ENTER THE VEGETABLE GARDEN
Once we cross the covered walkway that links our guest apartments to the northern wing of Das Helwig Haus B&B we enter the vegetable garden. On our right the rhubarb and acanthus grow gigantic leaves and the kiwi fruit vines entirely cover the lattice along the apartment veranda. This is the south western part of our garden and as such is exposed to the worst of our winter winds. All the permanently planted trees and shrubs in this region are deciduous and in the winter months the area becomes rather desolate.
Rhubarb
Winter is our busy season with guests who come to the Granite Belt to taste the wines, follow the food trail and cuddle up before a fire at night. Thus it suits me that the garden is dormant. I try to have the grape vines, quince, persimmon, cherry, mulberry, apricot and nectarine trees pruned by the end of August.
There are some years when spring is slow arriving on the Granite Belt with frosts continuing on into October. In fact, frosts have been recorded in every month of the year. Because of the cold winters the garden does not yield much produce in spring until the soil warms.
While we were holidaying in Germany during the spring of 1990 my sister-in-law, Minna Helwig, told me that we would be having a barbe kue on Samstag and I had thought she was telling me that she planned a barbecue on Saturday. Imagine my surprise therefore when she picked the first red stalks of rhubarb from her garden, discarded the poisonous leaves, and gave me the stems to wash and slice. Meanwhile Minna used fresh yeast to make the sweet bread base of a Kuchen. The rhubarb was spread across the base, sprinkled liberally with sugar, and after the dough had risen to double the original height, placed in the oven to bake. Served with generous amounts of pouring cream, this is the traditional way the first rhubarb of the season is presented to families in the village of Wolferborn and throughout other regions of Hesse.
Rhubarb clump
We continued our around the world trip to visit Margaret, a friend who lives near New Liskeard in northern Ontario, Canada. I was amazed by the size of her rhubarb clump. Obviously established years previously it seemed to require no special attention, would die back into the earth under a heavy cover of snow each year, but then burst forth in the spring to create a remarkably thick cluster of plants. I was to see many more such clumps on other farms in northern Ontario and the attitude seemed to be that rhubarb was little better than a weed. There weren’t enough ways to utilise all that rhubarb and it was frequently ignored.
My tour groups are equally astounded by the size of my rhubarb clump.
“What do you do with it all,” I’m asked.
“Each weekend I’ll ask our guests if they would like to take a bunch home with them, but very seldom will they take me up on my offer. They would rather buy my Rhubarb Relish, which is especially tasty on cold roast lamb.” During the next fifteen minutes as we wend our way through my productive back yard I’ll be advertising our jams, jellies, chutneys and pickles, which they’ll have the opportunity to buy before they board the bus. “The rhubarb must be picked until April.”
Fay's jams and jellies
Because our rhubarb is well watered and shaded from the afternoon sun by the structure of the self-contained apartments it doesn’t suffer any stress and tends to remain green in colour, not the ruby red I would prefer. As a result, if cooked alone, it is rather an unattractive khaki green colour. When I stew my rhubarb I add either strawberries or raspberries. These share their colour and flavour, thus creating a tasty and attractive compote.
“And this fern – what is it?”
“That’s the asparagus. If you look near the base,” I scoop away some soil with my bare hand, “You can see fresh spears. We only pick the stronger shoots during the first couple of months. Then we let it make fern. This is important as the fern allows the roots to receive nutrients during the summer months. Then when the winter frosts come, it dies down and we clear away dead foliage. It is an ongoing cycle. If properly looked after an asparagus bed will last a lifetime.”
“And what are these bushes?” My attention is drawn to bushy clumps on the left side of the path.”
“Red and white currants. We use them to make jellies.”
Harvesting white currants
During 1995 I planted the upper terrace at the rear of Das Helwig Haus with red and white currants. These now bear a prolific crop each spring and must be hand stripped from the bushes and converted to currant jelly. Little did I think when I began planting this huge garden to offset our home, what a rod I was creating for my own back? No matter how busy I am with other matters, by the end of October Eberhard will be drawing my attention to the asparagus needing to be picked, the rhubarb running to flower, the strawberries attracting birds and the currants hanging ripe and ready for plucking.
Fruiting strawberry plants edge the paths and draw gasps of awe from the visitors. Don Burke, of the Burkes Backyard TV program, was amazed at the healthy growth of our strawberry plants when he visited the garden in 1997. I explained to Don that each year I covered them in hay during August then set fire to the hay, allowing the fire to also burn away all the leaves of the strawberry plants. This destroyed the leaves and any disease. The ash added nutrient and the perennial plants were triggered to all shoot new leaves together, flower together and fruit together.
