Country Squire

THIS YEAR, ROB INGRAM HAS EMBARKED ON A SOLO GARDENING ADVENTURE.

WE PLANTED A PUMPKIN THIS YEAR. No, no, just a pumpkin. We were going to put the other vegetables in after the rain came. It didn’t. It was so dry, the trees were following the dog around saying, “Me next, me next.” It wasn’t always like this. If our vegetable garden was in the city, the council would build a block of flats on it. It’s so big we once flirted with the idea of getting into niche horticulture. Garlic, chillies, saffron — that sort of caper. That plan was derailed by The Chosen One’s brilliance. I included her in the project development meeting and asked what she thought we should be producing. “It needs to be something there’s a strong local demand for… and something that doesn’t take broad acres to produce,” I said. She had the answer in a flash. “Party ice,” she said. For some reason or another, we didn’t follow through on the Great Party Ice Plan. It was probably the difficulty of transporting it to town in a solid state. Instead of trying to make money from the vegetable garden, we decided to save money by growing what we’d otherwise have to buy. Over the years, we’ve planted asparagus, beans, beetroot, broccoli and brussels sprouts. We’ve planted cabbage, carrots, cauliflower, celery, chillies and cucumber (no, we’ve never planted chokos). And we’ve planted herbs: herbs in the outside beds, the middle beds and the inside beds. Herbs in the old wash tubs, herbs in the old washing-machine drum, herbs in the trough, herbs on the kitchen window ledge. We’ve planted leeks and lettuce, marrows and melons, onions, potatoes and radish. Rhubarb and silverbeet and spinach and tomatoes. Most years something has rewarded our efforts… but never everything. There were seasons with no rain and, when it did rain, there were the garden marauders. Planting out here is a different procedure from most places. We follow the quad method of using four packets of seeds where others use just one. It’s a joyous ritual, scratching among the rocks and direct-drilling the seeds, all the while singing the ‘Harvest Hope’ anthem: “One for the currawong, one for the crow; one for the cutworm and one to grow…” In recent years, however, we’ve adjusted our expectations downwards. This year, we adopted the ‘Gamble Responsibly’ message, so generously offered by establishments that make unconscionable fortunes from people who don’t, in fact, gamble responsibly. Our responsible gamble was the pumpkin… and, boy, have we hit the jackpot. With just one plant in the garden, you can lavish personal attention and quality time. You can have a meaningful conversation with a single plant, discuss the meaning of life and share hopes and aspirations. You can take cool showers on hot days playing under the hose. There are trips to the beach… no, we’re not that silly. We take the trips to the beach to find seaweed and kelp for the pumpkin. Lashings of nitrogen-dominant fertiliser to give the little chap a good start, then on to phosphorous fertiliser once the blossoms appear. Then the vine produced its first offspring and, good gourd, he’s perfect. I want you to change your perception of the pumpkin. You thought it was humble, right? Chances are you haven’t tried pumpkin and pancetta risotto with parmesan, Kerala pickle, smoked almond and pumpkin hummus, pumpkin empanadas, pumpkin pie with pecan crumble or — the ultimate — pumpkin ravioli with brown butter and ginger sauce. Follow the food fashionista trail and you’ll find vegetable worship has become the chic default mode of many a chef these days. You’ll also find that, of all the culinary movements that are going to make the rest of 2018 rapturous, the pumpkin will reign supreme. We’re already thinking of putting in two next year.

“WITH JUST ONE PLANT IN THE GARDEN, YOU CAN LAVISH PERSONAL ATTENTION AND QUALITY TIME.”