DIARY OF A GARDENER: TICKLING THE WATERMELONS

I learnt the most fascinating thing yesterday. I learnt that you and me, humans can assist watermelon plants breed, get pregnant, become fertile, pollinate – whatever the term is in garden lingo. My best friends Brother Brent and his wonderful partner Michelle showed me how by using the male flower to tickle the female stem or bulb can fertilise the plant. So my friends regularly give their plant a helping hand if the female bulbs look a bit barren. Watermelons self-fertilise, with the female flower being pollinated equally well by pollen from a male flower on the same or a different plant. They’re not strictly hermaphrodite though and unlike worms which are, watermelons need the wind, bees, birds or loving human guardians to transfer the pollen along the same plant or across to a neighbouring one. So I found this titbit of knowledge fascinating because it was so rudimentary in a cycle-of-life, universal inter-connected co-existence kind of way. I suppose the smallness of the deed – the tickling of a bulb to produce substanance to feed not just a small family of four but an extended whanau and friends totalling over 100 (a large well producing plant can bear over 20 watermelons), that’s humanity at grassroots level.

My two friends Brother Brent and Michelle, they’re clever people. They live in Mt Albert the same suburb as me and my little family. That’s not why they’re clever; they’re smart because they can grow food in a tyre. The couple reckon it retains heat especially when the temperature drops and I suppose it’ll be a great deflector of frost in winter almost as good as a glasshouse. They have full, healthy kamokamo and tomatoes packed into that broken truck tyre. As soon as I saw it, it brought back memories of my neighbours the Meads in Galbraith Street. They had blue, green, yellow swans made out of discarded car and truck tyres. The Meads planted flowers; pansies, carnations and daffodil bulbs inside the hollowed-out middle. I always thought them ugly. But a tyre with food in it, now that’s a much more attractive sight, practical, principled, purposeful.
I won’t be as ambitious for my garden as Brother Brent and Michelle are with theirs. I can’t be because I’m starting over again after a ten year hiatus. I have to relearn things, how to grow what to grow when to grow. It’s a whole new relearning. But more than that I’m older and the back isn’t as strong as it used to be and what used to take me an hour seems to take me a day. It was good to visit my friend’s garden. Wonderful to watch Michelle tickle the watermelon bulb, discuss the merits of discarded rubber tyres and to spend time and share food with wonderful people.

DIARY OF AN URBAN GARDENER

I’ve cleared another metre of ground, making way for my urban vegetable garden. It’s slow going for me. Whereas some gardeners would have cleared the same space in the wink of an eye – unfortunately I’m a cm-x-cm kind of girl. Lucky for me the garden’s relatively clear of weeds, thanks to the heavy leaf cover on the ground. It’s been a well maintained garden over all. This is a new home for me and my little family. We’re living in a three bedroom ex-state house. The house itself has good solid bones, nothing leaky about it except for the taps that don’t twist all the way to off. Unlike other state homes in our street our yard isn’t quite your ¼ acre section (it’s more like an 1/8th), but compared to the homes we’ve owned in Grey Lynn this property feels almost farm-like in its proportions.

When I was a kid growing up in Galbraith Street which is just around the corner from where we live now, it was a true ¼ acre section. My parents bought the state house from the Government using the Family Benefit as a deposit. That was 1960’s Auckland and we were the only Maori family in the street. In fact the closest Maori family to us were the Webbs, cousins of ours from up North. They lived in Potter Ave two streets over. The Webbs and us were part of the Labour Government’s ‘pepper-potting policy’. This is where Maori families were sprinkled around Pakeha neighbourhoods to encourage assimilation into Pakeha society. I suppose we could count ourselves lucky to have been allowed to ‘pepper-the-pot’, because twenty years earlier (the late 1940s) Maori were excluded from mainstream state housing, on the grounds that their presence would 'lower the tone' of state housing communities. At that time there was state assistance for Maori housing in rural areas but it came in the form of loans. The monies were used to replace dilapidated housing. The replacement buildings were smaller and less sophisticated than the state-sponsored Pakeha housing.

Anyway I digress.

It was the size of the sections I wanted to talk about or rather what was on the sections. I can’t find any policy similar to that of Canberra Australia requiring residents to have set number of trees and shrubs on their properties. But back yard Kiwi state houses of that era, all without exception grew the same trees – feijoa, plum, apple, peach, lemon and a loquat. A mini orchard. Galbraith Street still has one of two original plum trees and the feijoa tree. Both are over 50 years old now and still fruiting strongly. Alas the apple, peach and loquat succumbed to my brother’s over exuberance with an axe, 40 years ago. Many of the state homes in my street today have very mature fruit trees, apples, plums, lemons and loquats mainly. You can tell they must have been planted over half a century ago because of the moss covered bark, the gnarled leaves or the general skeletal frames reminiscent of our own frail elderly. As well as fruit trees, state houses from the 40’s to 70’s also had the most magnificent vegetable gardens. It was no surprise to see 10 metre rows of silver beat stand knee and thigh high beside shoulder tapping tomato plants and head topping corn stalks. Potato plants were abundant along with cabbages, beans, peas and beetroot. Lettuces weren’t at all popular, well not in our neighbourhood anyway.
My section won’t be the ‘long rows akin of old’. Instead I think I’ll have boxed sections, it’ll be much more manageable for me. But I better get going otherwise I’ll still be talking about it this time next year.