Hedvig’s permaculture diploma

Somedays, breakfast looks like this:

A few years ago I read a book called ‘Small lemons yellow’, an evocative book about Sweden, cooking and relationships.  It has sort of stuck with me.  Maybe because I don’t read that many books in Swedish, more likely because of the subject matter.  The book re-emerged from my memories this morning, as I was admiring the three lemons that Tristan picked from our tree last night.

My admiration is undoubtedly fuelled from following a local diet, and citrus at this time of year seems like an incredible bundle of much-needed vitamin C and stored sunlight. I can understand why getting a clementine in your stocking at Christmas was so special, or why, as a young child, my mother asked for a crate of clementines for Christmas, because she didn’t like to be told off for eating more than her fair share.

I bought Tristan the tree as a moving in present in August, and it already had a few small green lemons, and now they are fully formed and ripened.  It has been an interesting to watch in amazement as new growth shoots up, hand pollinate the new flowers and learn many of aspects of growing lemons in England including when to harvest them. Last week Tristan and I were debating just the latter and we decided not to do it just then (when you realise that it takes around 1o months for lemons to ripen, you want to ensure you pick them at the right time).

The following morning I saw the photo on my desk in a different way.  It is a close-up of crates of lemons that I helped sort and pack when I was WWOOFing in Sicily in 2008.  I have it up as a reminder of the relaxed efficiency of Peppe’s place, the amazing sandwiches we munched in the lemon grove, the smell of the citrus flowers in the morning, and the Moro oranges that we ravished during the thought-provoking pruning of the olive grove.  All the lemons in the photo that Peppe and Davide had harvested were the same colouring as ours, so I knew it was fine to pick them.

Yesterday, Ian came over to see the new flat and saw the lemons.  He suggested lemon sorbet.  I also like the sound of Meyer Lemon Marmalade.  But I think sorbet will win out.

The Flight of the Conchords-inspired refrain ‘It’s seedy, it’s seedy time’ is going around and around my head.  Understandably as yesterday, I went along to Seedy Sunday in Hove with my boyfriend and a couple of friends (Ian and Peter).  It is impossible for me not to be a little seed obsessed after spending most of the afternoon at a community seed swap, bumping into various people I know and having incredibly geeky conversations with different stall holders, and coming home with a exciting collection of seeds and bulbs.The broad beans and the garlic have to go in soon.  So next step is creating my own sowing schedule following the biodynamic days.   It was really heartening to see so many people that were really into growing and seed saving.  So I’m looking forward to getting sowing.

It is that time of year again: seed time.  This weekend marks the beginning of this years seed sowing.  I spent Saturday at Stepping Stones Farm, in Stepney, preparing for a series of workshops that I am going to be delivering with a friend (Robin).  I also met the wonderful Alex, who we are going to be working with more and more this summer.   We had some volunteers around and a few visitors, so we did a bit of a dry run and taught them seed sowing.  It is still quite early on in the season, so we started off with broad beans, Super Aquadulce, to be precise.

You may know already that I am a great lover of broad beans, and was very excited last year to get great big bunches of them in my veg box.  This year it is more exciting because I will be growing them myself as well.  Broad beans are sown during the cold months: either during the autumn or spring (depending on the variety).  They are part of the legume family and so fix nitrogen, which is a super useful compound that plants need to grow.  Bees also love the flowers.  Are you convinced yet that it’s a winner?  Hope so.

I went to Seedy Sunday (more on that later) yesterday and picked up some biodynamic Witkiem broad beans.  These are renown as being tasty, productive and hardy.   So I am going to experiment, sowing the beans at three different times of the month and see which ones do better.  I will update you on the progress.

One of the permaculture principles is ‘catch and store energy’.  And I feel that July did really evoke that.  Up until July, I had been observing different Introduction to Permaculture that were being run in London and Brighton, and in July, I was asked if I would like to do a bit of teaching.  This course was a different from the normal Naturewise courses, and it took place at the Friends of Tottenham Marshes site, along the canal.  It was an amazing weekend, and as always with these courses, met some amazing people.  But this time stayed in touch with some of them (you’ve gotta love Facebook).

One of the sessions that happens on an intro course is a practical session.  In our planning session there were lots of ideas about what to do: clear a seating area, check out the compost, clear the paths.  I threw in my idea: to go forage for things that were already growing.  We had about 40 mins, or something like that.  Basically not very long.

On the day we asked the participants which practical activity they wanted to do.  I had one volunteer.  John and I meandered off into the marshes, with a few containers and look what we came back with:

And so from this bounty, I decided that I would capture and store this energy, and ended up making a blackberry and elderberry jus.  Okay, so the jelly that I had intended to make didn’t really work, but the taste of this stuff is amazing.  It is so wild.  That is the only way that I can really describe it.  And it is great with yoghurt, on bread (if you’re quick) and ice-cream.

It’s a good reminder in the joys of foraging compared to cultivating.  Made me think I want to be doing more of that in the months and years to come.

from these wintery days that we are experiencing in the UK this year.  So it is great to remember, that not that many months ago I was picking  home grown strawberries from the garden.  This thought brings that added delight that despite being in a different house and town, this year I may have strawberries growing in the garden again.

And really, what could be more evocative of the June than strawberry jam?  And here it is:

And what a delightful end.  May is the month of elderflowers.  This was an amazing season for elderflowers.  Sara’s tree was laden, the avenues of Southwark round Naveen’s were full, Hackney marshes brimmed with them.  I had never had them in tea before Sarah moved into the house, but now it was a regular feature.  Perfect when you want the floral that jasmine offers.

So one Saturday, on the way back from Broadway market, I picked some flowers and dried them. The house smelled sweetly while they were drying, and when crisp I potted them up.  And there they sat, occasionally being used, but often being sniffed.

Yup, it still was a bit desperate in April.  But with a little extra TLC, the pot of oregano Irene and I had sown before I moved in the house, was flourishing.  Sarah was going through a chili moment, and there were a few extra lurking at the bottom of the fridge at the end of the month.  So April’s became:

The hungry gap is the period between the last of the stored stuff and the new fresh produce.  March can already belong to that period.  When you really do wonder what else to do with cabbage, or parsnip or suede.  I decided to refrain from preserving any of them, and took inspiration from further afield.

Years ago, my brother worked in India, and he came back with the prefect present for my dad: a pot of honey rammed full with nuts and raisins.  It was such a treat to come in from working in the gardening during the winter and to pick out a honey-covered cashew.  So I decided that, although not local, honey, raisins and nuts were a theme of the house, as we consumed copious cauldrons full of porridge.  In particular, after spending a good amount of time preparing almonds in Sicily.  So March, was:

February saw Get Growing really start to grow, literally.  We embarked on the mission to restore part of an old glasshouse so that we could create a seedling nursery.  It needed a fair bit of work, clearing, cleaning and moving extra stuff around the glasshouse.  Not an easy task.  One of the casualties was a bed of Cape Gooseberries.  There is a wilting pile of gooseberries, that I couldn’t bring myself to throw away (following of the permaculture principles of no waste) and so decided to make something out of it.

I researched recipes on the net, asked my mum if she had any from her collection of South African books.  Nothing.  No recipes for unripe cape gooseberries.  What to do?  Well, another useful permaculture principles is that the yield is only limited by the imagination of the designer, so I set about… making it up.  This time round at Sara’s house.  So one cold February afternoon, looking out over London Fields we starting making Cape Gooseberry Chutney.

Now, I have to admit, I’m not a great fan of chutney.  I associate it with the jars of unidentifiable brown stuff I would find lurking in the back of my great aunts cupboards.  But this stuff was so different, the unripe gooseberries are a vibrant!

And if I ate meat, I would be delighted to find this on the kitchen table on Boxing day for those turkey and ham sandwiches.  I’ve enjoyed with with curries, sandwiches and it has been such a pleasure to it, and a great encouragement to experiment and make and eat chutney.