Hi there! Let me take you back, so you know how we arrived in Tasmania, growing our own food…
I’ve always been interested in gardening in some form. When I was five years old, I had a yellow hydrangea called Fluffy. I helped my neighbour plant vegetables in her greenhouse, and I used to ride my bike to the local nursery and look at the flowers, until they potted and gave me a margeurite daisy to look after. My family always had something growing in a vegetable garden, but we were far from self sufficient.
When I was 19 I had my first garden in pots, as renters usually do. In the height of drought season in Southern NSW, I would lovingly save all the water from washing hands, dishes, showers and clothes to water the garden. It grew beautifully on our verandah, and kept the lawn green up to the clothesline. Always flowers, never vegetables.
I moved to a sheep station in 2002, where we had an acre of garden. We lived in The Butcher’s house, set near The Baker’s house and near one of the main homesteads. The garden was a history of old grass, massive wisteria, banksia rose, big trees, belladonna lillies and a lot of weeds. Over two years we put our stamp on it, putting in lots of gaura, wallflowers, pansies, chinese lanterns, gardenia, potato vine and many more flowers. The yard was an absolute terror to mow and our sheep routinely ate everything. Our lamb Bert ate 72 bulbs one spring, and our sheep Moonshine was content to munch everything in sight. Water was scarce everywhere, but we had rainwater, spring fed dams and bore water. Our green oasis in the middle of 7000 acres wasn’t enough to keep us in NSW.
In 2005 we moved to Tasmania and lived in the heart of Hobart in a beautiful three story house, rumoured to have been a one time brothel, and lovingly renovated by two restauranters in the late 90’s. The garden was lush and rambling, as good cottage gardens should be. It was such a surprise to have a garden that you actually had to hold back, as opposed to whispering sweet nothings into the ears of plants just to stop them dying. We moved down the street to dire garden straits, and I discovered baking and lost my garden mojo for the time we were there. My partner, A, worked with the landfill filled backyard and created a beautiful courtyard garden, complete with fernery, flower borders and climbing jasmine. We grew herbs and lettuce in pots near the back door and enjoyed the gardening without lawn.
Fast forward to early 2009. We’ve been having itchy feet for awhile and desperate for a project. We take leisurely drives down south of Hobart and ogle properties under mountains and by rivers. We look at land, and decide the neighbour’s kid’s quad bike was a good reason to look elsewhere. We peer at houses on the internet and find our home. Buried under a quickie renovation, the house doesn’t need work, but we will not live with a ‘heritage pastel floral wallpaper border’ life forever. We sign papers for our new house and I immediately begin planning the most wonderous vegetable and fruit garden known to man.
We move in in April and begin our riverside life. Our immediate neighbour helped his brother build our house, so we’re being filled in on the history of our home bit by bit. The garden is a big area divided in two by the driveway, with no backyard, but all front yard. The original owner had a market garden taking up one side of the yard entirely, and coincidentally, that’s where we’ve decided to put ours.
Winter keeps us working inside, painting and settling in. We experienced very few frosts, but plenty of cold mornings, and entire weeks without sunshine. Then, all of a sudden, it’s springtime. It starts with one gentle warm day, where it only rains for a few minutes instead of all day.
And we begin…
Where the vegies used to grow.
