Cold Comfort

Late autumn rain greets us on our arrival. The oak-leaf carpeted lawn looks wet and cold beneath the bare branches of the oak trees. Under the oak in the parking terrace, more Narcissus have pushed up through the wet soil. They join the growing number of stark asparagus-like spears that will soon turn into leaves and clumps of scented flowers.

The wall of  Hereboontjie

In the orchard, the trees have all put on their autumn coats. These are now dragging over the orchard floor by way of their strewn leaves of different hues. The vegetable garden seems mostly empty. Only the Hereboontjie plant grows happily on into winter. This special bean seems to be special in more ways than one. I am curious to see if it might turn out to be a perennial.

Looking closer, I observe the onion seedlings growing in stature but still small enough so as not to reveal which will be brown and which, red. The coriander seeds, left in the chaff of the previous seed harvest and sown in one corner of a vegetable bed, are all sprouting.

Onions

Coriander

Peas

The pea bed is looking promising, while the Sicilian Violet Cauliflower seeds will hopefully germinate during the week to start pushing up through the cold soil.

The sun has moved further north and now spends most of the day behind the tall Blue-gum trees across the road. At this time of the year, the garden spends most of the day in the shadow of the Blue-gums, creating a perfect micro-climate loved by the roses. The rosarium enjoys a colder winter. Their own micro-climate is enhanced by their position next to the Zanddrift irrigation canal and the shade of the Blue-gums. 

We have moved the lunch table from its usual position under the oak, to a corner of the lawn near the kitchen, in search of the mild autumn sun. Here the sun puts in a brief appearance in the late afternoon, when it reaches the end of the row of Blue-gums.

The garden flowers are in concert in hues of colder blues and violets. The lavenders, rosemary, chives and violets in blossom, add a cooler feel to an already colder garden. The garden seems to be slowing down and taking on another rhythm. The last of the quince, pomegranate and pink guavas remind us of a fading autumn harvest before we get started with the citrus flavours of winter.

In the herb garden, we still enjoy sage, chives, thyme, oregano, basil, tarragon and borage with the two chilli plants producing big red chillies to add warmth to stews. The cold comfort with which the house greets us lately, soon turns into the warm luxury of thick stews, soups and baked bread. They fill the kitchen and dining room with their rich spicy warm aromas while nature spreads the promise of rain over a thirsty valley.

The wet, scented geraniums, rosemary and lavender, seem to have a stronger fragrance. But it is as though the aroma is more closely contained around the plants. As if each plant has its own fragrant hug. Gone are the balmy summer days, with fragrant air wafting through the garden on light breezes. Now the fragrance of the plants hangs suspended in cold comfort pockets around the garden. Bending over in the herb garden to pick a bunch of coriander to serve with a hot curry, the cool mist on one’s skin leaves more than cold comfort in its fragrant hints of rose, lemon and citronella.

Towerwater Van der Hum liqueur

Van der Hum liqueur is uniquely Cape. Like Waterblommetjie Bredie. It is a liqueur made with Cape brandy and Cape Naartjie peel, first made by the Dutch settlers at the Cape. As 19^th Century culinary authority, Hildagonda Duckitt describes it “a true Cape specialite”.

It was the practice at the Cape to end a meal with a ‘soet sopie’, as it was described. A soet sopie is comprised of a brandy infused with fruit. The Cape Naartjie peel- infused brandy, was one of many liqueurs made at the Cape for such occasions.

After successfully planting and growing a Cape Naartjie tree, I lost the first harvest to theft. With the second harvest, I was determined to make Van der Hum liqueur. I started looking for old recipes and found two in ‘Hilda's "Where Is It?" Of Recipes’ published in 1919.

One was from, “Mrs. Cloete from Groot Constantia” and the other, was simply described as “Old Recipe Cape Specialité”. The first called for 6 bottles of brandy. I looked at my 5 naartjies and realised I would have to look for a more modest recipe.

Her second recipe called for 10 bottles of brandy and a glass of rum per bottle. It was clear that making Van der Hum Liqueur was a serious business in old Cape households.

I decided to use the recipe for Van der Hum liqueur in my trusted recipe book, ‘Make your own Liqueurs by Jean Dickson (1991),’ as the basis for my first attempt.

Towerwater Van der Hum liqueur

Ingredients

750 ml brandy
50 ml rum
4 cardamom pods
4 cm stick cinnamon
4 cloves
3 ml fine nutmeg
30 ml organic Cape naartjie peel
300 g sugar
200 ml water

Method

Pour the brandy and rum into a glass container with a lid.
Add the cardamom, cinnamon, cloves, and nutmeg to the mixture.
Remove the white of the naartjie peel and add the peel to the mixture.
Seal the container and let it infuse for 4 weeks in a warm place.
Shake once a day. 
After 4 weeks, pour the mixture through a sieve and then filter it through fine muslin cloth.
In the meantime, dissolve the sugar in the water on the stove in a heavy based pot, bring to the boil and cook for 15 minutes.

Remove the syrup from the heat and let it cool down.
Add the filtered mixture to the cold syrup.
Pour the liqueur into dry, sterilised bottles, seal and wait 2 weeks before serving.

It felt just right to make this true Cape liqueur or ‘soet sopie’ in a historical 19^th century Cape kitchen. I wonder if the kitchen smelt the same when the liqueur was likely made in it more than 100 years ago. What an experience it must have been, to have a Cape brandy infused with the fragrant peels of freshly picked naartjies and treasured spices. The exotic taste of the fruit and the luxury of spices from the east speaking of warmth and exotic destinations.

Van der Hum liqueur, provides a perfect ending to an evening. An evening of a shared slow-cooked meal enjoyed convivially with friends. Enjoying and savouring a final taste of the fruits of the garden before one bids the company good night.

The migratory patterns of stones

What prompted the silent shift of the first stone to start the yearly migration to their new home for the winter months, was still unclear. Was it the search for a warmer patch where Spekbos stand in solitude, or just to shift the balance in the garden?

Maybe I should have noticed the restlessness in the stones much earlier. But, I was distracted by the mass gathering of autumn leaves. The art of listening to stones, if not practised regularly, is lost. I tend to let the ‘silent’ stones do what they do best; keep a circle of order under the oak in summer.

The near motionless trail of stones across the parking area never really surprises me. It is just something that will happen one day, in late autumn and again in early summer. The migratory pattern of the stones is comforting, visible evidence of a shift in seasons.

The silent shift in the garden does not disrupt anything. The space under the oak becomes lighter with indents like memories of stones. Stones that spent a summer in a circle like ancient monuments to a greater natural order.
 

The line of stones grows shorter as they assemble themselves between the Spekbos, until they are all squared away and ready for winter. They seem to be waiting in anticipation for something to happen. An audience to their summer home.

The empty circle under the oak tree soon exposes the reason for the shifting stones. What prompted the move, was the awakening of the narcissus bulbs that nudged the stones into action. The whole of summer, the narcissus lay dormant under the stones. In late autumn/early winter, subtle changes in nature prompts the sap in the bulbs to rise and push up the gentle spears.

In silent understanding, the stones are nudged into migration. They move to a position where they will bear witness to this yearly display of masses of sweet scented flowers. The stones are happy to give up the stage under the oak tree for the new performance by nature.  Summer’s stony performance will become a winter wonderland of light flowers dancing in the breeze.
 

I find comfort in the migratory pattern of stones. As much as I enjoy the solid order of the stones under the oak, I do delight in the madness of narcissus that fills the garden with their heady scent.

Glorious sweet potatoes

I was amazed to learn that the sweet potato belongs to the morning glory family. I have never seen any of the sweet potato plants in the vegetable garden flower. If I had, I would have no doubt about that. I saw a sweet potato flower on the internet. It reminded me immediately of the rampant morning glories in the gardens of my youth.

The sweet potato runners are as wild as their morning glory counterparts though. I have to trim them back into their bed at least twice in a season. They have no problem in growing into the vegetable beds alongside them. Where I cut the runners off above ground, the tubers travel under pathways, making their harvesting quite a challenge.

In the following season, I will find sweet potatoes coming up in the strangest spots in the vegetable garden. Our sweet potato harvest was much better than last year’s. The bed coped well with the number of runners I planted.

Harvesting sweet potatoes, like onions and garlic, is a full day event. Everything gets harvested and stored for use at a later stage. Unlike other vegetables that are harvested over longer periods, as one needs them. In the morning, the vegetable bed is still filled with plants. By lunch time, it is empty and being prepared for the next crop.

Each sweet potato is washed and graded into different baskets according to size. That will determine how they will be prepared as a side dish in future meals. I do not know which part of gardening is the best. From planning the seasonal planting, to preparing the beds, sowing the seeds, watching them grow and mature, or the harvesting. Each step holds its own excitement. To prepare a meal from what one has harvested, from one’s own garden, is such a uniquely special experience.

One’s appreciation of the food on one’s plate is completely different if one knows what went into its production. The Towerwater garden is a generous one. Where every bit of effort is rewarded tenfold.

With baskets of sweet potatoes stored on the loft, I have to find ways to include them in meals. Cooking the sweet potatoes fresh out of the ground is a luxury. It is a taste journey of the maturation and curing of the sweet potatoes.

Sweet potatoes are a healthier option to standard potatoes. Standard potatoes tend to have more calories. Sweet potatoes are delicious when deep-fried, roasted or mashed, and they make the perfect side-dish for winter stews.

I don’t know if I regard the invasive morning glory differently knowing now that it is family of the sweet potato. Or, to regard the sweet potato differently, knowing that it is family of the morning glory. I suppose, like humans, vegetables cannot choose their family. The sweet potato might find it glorious to be related to the morning glory. 

Transitional season

As we transition from summer to winter, the crisp mornings turn to balmy afternoons on the leaf-strewn lawn. A different energy abides the days at Towerwater. Where we are packing up the summer garden into bags of leaves destined for the compost bins.

The dried wormwood and coriander seeds are packed into containers. With the bitter sweet fragrance of the wormwood mingling with the spicy aromas of the coriander. The summer garden is being preserved in the dried offerings of the garden. Offerings that will end up in stews and experimental bitters.

Golden beetroot

Pear cobbler

A final picking of golden beetroot, adds a glint of summer to autumn salads. The last of the pears end up in a spicy cobbler for dessert. I pressed the last bowl of Hanepoot grapes. Using the juice to replace the sugar in our Caipirinhas, it adds a glimpse of summer to autumn sunsets.

White guavas

The quinces and guavas look as though they will last into early winter. While the brinjals are still producing enough fruit to fill a grid to grill over an open fire. Behind the cottage, the granadilla vine has started producing its fruit again.

Roasted brinjals

Sweet potatoes

The bed of sweet potatoes indicated that they were ready for harvesting. The potatoes pushing up and out of the soil. It is the normal rhythm of a productive garden. Drying herbs, catching seeds and harvesting fruit and vegetables.

It seems strange to plan the next season while the previous season is still so present. Soon we will be pruning. The once lush green garden, will resemble a monochrome landscape. Mostly devoid of leaves.

With the oaks going into rest, their brown leaves are a constant companion. I find them breezing into the library and lounge, layering the lawn. Some even adding to the salad being enjoyed al fresco on the lawn. I love the oak leaves. The fact that they are so deliberately autumn. There is no chance of missing this transitional season.