It’s nearly Christmas, and we’re bopping around the kitchen to the strains of Slade, Kate Rusby or Joan Sutherland, depending on who gets to iTunes first. The air is full of the scent of spices and life is good.
I look out of the kitchen window at my beloved herb garden and wonder in amazement at just how much it contributes throughout the year, regardless of my physical and temporal limitations. It provides a welcome splash of green, even in the depths of winter, and screens the parts of the garden that are knee deep in mud, weeds and rotting leaves. Gardening books and TV presenters always encourage us to plant an herb garden by the kitchen door, tempting us with verdant bunches of fresh summer herbs: parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme. How often do they mention the joys of an herb garden at Christmas?
The parsley has gone to seed, and its yellow-green umbrellas are dancing behind the deep maroon of the naked blueberry bushes. Its self-seeded offspring are popping up all around the patio, unbidden but very welcome, providing rich green goodness in my daily salads.
The bay tree provides fresh leaves for rich flavour in soups and stews all year round. I enjoy pruning it hard in summer, to keep it small, and use the dried prunings as rocket fuel to start the fire in winter. The waxy leaf coating bursts into flame with a very satisfying whoosh and a glorious scent, which drifts down our street like incense. In a couple of weeks, I will be scattering a handful in the bucket of brine that I soak our turkey in and chopping sage for the chestnut stuffing. I often find myself braving the rain and cold to harvest a handful of leaves even in January and February.
Under a potted apple tree, I spot the slender leaves of saffron crocuses. I planted them last year and am watching them closely for signs of the first flowers, with their precious, golden stamens. At £75.00 for 25g online, this is one herb that is well worth growing. Its cost to me? Less than £10.00 for the bulbs and enough energy to dib a hole for each one and drop it in. They will come back year after year now, with no help from me, other than the liquid feed I give to the apple tree when I water it. I won’t make my fortune through saffron, it would take several hundred bulbs to fill a 25g jar, but next Christmas we can luxuriate in our own saffron cake and pilau rice.
The herb garden behind this precious pot is packed with spring bulbs, which will bring splashes of colour from early February onwards. Rich purple and gold crocuses are followed by the windswept petals of Jetfire narcissi and then the sweetie box colours of tulips. As the wind gusts and leaves tumble across the patio, bright, lime-green feathers sway against a sombre backdrop of rosemary: the tea-tree is a treasure which I found in a small local nursery. This year I have combined its dried leaves with lavender flowers in a bottle of bath salts for my husband. It’s a gift that took minutes to make but contains all the love and care that I have put into these plants over the past few months. Each task has only taken a few minutes, but together they help me to express my love in a very personal way.
Inside, my summer herb garden has been carefully squirreled away in rows of glass jars. Maybe I should get a life, but I do like to pull open my herb drawer and revel in the bottled scents. It's a winter version of brushing your hand over the lemon verbena as you pass by, just to enjoy that hit of citrus.
This year, as usual, my coriander and dill went to seed almost before I could harvest the leaves. I snip off the seed heads that have turned fat and brown and dry them on a tray for a few days before rubbing the seeds off and funnelling them into old spice jars. These join the rows of marjoram, thyme, French tarragon and lemon verbena that I dried over the summer. So much bounty for so little effort. Woody herbs like these like poor soil and only require a quick haircut after flowering to keep producing fabulous flavours year after year. I cut bunches in the early summer when they are at their lushest, tie them with string and hang them from a hook in the dining room. The whole room is scented for a couple of weeks before I rub the dried leaves through a sieve and bag them up for use in the winter.
When the rain lashes down, I only brave the far reaches of the garden to empty the compost caddy, let the chickens out or fill up the bird feeders, but my little herb garden continues to delight whatever the weather. It keeps my gardening flame burning until the warmth returns and it’s time to plant some of the seeds that we haven’t yet eaten.
Do you have a space near your kitchen where you could plant a few herbs next spring?
If not, why not have a go at planting your own windowsill herbs? Rescuing supermarket ‘living’ basil is a great place to start.
