5 of 15

Write now Article Tools

Page 2 of 2

set out in search of a meal. We had to harden our hearts as the poor things bobbed around in the water, seeming to know their fate was to be eventual drowning. Next morning, the water was poured off into "the hole" and the still fresh crustaceans were thrown into the chook pen, to the delight of the dozen or so layers which were always housed there.

Almost all bugs, beetles and garden pests of any description were gathered and fed to the hens, the exception being the harlequin bugs with their bright pattern and foul odour which must have tasted as bad as they smelt because the birds would not touch them. These insects were dropped into half a bucket of very hot water where they continued to secrete some disgustingly putrid stuff until they succumbed and drowned. Collecting them was a job we hated because our fingers would reek for hours no matter how we scrubbed them. Later, the bucket would be emptied into "the hole" and a scoop of soil tossed over to cover the stench and the sight of the detested pests.

Two or three plants from each vegetable crop were always allowed to form seed. The pods and seed heads were carefully watched until ready to burst and scatter. Gently they would be detached, stored in brown paper bags, or sometimes wrapped in cloth pockets, labelled and stored on shelves in the woodshed for the following season's planting. Swapping with neighbours was a fine way to extend the range of varieties and experiment to find favourites.

When we had a vegetable and fruit surplus, we would often set up a small table in the street in front of our picket fence. A basket of lemons would stand beside small bundles of beets and carrot thinnings, or whatever we had produced that was more than we could eat or bottle or dry. Sometimes I would pick small bunches of lavender and tie them with narrow purple ribbon. Ladies passing on foot and heading for the shops with wicker baskets on their arms would give us coins for whatever they fancied and promise to pick up their purchases on their return trip. Invariably, we sold out quickly and sometimes we were allowed to head to the shops ourselves to purchase that rare treat an icecream cone.

We did not freeze any produce from our vegetable garden. Even if we had known then that this was possible, our simple refrigerator did not have the capacity to hold more than a few trays of ice-cubes.

Anyway, my father would have declared firmly, "Nothing beats a freshly-picked vegetable from your own garden" and we would have agreed with him.

Gardening was simple then, as our lifestyle was too. Perhaps we all had more time to do those down-to-earth, precious things and to enjoy the fruits of our labour, so to speak.

But, even in these sophisticated days of compost tumblers, mulching, insecticides and frozen vegetables, my father's gentle words sound in my head each time I go into my vegetable garden, and I know that his reasoning is as logical and ecological today as it was when I was a child.

Learn more about this author, Victoria Moss.
Click here to send this author comments or questions.

• << previous page
• 1
• 2

Add your voice

Know something about Memoirs: Gardening?
We want to hear your view. Write now!