I know, that has worked for us in the past when we favoured smaller dogs. But Ralph is larger and more energetic.
In that 2009 article, I also queried the merit of the designated herb garden which was pretty fashionable back in those days. Different herbs need different growing conditions. In the days of yore, the medieval herb gardens were much more extensive and more focused on medicinal herbs than culinary options. Scaling it down to a small modern garden is not likely to be successful in providing the different conditions needed to grow them well. Besides, while some herbs are pretty enough on their day, as a group of plants they are utility more than ornamental.
Fortunately, we are an establishment rich in stored resources so elevating my back door herbs was not such a major exercise and cost no money. Tucked out behind the grapehouse were the old twin concrete tubs which we discarded when we renovated the laundry 20 years ago. We elevated them further using concrete pavers and blocks and I think they are high enough. They now hold mint, thyme, chives and some small parsley plants that need to grow before I can harvest them.
The oregano and marjoram need hotter, drier conditions to build up flavour. These are still in the dry house border but now elevated in smaller concrete troughs that Mark’s dad Felix made back in the 1950s in the days before you could pop along to the shop to buy such things (though mostly in plastic these days).
I protected the drainage holes with broken pieces of terracotta pots and put in a thick layer of gravel at the base of all the tubs because drainage is everything for herbs generally (mint is the exception). I then used a 50/50 mix of top soil and homemade compost for the plants to grow in. They may need the occasional water in dry times but there is a nearby tap.
Mark has just come in and commented that Thor-from-next-door paid a visit and was lurking around the area out from the back door, peeing everywhere, including against the container holding the herbs which, fortunately, are now safely out of the way. So this new configuration has at least passed that test.
Finally, because my elevated herb planters are not very exciting visually, a few photos from yesterday morning. Spring has sprung here.
Finally, an animal story. When we first adopted poor, unloved Spikey dog in 2009, we worried that he felt the cold badly. His coat was very thin – at least compared to the Shetland sheep dog we also had at the time – and he had not one ounce of body fat. Daughter made him a coat of many colours. I put it on him one chilly morn and Mark laughed at the ridiculous sight. Spike then hurtled down the avenue gardens after a rabbit and reappeared without his coat. Suggestions ranged from him being too embarrassed to be seen in the coat to Mark’s idea that he had regifted it to a needy rabbit family. Years passed and we never found the Joseph coat – until this week. It is a little brittle after 8 or 9 years in the open but a triumph to the resilience of yarn blends. One minute – that is how much wear that coat had.
In the meantime, he had been gifted a genuine Harrods coat and I had bought him a little number that made him look like the canine version of Julian Clary. But we always knew that as a bogan, freewheeling dog, he would have preferred a black vinyl number with chrome studs. These days he is over 14, stone deaf with a heart condition and possibly some level of dementia so he has passed the winter days sleeping in his bed by the fire. Yesterday, with spring in the air, he came out of hibernation and could even have been described as frolicking as he accompanied us around the garden with visiting friends. There may be life in the old dog yet, if he doesn’t get taken out by a heart attack.
Tikorangi The Jury Garden 