January 2024

“His heart danced upon her movement like a cork upon a tide.”

James Joyce

It’s a cool rainy day here in Gisborne, which makes a nice change from the recent heat – around 30 degrees for the last week or so. My tomatoes have been ripening quickly, and I have an embarrassment of cucumbers. Friends have had produce pressed on them at every opportunity. Not literally of course. That would be a waste of tomatoes. What about that tomato festival in Spain – La Tomatina – where more than one hundred metric tonnes of tomatoes are thrown in the street? Think of all the tomato sauce that could make. Goodness, now I’m wondering how much tomato sauce Kiwis consume in a year [quick google search] … about 4kgs per person according to one stats site. I’m a big fan of tomato sauce. Dr Darling teases me about it, asking if I have enough on my food. He only has a small squirt which is incomprehensible to me. It’s another vegetable, get it down you, I tell him.

It would also be a waste of cucumbers too, and I’m a little dubious about pressing cucumbers on people after my stepson said (looking at the size of the one I pressed into his hands) that the cucumber would make his wife’s eyes water. I became boggled at the thought of what she might be going to do with the cucumber that would make her eyes water but decided it was best not to ask. There are some things parents don’t need to know.

I started this post with the weather because a strange thing has happened to the capsicums in the glasshouse and it turned out to be related to the weather. Have a look at the photo below:

These are not the beauties I’m used to growing. They’re perfectly ok inside, and I couldn’t see anything untoward on the leaves or stems. As you know, I have an auto spray going, so I didn’t think it could be insect damage. There are lots of things that can go wrong with capsicums, but a google search didn’t turn up anything that looked remotely like this. Even though I’ve grown capsicums for years, I’ve not seen this before. I turned to my glasshouse FaceBook groups to ask the hive mind (the best use of social media imho). Within a few minutes, someone (thank you Glen) responded. I now have a name for this: corking. Apparently it happens when the inside grows faster than the outside – these striations are stretch marks. It can happen on tomatoes too – and in fact my tomatoes have been affected – they split. The problem is too much water.

There’s a timer on the soak hoses in the glasshouse and up until November last year I had it programmed for a 20 minute soak once a day. In November, after eating some of the Sweet 100s and finding them tasteless (which alerted me to the fact that I was watering them too much), I changed the programme to 30 minutes every third day. We’ve had some heavy rain in the months the capsicums have been growing. Since they, like everything else in the glasshouse, are planted in the ground, and the water level comes up to the grass when it rains heavily, the plants get wet feet. I think with the heavy rain, and too much watering it was – well I was going to write “it was a perfect storm” but that would be blaming the weather too much, and it’s probably more my fault than nature’s. I have Many Other Fine Qualities as you know.

The marvellous thing is that Now I Know. I love learning something new, especially about the garden.

Meanwhile, in the same bed as these California bell capsicums (which are on three year-old plants), I have King Sweetie capsicum plants which I’ve grown from seed – two of them (the rest of the plants are growing outside). I planted the seeds in punnets in the glasshouse back in August. I’ve never seen the seeds for sale, so grow these peppers from ones I buy at the supermarket. There’s always the risk that they won’t grow to be the same as their parent but so far, over quite a few years growing them like this, they’ve always turned out true. The King Sweeties haven’t been affected by my over-watering. That means the California bells were affected by the weather. I’m building a case here to get myself out of trouble.

To be thorough, I asked Dr Darling half an hour ago to check the programme on the timer. Just when I thought things were looking better for me, he came in to tell me that I had two programmes running on the timer in the capsicum bed which meant the bed was getting watered once a day every day, and twice every third day. I take back everything I said about him back in November. He is a Very Fine and Valuable Husband. Given this scenario, it’s a wonder the King Sweeties haven’t corked. He may have saved the day.

December 2023

^{Pak choi growing beautifully in the glasshouse}

I’m sitting here writing this on what is turning out to be the hottest day of the year – the penultimate day of the year as it happens. It’s 32 degrees out there in the shade. Lucky for us we have aircon. With solar panels on the roof, it doesn’t cost us anything to run it. Of course it cost us heaps to install the panels, but I think it won’t be long before they’ve paid for themselves if they haven’t already.

Out in the glasshouse, with its shade cover, it’s not too bad actually. You’d think it would be terribly hot, but in fact the cover works so well, with all the windows and the front door open, it keeps to a reasonably pleasant temperature. Of course you’d have to be mad (or English) to be sitting in there with a cup of tea. It’s not that mild. Dr Darling is half English, but with the other half of him Dutch, he has a bit of common sense. However, he has been working outside all morning so you can see the English side does have its effects. You would also see the effects of the English side if you could see our lawn. It’s in his DNA I reckon. Not a daisy to be seen. Just a green sward (I had to look that word up – I was right in what I thought it meant, but when you don’t use a word often it looks a bit alien and you can’t be certain of its meaning).

I was going to show you some photos of the Sweet 100 tomato in the glasshouse, but if you read the last few posts, you’ll know the plant is like a triffid, and you’ll have seen the photos already. I’ve pruned it back many times so that it doesn’t climb through the auto vents. I’ve taken out a lot of the laterals, some of which were growing over the path to the point that I felt like Dr Livingstone hacking my way through the jungle just to get down to the other end of the glasshouse. Some strong laterals have sprouted from near the base of the plant. I’ve let them grow, supporting them. They’ll need to take the place of the main runners which I have already had to cut the ends off to stem the Tomato Tide. An alternative action would be to drop the tomato and wind its trunk across the ground – I’ve done this before and it does work.

I’ve dropped the outside tomatoes (above) which are about 3 metres tall now. The reason I’ve dropped these is that when Dr Darling and I went to the Christmas street party a couple of weeks ago, one of our neighbours asked if those were tomatoes she could see sprawling over the top of our 2 metre tall fence. I hotly denied they were, but she was onto me. She threatened to drill holes in the fence to steal some. She also asked about all the blueberry bushes in the blueberry cage, but I told her there wasn’t a single berry on them this year. I’m not sure how she figured out that I wasn’t being completely honest. It might have been the asides from another neighbour who is over here almost daily, helping us with some building work. He’s a chef as well as a builder, and knows his tomatoes from his blueberries. He teased our neighbour that I was also growing pot, in between the tomatoes. This made her more determined to cut holes in the fence. What can you do with such people? My strategy is to drop the tomatoes as soon as they get to the top of the fence. She’s such a good neighbour though, I don’t think I need to do anything to protect the blueberries (of which there are thousands, although not ripe yet). However, we do have a security system and I would immediately be alerted if someone was on the property while I wasn’t looking (take note Jo). Since we live in Gisborne, and nothing is more than a 5 to 10 minute drive from home, I reckon I could get back quickly enough to stop anyone tucking in to reap the harvest of all our hard work. Fingers crossed.

^{Bottles of worm wee in the glasshouse}

What I did want to tell you about is what I use to fertilise the capsicums and tomatoes in the glasshouse (and the outside ones too) at this time of year. In a 9 litre watering can I mix 1 litre of worm wee with some Yates tomato fertiliser and then fill it with water. I feed the capsicums and tomatoes once a week.

We have a worm farm. Dr Darling loves this worm farm and rushes out to feed the worms every time the small bowl we use to collect their food (vegetable peelings, apple cores etc) fills up. I can’t help thinking about the “all hail Jay” scene in the Men In Black movie. What goes through their minds when he lifts the lid of their home? The light rushes in and food comes tumbling from above. Do they think Dr Darling is a god?

That’s all from me for this year. Thank you so much for reading my posts, and commenting too. This blog started off as a way of me recording what I was up to during the year in the glasshouse as a guide for my own future work. It’s ended up being a bit of fun for me to write, and I hope for you to read. Happy New Year to you.

November 2023

Keep calm and dry on.

I know, I know. It’s December and you’re getting the November post. It’s because, well, … reasons. One of those reasons involved travelling back home to Gisborne from Napier after a big rain event (road closed due to slips, detours etc). Gisborne people are calling it “the Rain With No Name” (wait a moment, that IS a name). I guess we’re used to cyclones with names like Bola, Hale, and Gabrielle. It’s useful to have some moniker with which to refer to weather events so that you can do a kind of Monty Python thing: First Man: “I remember Cyclone Hale when 100mm rain fell in the Gisborne ranges”. Second Man: “Luxury. In Cyclone Gabrielle we had 400mm in 24 hours.” Third Man: “You were lucky. Back in ’88 in Bola more than 900mm of rain fell over 72 hours.”

What happens in the glasshouse when it rains so much is that the plants get wet feet … er … roots. Well, you know what I mean. Before we left, I could see the rain was coming (not because of any miraculous prescience on my part, but rather from Met Service app on my phone). I turned off the auto-drip hoses in the glasshouse. Just as well. We had about 68mm on 25 November. Our friends told us it was bucketing down (we were living it up in Napier). The water table would have been level with our grass, and therefore level with the bottom of our raised beds. I was a bit worried about my Sweet 100.

No one likes having wet feet. Or roots I imagine. One year, after one long rainy week of Sundays, the tomatoes I had in the glasshouse died. I was about to write “curled up their toes” but then I thought better of it, having managed (vain hope) to get away from the feet for roots metaphor. Never mind. Dr Darling always says “the world is all the better for a metaphor.”

I’m glad to report that after The Rain With No Name, my self-seeded Sweet 100 is alive and well.

As you can see above, it’s heading for the sky. I’ve hacked it back a couple of times, taken out its laterals, pinched out its tops, but it’s still taller than me and shooting up like Jack’s beanstalk. I’ve picked about 20 to 30 tomatoes so far, all of them a bit tasteless. It’s my own fault because I’ve been watering it too much, the irony of which won’t escape you. The control box that schedules the watering is a Gardena one. I usually ask Dr Darling to change it and he would like me to think he is able to do this without looking at the manual. The truth is that he’d rather spend an hour working it out than look at any instructions – so be it. Having learned a thing or two after living with him for over 30 years, I leave him to it. However, a couple of weeks ago I decided to work it out myself. I don’t know what came over me, but it was possibly one of those times when I tell myself that if Dr Darling wasn’t here (a truly terrible thought), I’d have to nut (whatever it is) out on my own, so push myself a little. These are heady times my friends!

Long story short, I did nut it out (after leafing through 52 languages in the instruction manual), and managed to change the watering schedule to every third day. Sweet, I thought, or rather hoped the ensuing tomatoes would be. I took my success as irrefutable evidence of activity in my little grey cells. I’m learning Korean* and eating blueberries every day too – anything to ward off cognitive decline (it’s clearly working). But I digress. Back to the glasshouse. The proof of the pudding will be in the eating.

At the start of this post I put a photo of some herbs drying in the glasshouse. It’s an excellent place to dry them. That’s because it’s really dry (*cough) and warm. Lots of people talk about high humidity in their glasshouses, but we don’t seem to have that problem. At the moment, when you walk into the glasshouse, it smells deliciously of lemon verbena, basil, and oregano. (It also smells of citrusy pyrethrum auto-spray – I don’t know what on earth possessed me to buy this flavour. I think, standing in the supermarket, I reasoned that if I could smell the spray I could be certain it was working, not needing new batteries or a new canister). I picked the herbs at their most vigorous and will put them in jars to use in my cooking (basil and oregano) and to make tea (lemon verbena) for the rest of the year. I dry our walnuts in the glasshouse too, but they won’t be ready until Autumn.

We finally put up our shade cloth. It’s only held down by a few bungee cords this year because when we came to put it up, we couldn’t find the big bag of bungee cords that came with it from Edenlite. We spent over an hour looking for it. I mean how many places could it be? We don’t live in a palace. I even looked under the beds. Has it been stolen (but who on earth would steal a bag of black bungee cords? They’re cheap as chips at Bunnings)? Is it evidence of cognitive decline (not with all those blueberries surely)? Is it in a Safe Place (must be, but where)? Why isn’t it in the glasshouse or the garden shed, garage, or garden annex? Aigoo.*

Luckily we had enough other bungee cords to do the job, and even in The Rain With No Name, the shade stayed put. Before we put it up, the plants were almost cooking, it was so hot. Now it’s perfectly temperate. Just the thing with the hot, dry summer we’re supposed to be getting. Fingers crossed.

September 2023

At spring’s grand entrance, even the pollen throws a confetti party.

It’s the first month of spring in the southern hemisphere and it’s warming up here. Most days I’ve been opening the glasshouse doors. I can tell when this needs doing without having to leave the comfort of the house. If the auto-vents in the roof of the glasshouse are wide open, it’s hot inside. The burning question is, should I clean the glass on the outside? Every remotely horizontal surface outside is blanketed in yellow pine pollen, including the glasshouse roof.

The more observant among you (keep eating those blueberries) will notice that the glass on the panels at the far end of the glasshouse are clean. I can explain. We have an attachment for our water-blaster like a dinner plate that lets you clean a wide area at a time. Dr Darling has a particular (or should I say peculiar?) attachment to that attachment (well that’s awkward) and once he starts using it, he wants to water-blast The World. One weekend he took the water-blaster out to clean the concrete paths. Earlier that day we’d discussed the dilemma of whether or not to clean the glasshouse roof. We decided not to, because most summers we have to put up our glasshouse cover/shade cloth to stop the plants inside cooking. We thought that maybe maybe maybe the pollen on the glass would save us the effort of putting the cover up. Anyway, there he was this particular weekend, not so long ago, busy with the water-blaster, starting with the path next to the glasshouse. At some time during this task, he must have been seized by a strange compulsion to raise the aforementioned attachment to the roof.

I have developed a spidey-sense when it comes to keeping an eye on what he’s up to outside (it’s developed based on experience due to his history of, for example, pruning trees at ground-level), and became aware that he was taking a suspiciously long time to clean the path. Isn’t it interesting what unconscious algorithms our brains are able to run? Size of path x experience water-blasting = estimated length of time needed to clean it (<> half an hour). Beset with tingling, I went to the window and peered outside with my eyes narrowed. Sure enough, there he was with the water-blaster cleaning the roof of the glasshouse. I snuck out there pdq and reminded him we’d decided not to do that. He grinned like a boy. It’s very difficult to stay cross with him when he looks like that. And as you know, he has Many Other Fine Qualities, something I remind myself of fairly often.

Last summer we didn’t put up the cover. It rained and rained and rained (you were there, you know what I’m talking about). It was the worst summer I can remember. But this year the Met Service is predicting an El Niño weather pattern, and that means a drought here on the East Coast. I think we will need the cover, pollen or not. Dr Darling has just bought a 1,000 litre water tank – but that’s a story for another time.

Meanwhile inside the glasshouse the plants are taking off. Not literally of course, not even the rocket. That would be strange. Plants are going to seed much quicker than they have for months.

The tomatoes I’ve grown from seed in pots need planting out. I possibly should have done this already, but I caught the ‘flu and haven’t been up to much for the last three weeks. I’m not doing stress about this though, because there’s lots of talk from Kiwi gardeners at this time of year about whether or not we should wait for Labour Weekend (21st October this year) to plant out frost-tender plants. However, here in Gisborne we have such a mild climate that I can usually get away with planting out much earlier if I want to, and am feeling up to it. I still have a month up my sleeve, so to speak.

The sugar snaps are developing pods. This is very exciting (I should get out more). But wait, there are reasons I’m excited. I have a recipe for laksa in which sugar snap pods take a starring role. When you watch as many K-dramas as I do, you’ll understand the drive to create dishes with noodles.

I can see from the two glasshouse growers’ pages I follow on FaceBook that lots of people are struggling with powdery mildew right now. Aphids and whiteflies too. I don’t have any of these going on in the glasshouse, and haven’t for a couple of years now. People are blaming the humidity, but I don’t think that’s the sole reason.

Ever since I started using an auto-pyrethrum spray back in May 2021 (read about it here), I haven’t had bugs or fungi of any sort. My tentative thinking about the lack of fungi in the years between then and now has been that the whiteflies/aphids/ants were tracking the fungal spores around the plants. If the bugs aren’t there, the spores can’t get distributed so efficiently. That tentative thinking has solidified into being almost certain. I’m not a white male, so I can’t step into full certainty of course, and anyway, I know fungal spores are disseminated by other means (wind, contact with other plants, contaminated garden tools).

In a glasshouse the environment is somewhat controlled. Still air means plants aren’t moving around as much, which kind of argues against ventilation which everyone swears is absolutely essential. I can only go on what works for me, and the auto-spray seems to control everything regardless of ventilation or time of year. And it’s always good practice to keep your gardening tools clean. Even rakes deserve a spa day.

August 2023

Every slice of bell pepper is like a love note from nature, shaped like a heart.

Here we are, 11 days out from the beginning of spring. Most of the seeds I planted in the glasshouse last month have germinated – Early Girl tomatoes, basil, cucumbers, and King Sweetie capsicums. They’re all on the heat pad because it’s pretty cold here now, especially at night. We’ve had a few frosts.

The seeds that haven’t germinated (butternut pumpkins and zucchini) were planted in peat pots. I’m never sure about those peat pots. For one thing peat isn’t a renewable resource which means we shouldn’t be using it. For another, the pots seem to suck the moisture from the seed-raising mix at the expense of the seeds. You’re supposed to water them when the outsides are dry, but if you water them enough to make the outsides wet, you’re inviting your seeds to rot. If you don’t water them enough they shrivel up and die (the seeds not the pots which aren’t living things as far as I know). There must be a way of using them (the pots, not the seeds – gosh this is tricky to write about) that works, but I haven’t figured it out yet. I only have them because an elderly friend keeps buying them for me and I feel I have to use them. It’s one of her many small acts of love for me.

Better news is that the sugar snap peas I planted last month are starting to take off up the walls of the glasshouse. If they do as well as they did last time I planted them in there, we’ll have squillions of pods. My niece Felicia got a particular look in her eye when she came over while I had sugar snaps in the glasshouse last time, enquiring carefully about whether or not I needed someone to pick them for me. Only to help me out of course. A small act of love.

All the greens are doing spectacularly well – five different sorts of lettuce, rocket, kale and pak choi.

Best of all though, particularly at this time of year, are the capsicum plants. Peppers are about NZ$4 each at the moment. It is joy to the glasshouse owner’s heart to see such high prices (apologies to those who have to buy them). I grew our peppers from seed a few years ago now. They’ve hung on tenaciously in the glasshouse ever since. I cut them back at the end of last summer and they sprang away again in autumn. I was very tempted to cut them right out last month, but I could see tiny fruit on them. They are now covered in fruit mostly at the top of their 2 metre high trunks, and I’ve been picking the red ones. Even though the plants look scruffy, I don’t have the heart to chop them out. That’s my small act of love for our housekeeping money.

Another small act of love and tenacity is Dr Darling bringing me a cup of tea in bed in the morning while I read a few pages of my book. He’s done this for over 30 years. We sit there sipping our tea together, chatting about Life, the Universe and Everything, looking out the window at the huge trees in the park opposite our home. Right now the oaks and chestnuts are starting to green up. We like to hold hands. I’m not sure why, but we’re like that. And when I say, “it’s time we got up,” he holds on tighter. I’m not sure why, but he’s like that. It’s one of his Fine Qualities.

November 2021

You say you love the rain but you open your umbrella.

William Shakespeare

Words: Mrs Darling

^{The gravel and paver path that runs between the raised beds.}

At the beginning of November, in Gisborne where we live, two months’ worth of rain fell in 36 hours. There was widespread flooding across the region. A state of emergency was declared. There was surface flooding at our place, with the water-table just above the grass for days.

To get out to see what was going on in the glasshouse we had to put on gumboots to splash across the back lawn. We only have one pair of gumboots between the two of us. They’re a little big for me since Dr Darling bought them for himself. They’re Red Bands, of course. They live just outside the back door under the cover of a little porch, but the rain was so fierce I had to bring them right up to the door to stop them getting wet inside.

Inside the glasshouse we have a little gravel path with paving stones running between the raised beds. This path was about a centimetre under water. For days. The beds, while raised, are sitting directly on the ground, so the water couldn’t drain away. And some of the plants didn’t like it. Within a couple of days my zucchini plant’s stem was rotted through. My sweet 100 tomato collapsed. I’d grown them both from seeds, and nurtured them through the winter. They were covered in fruit. They’re both plants from southern and central America that like dry heat and free-draining soil. Little wonder they popped their clogs.

However, some of the plants loved it. I could almost see the celery growing, and the lettuces were perkier than ever. The pak choi immediately went to seed, the celery started to bolt, and the onions decided to send up flower shoots. Luckily the capsicums survived, and so did the cucumber.

^{Cucumbers with red spring onions planted nearby.}

What to do? The answer I think is to build the beds higher than the water table gets when there’s lots of rain. Dr Darling says he’ll make the wooden frames around the beds higher, but he has a lot of projects on the go at the moment, so when this will happen is anyone’s guess. He has Many Other Fine Qualities, as you know. Meanwhile I’ve tossed in some mushroom compost to at least get the soil level higher. I bought another sweet 100 tomato and another zucchini. It’s too late this summer to start them again from seed, although by the end of January I’ll have seeds in so I can grow some in the glasshouse over the winter.

I felt sad that I’d lost the zucchini and the sweet 100, but after gardening for so many years I’ve learned to take these sorts of things in my stride. We are always dependent on the weather being favourable – even in our glasshouses where we can control so much. My philosophy is to control what you can, and let go of expectations. This is probably a good philosophy for life too. So much disappointment comes from our expectations.

^{Italian onions drying in the glasshouse.}

Since the flood I’ve pulled out the celery and the onions, and the bolting pak choi. Despite the air in the glasshouse being a bit humid most days, it’s hot, so it’s a good place to dry the onions. They smell absolutely delicious. I love these small onions – they’re sweet and not like the horticultural monstrosities you buy in the supermarket. You can chop one up to marinate in vinegar before popping them in a salad without the quantity overwhelming the dish.

Now the weather has warmed up, the lettuces in the glasshouse are growing very fast, and going to seed quickly too. Last summer I didn’t manage to keep up with planting more seeds to keep the supply going, but this summer I’ve vowed to do better. Consequently I’ve planted two punnets of lettuce seeds, some more pak choi, and two (only) kale seeds. Only two kale seeds because I’ve had kale triffids in the main garden taking up a lot of space when I’ve only needed a few leaves now and then. They taste awful, but are so very good for you, I want to keep them in our diet.

^{L to R: Outredgeous lettuce, cos lettuce, two kale and pak choi seedlings}

October 2021

The beet is the murderer returned to the scene of the crime. The beet is what happens when the cherry finishes with the carrot. The beet is the ancient ancestor of the autumn moon, bearded, buried, all but fossilized; the dark green sails of the grounded moon-boat stitched with veins of primordial plasma; the kite string that once connected the moon to the Earth now a muddy whisker drilling desperately for rubies.

Tom Robbins: Jitterbug Perfume

Words by Mrs Darling

How I wish the spoon in this photo was a tablespoon. Sadly it’s only a teaspoon, and that tells you all you need to know about how (un)successful I was at growing beetroot in the glasshouse over winter. But. I’ve been waiting all this time to use the quote above from Tom Robbins, hoping there would be some bulging beetroot for the lead photo for this posting. I hope you appreciate that I’m sacrificing my reputation for being Green-Fingered in order to bring you that quote. I adore the book I took it from – Jitterbug Perfume. An absolute classic of sultry deliciousness, published in 1984. After reading it, you’ll never look at beetroot the same way again, and you’ll be glad of it.

First, some updates. The sweet 100 tomato in the glasshouse has been providing us with little red bursts of deliciousness. Since the tomatoes started to ripen, we have had a steady supply. The plant has started to get a bit leggy (see photo below) because the cover over the glasshouse has cut down the light inside. I’m thinking about nipping out its top and allowing it to bush up from its laterals instead of letting it grow along the inside of the roof. Shockingly I found some evidence of psyllids (sugar-crystal-like psyllid poop on the leaves), and feared the worst (that the autospray couldn’t keep them at bay). Then I heaved a sigh of relief when I discovered the batteries had died in the autospray. I have no idea how many days the spray was out of action. I must be more vigilant. I looked closely and found a few psyllids on the stalks, crushed them (very satisfying) and replaced the batteries. Goodnight nurse.

^{Sweet 100 reaching for the sky. Note the autospray on the bench.}

All the tomatoes I grew from seed are now safely out in the main garden. I had planned to keep one of the golden tomatoes I wrote about last month to plant in the glasshouse, but decided in the end that I’d save seed from the current plants to plant in January so that by the time winter comes next year I’ll have tomatoes in the glasshouse producing fruit all the way through. Part of my plan to Do Better.

Also planted out in the main garden are the buttercup pumpkins and one of the two cucumbers I grew from seed germinated in the glasshouse in August. Dr Darling built me some trellises to grow them up. They’re very sturdy, like everything else he builds. He has Many Fine Qualities, as you know.

^{L to R: cucumber, and 3 butternut pumpkins on the edge of the main garden – bricks in place to foil the blackbirds.}

The other cucumber is in the glasshouse, and of course it’s ahead of the one outside. I’ve placed a pot plant saucer under its first fruit to make sure it doesn’t rot. It’s growing astonishingly quickly now the weather’s warmed up. Yum.

The zucchini isn’t doing as well as I’d hoped. There are now a few spots of powdery mildew on the leaves (see below). This surprised me because there hasn’t been a skerrick of it all through the winter. I guess that troubles my hypothesis that the spores were being brought into the glasshouse by insects. Since there were no insects getting in or surviving even if they did over the winter, then ipso facto, there were no spores. However, some insects clearly did get in after my autospray batteries died. Maybe that’s why there’s mildew now. Also we have the glasshouse cover up so it’s not as hot inside as it was, and no direct sunshine either. Both heat and light discourage mildews.

The zucchini fruit aren’t as big as they were at the start of the plant’s growth. Altogether, it’s no longer thriving which is so disappointing.

What is doing spectacularly well is the celery. I put six plants in months ago, and they’ve really hit their straps now. They’re not the horticultural monstrosities we can buy from the supermarket (goodness knows what they feed them to get them so huge), but they’re perfectly adequate for use in a salad or any savoury dish.

Finally, I want to show you my broad beans. I germinated the seeds inside the glasshouse back in June and planted them out in the garden at the beginning of September. They’re growing against the fence in a bed with a frame that Dr Darling made. I have no worries about the broad beans pulling the frame over because the structure is so well-made. (He is going for the Husband of the Year Award – again). The beans are over one-and-a-half metres tall with the most beautiful red flowers. And now the bumble bees are back in force, we have broad beans coming along. I do love them. The broad beans, the bumble bees, and Dr Darling.

• 

• 

September 2021

Words: Mrs Darling

Ka tangi te wharauroa, ko ngā karere a Mahuru – If the shining cuckoo cries, it is the messenger of spring

Māori whakataukī

^{Photo by missterryw from FreeImages}

On 26 September this year I heard the unmistakeable call of a shining cuckoo – pīpīwharauroa. It’s the earliest I’ve heard one in over 20 years. In fact in the past few years they haven’t arrived in Gisborne until November. A chap called Ray Paterson up in Northland, who’s paid attention to the arrival of shining cuckoos since he was a boy 70-odd years ago, heard one this year around the middle of August. He said they usually arrive in Northland in September. They fly to Aotearoa New Zealand from the Bismarck Archipelago every spring, and stay until autumn. It’s a journey of over 4,600kms and the bird is about the size of a sparrow. They’re not as sexy as godwits which seem to have their own marketing managers who encourage bird lovers to record the godwits’ every move once they hit our shores (ok, ok, they do fly about 12,000kms). But I reckon a journey like that for a tiny bird is pretty amazing. Once they arrive in Northland they slowly work their way south.

I know what you’re thinking – isn’t she supposed to be writing about glasshouses? Yes, yes, I am. But I’m just so excited I had to share it with you. And also shining cuckoos mean that spring is here. That means it’s a busy time in the glasshouse (there you go).

First, an update: The sweet 100 tomato I grew from seed planted in May is now covered in fruit. None have ripened yet – another reminder to get seeds planted in January or February for tomatoes I want to eat over the winter in the glasshouse. However, we will be eating our own glasshouse tomatoes a lot earlier than the ones I’m about to plant out in the garden, so growing the plant over the winter hasn’t been a complete waste of time. (Note to self: Must Do Better.)

The cucumbers and supermarket truss tomatoes I grew from seed are now more than ready to plant out in the garden. The tomatoes are too big for their pots, but I’m hesitating to plant them out because the nights are still quite cold – only 4 degrees a few days ago. The earliest day for planting them out for optimal growth and health is 9 October, according to the gardeners’ moon calendar, and the maramataka calendar compiled by my friend Ron Taiapa – kia ora Ron, and thank you e hoa. I don’t think the seedlings can wait for another week though (see below).

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The courgette plant inside the glasshouse is still growing strongly and we’re picking a couple of courgettes a week. The butternut pumpkin seeds germinated and are also growing well. On top of all this abundance, we’re picking sugar snaps daily. This latter comes just in time for the school holidays when our two “nieces” spend their days with us while their parents work. The younger one gets a glint in her eye whenever sugar snaps are mentioned.

The most exciting arrival in September (apart from the shining cuckoo) was some tomato seeds from Heritage Food Crops Research Trust. I sent away for them after reading in the August issue of the New Zealand Gardener magazine about Mark Christensen’s research into high lycopene tomatoes. Lycopene is a powerful antioxidant which has been shown to reduce the incidence of heart disease and some cancers. Two sorts of tomato seeds came, both for golden tomatoes – “Golden Bell” with high lycopene, and “Eye Drop” which is high in beta-carotene. HFCRT asked gardeners from around the motu to assist them in “citizen science work” by planting the tomatoes and watching to see how they develop.

One of the instructions was to put the seeds in the saliva in your mouth before planting them in moist seed-raising mix. My friend Robyn, who’s in her 80s, told me that her great aunt had routinely done this before planting her seeds. It made me wonder what gardening lore and wisdom we might have lost as I haven’t seen anyone else do this. I also wondered about the role of saliva, which has proteins and enzymes in it. Do these elements somehow prepare the seeds for germination? Soften them? The instructions also advised to wait two days before watering the pots which implies that the saliva is important, and not to be watered down too soon. I followed the instructions and now have four punnets of seedlings. I’ll be planting one “Golden Bell” plant in the glasshouse with the rest outside to take their chances.

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The plants growing in the glasshouse right now are the healthiest I’ve ever grown. I reckon this is mostly down to using an auto-spray to keep the bugs off (thanks again Colin). Not only have the bugs been kept off, but there is absolutely no powdery or downy mildew on any of the plants. This is astounding as my plants have been plagued by mildew in previous years, even in the height of summer. My hypothesis is that mildews are carried by insects which bring the spores into the glasshouse on their legs and bodies. In our glasshouse the plants are clean because the insects either can’t get in (we have screens on the door and windows we open), or they die very quickly thanks to the auto-spray (if they’re small enough to get in through the fine mesh). It would be brilliant if they stay this way, and who knows, maybe, maybe, maybe, I can finally beat the psyllids. Fingers crossed.

August 2021

Words: Mrs Darling

The seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose.

William Shakespeare

^{A Sweet 100 with beetroot and celery at its feet}

Last month I wrote that I wished I’d planted a cucumber in the glasshouse for the winter. Right now the supermarkets are charging $4.99 for a cucumber about 15cm long and no thicker than the width of my thumb, so I’m really cross. It’s my own fault. I wrote that people wanting to eat salads when it’s cold outside are mad. Even as I wrote it back in May I had a bad feeling that the gods might strike me down. Right now I want cucumber on my sandwiches, and in my pita breads, and have wanted them all winter long. It’s cost me many dollars. I’m kicking myself. For the price of a single cucumber seed planted back in February I could have saved myself all this angst and all those dollars.

Another thing I could have done better is planted the sweet 100 tomato seeds in February, so that by now I’d have tomatoes too. You can see from the photo above that the plant I grew from seed which germinated in May is doing well. It has flowers too, but no fruit yet. Yes, I’ve tickled the flowers with a paintbrush and given the plant some good vibrations every time I’ve walked past, but nothing yet.

I have cucumber and tomato seedlings (see below) in the glasshouse right now, ready for spring planting in a few weeks’ time. They should be very strong and big by then. I’m all sorted for spring. It’s the other end of the year I need to get better at.

^{Tomato seedlings (supermarket truss)}

The tomatoes are from seeds from a particularly tasty truss tomato I bought at the supermarket. Dr Darling couldn’t believe I could just take the seeds from a lunchtime slice and put them in potting mix. He must have had an idea that seeds are always dried. But of course in nature the fruit drops to the ground and the seeds germinate without any fuss.

The cucumbers are Diva which Kings Seeds says are fast-growing, self-pollinating, and particularly disease-resistant. Powdery mildew is the main culprit inside and outside the glasshouse, but white flies are a nuisance too if they get stressed (the plants not the white flies – I’ve never seen a stressed white fly – they seem to float blissfully around even when I’m trying to drown them in the sink). I’ve grown two – one for outside, and the other for the glasshouse. With the auto-spray going (thanks Colin) I’m confident that this year my glasshouse cucumbers won’t succumb to whiteflies or other pests.

Last month I planted lettuce seedlings. I’ve been picking their leaves every day for our sandwiches – they provide a bit of crunch which makes up for the cucumbers a bit. The sugar snaps haven’t set peas yet, but some of them are flowering so peas can’t be far away. They’re another thing I should have planted earlier in the year, although as you know I did try in June and every seedling was nibbled to the ground by a couple of sparrows who I suspect were struck down by the gods for their evil deed. When I found them they weren’t resting, stunned, tired and shagged out after a long squawk, or pining for the fjords. They had gone to meet their maker.

^{Sugar snaps and red lettuces}

The zucchini is the Star Plant this month (I’ve been watching the Great British Sewing Bee, and the Great British Bake Off). I’ve picked some really gorgeous zucchinis off it, enough to make a couple of meals. But again, I wish I’d started it earlier than May. If I’m spared, I’ll do better next winter.

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Meanwhile, we’re all in lockdown again. Level 4 as I write this on the penultimate day of winter. I hope you are all safe and well. We’ve had both our jabs, live 7 hours’ drive away from Auckland, and behave ourselves so we are hopeful of dodging the COVID bullet.

It’s a joy to spend time in the glasshouse, and to check on my seedlings every day. Many of the flower seeds I planted last month have come up which allows me to dream of drifts of zinnias and cosmos. I also have some cape gooseberry seedlings, and some winter sweets which I’ve grown from the oddest looking seeds – more about these in a future post. Waiting to come through are buttercup pumpkins and lemon grass. Now all we need is some warmer weather.

Guest Post: Tomatoes in Taranaki

by Colin “Bruiser” Smith

Mrs Darling asked me if I might like to do a guest item on a subject for her glasshouse blog. Well, it is a wet and uninviting day in July, so here goes:

I have raised my tomatoes from seed for many years. They are way cheaper and you can get a head start, as you don’t see many tomato plants for sale before October. Here in Taranaki I like my tomatoes in the glasshouse by early September, which is because I like tomatoes for Christmas. The variety I plant is Money Maker.

I buy relatively cheap seed from Bunnings (Mitre 10 will have similar as they come from the same place) and I can get about three years of plants out of a packet.  I usually grow 15 to 20 plants every year. I grow others by laterals later on, and you can also save your own seed – but these stories are for another post!

I used to buy a premium seed raising mix, but that gets expensive and I also found the mix went mouldy by the second year. These days I just use my own compost plus a bit of potting mix thrown in. I put one seed in per pot on the 1^st of July each year and put them in my hot water cupboard. I check them every few days to see if they’ve stayed damp and to see if any have popped up. Between day 7 and 10 is when they usually pop up. You need to get the seedling out on the day you see a plant pop up, otherwise you will end up with a very lanky stem (you can still ‘recover’ these by planting them up to their leaves when you transplant – roots will grow from all along the stems). Once the seedling has popped up, they go into my lounge where they get a lot of sun.  You need to turn the tray around every few days, otherwise they start stretching their stems toward the light.

You will see I use a plastic tray but an old enamel oven dish does the trick just as well. I also water them with an old drink bottle, so you can control the water flow pretty well. If you count the seedlings in the photo you will see that I have 12 up on 18/7, so a few have not germinated. Today I have put two more seeds in the pots which are still in the hot water cupboard. They are going to produce later, but I am okay about that.

I used to just throw the seed in a tray and then prick out the plants later, but I find the individual pot system makes for much easier growing as I only disturb these plants once when I put them into a bigger pot. That will probably be mid-August.

Glasshouse preparation All gardening books advise not to plant tomatoes in the same ground year after year. This creates a problem for the glasshouse grower. I have overcome this by digging out new holes in the glasshouse each year and filling them with compost. I have attached a photo of how I do this. I dig holes about 400mm x 400mm and approximately 200mm deep. This means you do need a lot of compost, but thankfully I have 5+ compost bins, so can produce enough. I add ground egg shell, sheep manure, fire ash (from non-tantalised wood) and a bit of blood and bone to the compost. Of course you can just plant in potting mix, but again, I find that gets expensive.

In the past, before I dug my holes, I used to water blast the inside of the glasshouse and I would recommend this to get rid of detritus hanging around. I have got a bit lazy I suppose, but I still give it a good sweep down.

Here’s what it looks like:

When my plants are about 2 months old I move them out of my lounge to the glasshouse and leave them in their pots for a few days to acclimatise to the cooler nights out there. After that I put them in their pre-filled holes.

This is a photo from a few years ago:

You may notice that I have twine running from the toms up to horizontal wires that I have in the glasshouse. I love this ‘coat hanger’ system, because it is easy to train the tomatoes up them and also when they get older you can drop the tomatoes onto the ground and basically run the ‘vines’ around the glasshouse. Here is an old photo, so you can see how that is done. This is late in the piece – I would guess around March.

While the tomatoes are growing in the glasshouse, my auto-spray keeps the whiteflies at bay. It only operates at night so there’s no danger to the bees. I feed the plants once a week with seaweed tea.

Finally a photo of them in their prime (they look a little sad in the photo above). Actually the photo below includes some auto pots that I have been experimenting with.