Writing cool climate gardening for ABC Organic Gardener

Well they say when it rains it pours, and it seems spring really is full of promise, and good news!

And I’ve definitely got some exciting news to share. Drumroll…. I’ve joined ABC Organic Gardener as their cool climate writer, beginning with the Spring issue, number 160. Out of just a handful of writers chosen to represent the different climate zones across Australia, I’ll be one of them — writing eight columns a year from the rhythms of a cool climate garden.

It feels a little surreal, to be honest. I’ve been reading this magazine for years. It’s one of the very few that has always stayed true to what matters — grounded, seasonal gardening knowledge you can take straight outside. No fluff. Just practical wisdom and inspiration from gardeners around the country. To now be adding my voice to that mix feels both humbling and pretty thrilling.

A huge thank you to ABC Organic Gardener magazine and to Chloe Thomson (@beantheredugthat), the brand new editor, for inviting me into the fold. I’m so looking forward to working alongside the other writers, whose work I’ve admired for such a long time.

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What cool climate gardening means to me

A productive garden is not only a source of beauty and what the garden offers. It is a way to live well. Cool climates ask us to be considered and seasonally responsive. We work with short summers, crisp nights and soil that asks for patience. The work becomes an experience of attention.

We observe light, water, wind and shelter. We create microclimates to extend the season. We choose plants for resilience, structure, scent and food. We build soil and the rest follows.

My approach is design led and hands on. I think in spaces, edges and rhythm. I use simple seasonal tasks to keep things moving. I lean on the quiet, layered architecture of a compost bay, worm systems that hum away, and planting that serves more than one role. This is how I’ve come to understand how to grow vegetables in a cool climate — through design thinking, daily practice and a willingness to keep observing.

What to expect in my column

Each column will be seasonal and written through a cool climate lens — practical, design-aware, and rooted in what’s happening right now. You can expect:

• Timing that matches short growing windows — from when to start warm-season crops indoors, to when to direct sow cool-season staples.
   

• Succession strategies for steady harvests — lettuce, rocket, mustard and more to keep greens coming.
   

• Soil and compost care that’s do-able and regenerative — turning compost, top-dressing with worm castings, cutting down green manures before seed.
   

• Fruit and berry tasks that matter in cool climates — thinning blossoms, tying canes, frost protection, even small tricks like cockatoo deterrents.
   

• Design thinking folded into the everyday — creating microclimates, working with frost pockets, using shelter and mulch to hold warmth and moisture.
   

• Checklists you can take outside — clear, seasonal action points so your garden stays productive and abundant.

Every column will be written for cool climate gardeners who want their spring, summer, autumn and winter to work harder — showing how to grow abundantly even with shorter seasons and lingering frosts.

An invitation to the community

More than anything, I hope the column feels like a conversation. Each garden is different, but the challenges of frost, short summers and fast shifts of season are ones we share.

So I’d love to hear from you: what cool climate questions are on your mind this spring? Seedlings, frost, wind, succession planting? Tell me what you’re experimenting with — your insights will help shape what I write next.

Continue your gardening journey with me

If this resonates with where you’re at in your own garden, I’d love to welcome you into a workshop. Explore current workshops here. They’re designed to give you the skills and confidence to grow with beauty, abundance and purpose.

If you are building your garden from home right now, my ebooks on Wicking Bed Gardens and Introduction to Backyard Chicken Keeping offer practical step by step guidance that pairs well with the workshops.

You may want to check out my related content below:

Redefining Productive: What it means in my Garden

Stay connected for more seasonal inspiration:
Instagram | Facebook | Gardenstead | LinkedIn | Pinterest | YouTube | Website | Newsletter

Thanks so much for following along.
Natasha xx

Workshops are back. Gathering again for Spring.

The garden is waking.

The light stretches. You can feel that small lift in the morning air. After a winter of steady writing and cups of tea at the kitchen table, it feels right to open the gate and welcome you in again. Workshops are back for spring.

I pressed pause in autumn to give the book the focus it needed. It has become a very large work, shaped into three parts. The first two are already with the editor and I am close to finishing the last. It is the biggest undertaking I have made since working on The Australian Garden. Long days, early starts, a rhythm that asked a lot. The garden outside the window kept me honest through all of it. Returning to workshops brings me back into a room with you. Conversation. Companionship. Practice.

What we will explore together

Four workshops, one intention. To help you create a garden that is generous, beautiful and productive at any scale. You step into my working garden, into the way I test ideas in real time. The wins, the missteps, and the simple considerations that make a space sing.

Garden Design with Natasha Morgan

A clear framework for seeing and shaping your garden. We look at site analysis, axis and circulation, microclimates, rhythm and layering, and how to create structure that can carry productivity and beauty. We use tracing paper and fat texta markers, quick sketching, and the confidence that comes from testing ideas on paper before taking them into the garden. The first date has already filled, which is a lovely sign of the season ahead. There’s a few paces left for the second date.

The Productive Garden with Natasha Morgan

Growing abundance at any scale. We focus on the foundations of creating a truly productive garden, spatial thinking for small and larger gardens, vertical growing, soil and worm systems, espaliers, along with the simple seasonal tasks that keep things moving. Discover the inspiration behind my productive gardens, the tools and techniques to make places of beauty and abundance, grounded in sustainable and innovative practises. This is where beauty meets purpose through food, flowers, medicinals and ornamentals.

The Wicking Bed Garden with Natasha Morgan

Water wise design with real world application. I share my approach to building and maintaining wicking beds, including how I use an IBC cube at Little Cottage on a Hill, and how worms and worm tunnels are integrated to keep soil life thriving. I also show how a no dig approach can be held inside a wicking system so the bed keeps improving year after year.

The Medicinal Garden with Caroline Parker & Natasha Morgan

A gentle and inspiring, hands on morning in the garden. Caroline Parker of The Cottage Herbalist joins me at Little Cottage on a Hill to share the healing potential of plants and how to bring them into daily life with ease. Together we learn, observe, gather and make.

We will create three simple preparations to repeat at home with confidence. An immunity boosting botanical syrup. A soothing balm for gardeners. A bright weedy pesto or salsa from foraged botanicals. We will wander the beds to pick and smell, talk about harvesting and handling, then pause at the long table for morning tea. You leave with recipes, a clear method and a sense of how to fold plant medicine into everyday rhythm. It is productivity held with care. Plants that nourish, remedies you can make, and a daily rhythm that is gentle and useful.

How I teach and what you can expect

We begin with context so the garden in front of you makes sense. At Little Cottage on a Hill we walk and notice and talk through how things operate in real time. In Garden Design and The Productive Garden I also draw on my years at Oak and Monkey Puzzle to show how principles translate across scale.

Each workshop has its own rhythm, and the backbone is the same. Clarity, practice, and time together in the garden. Garden Design leans into design thinking and drawing. The Productive Garden keeps design present but light, focussing on soil, systems, structures and seasonal work. The Wicking Bed Garden stays close to practice. I share my tailored method, show how I have adapted it to my needs, and how it sits within the wider design of the garden.

People often tell me they leave feeling welcomed, inspired and confident to begin. Small groups make this generous, rich and rewarding. There is time for questions. We break for tea and cake. We learn together. The energy comes from the room as much as from the garden, and everyone goes home with more than they arrived with.

Spring is the right moment

Spring brings surge and promise. Buds swell. Soil warms. Compost hums. Seeds leap. It is a generous time to set direction. A plan on paper becomes a clear morning in the garden. A bed that is cut back and fed responds. A wicking bed that is topped up and tended holds steady through the first warm spell. The work is simple and rhythmic, and the garden answers back.

A personal note

Thank you for your patience while I have been deep in the book. It has asked a lot and it has given a lot in return. I am looking forward to being with you again. The quiet focus that lands when a group leans over a drawing. The moment in the garden when a simple change makes the whole space feel right.

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Join a workshop

Explore current workshops in the shop.

If you are building your garden from home right now, my ebooks on Wicking Bed Gardens and Introduction to Backyard Chicken Keeping offer practical step by step guidance that pairs well with the workshops.

You may want to check out my related content below:

The Power of Noticing: How a Garden Wander Led Me to Morels – Explore the quiet magic of noticing the small wonders that grow in your garden.

Rooted in Reflection, Growing with Intention – Explore the intentionality behind creating a garden that serves both purpose and beauty.

If You Could Learn Anything From Me This Year, What Would It Be? – Discover what I’ve been reflecting on the workshops I’ve shared over the years—and dreaming into what might come next.

Stay connected

Follow along on Instagram, Facebook, Gardenstead, LinkedIn, Pinterest and YouTube, visit the website, and subscribe to the newsletter for seasonal updates.

Thanks so much for following along.
Natasha xx

Cultivating beauty in a war zone – Alla Olkhovska’s garden of resistance

As I write my book,

I find myself returning again and again to the idea that a garden is never just a place. It’s a record of choices, of memory, of survival. This book has become much more than a collection of methods or stories — it’s become a tapestry of lived experiences. Stories that carry grief, resourcefulness, joy, and an enduring belief in what it means to keep growing.

One of the most powerful threads in that tapestry belongs to Alla Olkhovska.

For me, this is not abstract. I come from a family shaped by displacement — my grandmother fled former Yugoslavia on foot with two young children, crossing the Alps and spending years in displaced persons camps before finally making it to Australia. They were refugees who found safety, eventually. But for Alla, who lives in Kharkiv, Ukraine, there is no such option. She cannot leave. She gardens with drones overhead and cracked walls around her. And still, she plants. She photographs. She saves seeds. She grows.

Alla’s story is one of the many I’ve been honoured to weave into my book — and it’s one I believe the world needs to read. Here’s a glimpse into a world and a story that I’ll share more of, in time. 

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Some stories stay with you. They shift something in the way you see the world.
My conversation with Ukrainian gardener, photographer, and seed-saver Alla Olkhovska was one of those.

We spoke across time zones — me in Daylesford, she in Kharkiv — with rain falling in both our worlds. Her voice was calm, articulate, warm. Her words were generous and precise. And her story? It stopped me in my tracks.

Whatever it is, the way you tell your story online can make all the difference.

Alla is a gardener in the middle of a war zone. She has remained in Kharkiv with her husband, who was gravely ill when the war began, and her elderly grandmother, who refused to leave her home. Their days are filled with air-raid sirens, power cuts, and the constant hum of uncertainty. And yet… amid all of this, Alla gardens.

She doesn’t just tend her space — she cultivates it. She collects rare seeds, raises clematis and species peonies, harvests by hand, and sends tiny envelopes of hope all over the world. She’s built a loyal seed customer base, a Patreon community, and an archive of incredible plant photography — all from a modest plot of land passed down through four generations.

Her garden has become a form of survival. Of resistance. Of legacy.

“I never thought I would live through the same kind of war my great-grandparents endured,” Alla told me. “And now I understand what they felt. How gardening helped them to survive.”

A family garden in wartime

The garden Alla tends was built by her great-grandfather after the Second World War — complete with apple trees, old wooden gates, and peonies that she’s since divided and brought back to life. It has always helped her family endure hard times — famine, economic collapse, political upheaval.

Now, under shelling and blackouts, it continues to nourish them.

There are no paved paths, no grand gestures. Just vines growing over branches, clematis climbing through pines, and layers of seasonal planting composed like music. It’s deeply personal. Deeply considered. Deeply hers.

When we spoke, Alla described her seed-saving as “labour-intensive, yes — but full of joy.” She works with bare hands, even in freezing weather, because she wants to feel the seeds. Her farewell bouquet each autumn — made before the first frost — is a ritual she’s held onto since 2017. It’s her way of thanking the garden, and the season, before winter silences it all.

Beauty is not a luxury

Early in our conversation, Alla hesitated when speaking about the camera lens her supporters helped fund. “It’s not a necessity,” she said. “It’s not food, or medicine.”

But the truth is — it is a necessity.

As I write in my upcoming book, beauty is not a luxury. It’s what connects us to meaning. And in Alla’s case, it’s what connects her to the rest of the world.

Her photos — taken in bursts between garden tasks and blackouts — are exquisite. Quiet. Detailed. Honest. She photographs plants not to impress, but to witness. And in doing so, she’s created a following that spans continents.

“Every seed I send out,” she said, “is a way to support my family — but also a way to share hope. To connect. To remind people that something beautiful can still grow in a broken place.”

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How to support Alla’s work

Every seed order, e-book sale, Patreon subscription, or photo shared is part of a much bigger story. If you’d like to support Alla — not just in spirit, but in practice — here are a few ways to do that:

🔗 Follow Alla on Instagram
🔗 Support Alla through Patreon
🔗 Watch the documentary on Alla ‘Gardening In A War Zone’ 

Her seed packets have reached gardens in Japan, Qatar, Australia, Canada, and beyond. It’s a global web of connection — one gardener at a time.

In her words

“When I go into the garden and there are no alert signals… I forget the war for a while. The birds are singing. The flowers are blooming. You start feeling good, despite everything.”

If this story resonates with you, you’ll find more in my upcoming book, where Alla’s full interview — along with a QR code to our recorded conversation — will be included. It’s one of the great honours of this book to share her story.

With love,
Natasha x

“We plant seeds not only to grow — but to remember what we’re capable of creating.” Natasha Morgan

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If you’d like to experience life here and this incredible space first-hand, I’d love to welcome you to one of my upcoming workshops. Come and walk the garden, learn something new, and connect with others creating lives rich in beauty, practicality and purpose.

Explore my workshops:

~  The Productive Garden with Natasha Morgan – Learn how to grow abundantly, no matter your space.

~ Garden Design with Natasha Morgan – Craft a garden that balances structure, beauty, and functionality.

~ The Wicking Bed Garden with Natasha Morgan – Build a self-watering, water-wise garden for effortless growing.

You may want to check out my related content below:

~ Why I grow. Why I design. Why I return — An answer to the question of “why” I do what I do.

~ Looking Back: A Rare Glimpse Inside Oak & Monkey Puzzle — A glimpse into my reflections and the beginnings of my book.

Thanks so much for following along.

Natasha xx,

For glimpses into workshops, daily life, and my thoughts from Little Cottage on a Hill, you can find me on Instagram, Facebook, LinkedIn, and YouTube. And if you’d like a more personal update, subscribe to my Newsletter for a monthly note on what’s growing, what’s inspiring me, and what’s next.

Click the links below to stay connected—I’d love to have you along for the journey.

Why I grow. Why I design. Why I return.

People often ask me why I do what I do.

Why I keep growing, designing, making.

Why I’ve built a life so deeply tied to soil, seasons, and place.

Why I return to gardens again and again.

And the truth is, it’s not easy to distil. Because it’s not one thing.

It’s not a single decision I made.

It’s a thread that’s run quietly underneath my life for as long as I can remember.

When I was small, gardens weren’t something I analysed – they were simply where I was. I remember the light landing on a leaf at dusk. The small thrill of seeing a seed push up through the soil for the very first time. The smell of damp earth, of compost, of green. Even then, I was noticing. Observing. Quietly mesmerised by all of it.

And through the hardest parts of my life – and there have been many – I have always returned to gardens. They’ve been my solace. My anchor. My recalibration point. When the world felt sharp-edged, unsteady, or deeply lonely, I found comfort in the small daily acts: weeding, pruning, planting, harvesting. Those simple, repetitive tasks where you lose yourself for a time, but also find yourself again.

Because gardens give back. They don’t rush you. They meet you where you are.

You offer your care, and in their quiet, layered way, they respond. You see it in the soft unfurling of new growth, in the resilience of plants finding their place, in the generosity of a harvest that was never guaranteed, but comes anyway.

But my why goes deeper still.

For years I worked at the highest levels of design. Leading large public projects, teaching at universities, managing complex briefs with enormous stakes. I loved the design. I loved the challenge of it. But there was something missing — something I couldn’t quite name at the time.

What I was craving was immediacy.

The chance to make something, right there with my hands, and see it live and breathe and grow.

To bring beauty into the world that wasn’t mediated by years of planning approvals or project deadlines.

To move at the pace of seasons, not spreadsheets.

To create with my hands, my heart, my intuition.

When I finally stepped away from that high-intensity world, what I was really doing was stepping towards something. Towards a way of living and working that made space for both beauty and abundance. For creativity and care. For design that wasn’t about ego, but about experience.

And that’s what sits at the centre of everything I do now.

Gardens are not just about plants.

Design is not just about space.

It’s about how we live. How we notice. How we move through our days.

It’s about rhythms of tending, of small seasonal tasks, of paying attention.

It’s about feeding ourselves in ways that go far beyond the harvest.

It’s about offering something back—to the land, to our communities, to ourselves.

My why is rooted in this quiet reciprocity. This returning.

The work I do—whether I’m teaching, designing, writing, or simply tending my own garden—comes from that same place.

Because I know, deeply, that this isn’t just about me.

Every person who grows something—whether it’s a single pot of herbs or an entire productive garden—is stepping into that same quiet relationship. Into that same rhythm of giving and receiving. Into a kind of beauty and abundance that is profoundly life-affirming, no matter the scale.

This is why I share my work. Why I teach. Why I write.

Not to offer rules, but to offer companionship.

Not to tell you what to do, but to remind you that this is possible—for you, too.

You don’t need perfect conditions.

You don’t need all the answers before you begin.

You simply need to begin. To observe. To tend. To trust that small acts, over time, become something rich and layered and deeply sustaining.

This is my why.

And if any part of you feels called towards it—towards a life lived seasonally, creatively, and in quiet connection with the world around you—then know that you are already on the path.

We grow. We design. We create. We return.

If you’re drawn to this slower, more thoughtful way of gardening—the quiet rhythms, the seasonal shifts, the beauty and abundance found in simple acts—you might enjoy connecting with me over on Gardenstead. It’s a brand new space built entirely for gardeners and plant lovers, free from ads, algorithms and noise. Just a gentle, beautiful place where people share what they grow, what they’re learning, and how their gardens are evolving—whatever form that takes. It really does feel like home!

You can find me there under:

natasha_morgan_

And you can download the app here: Gardenstead

I’d love to see you there.

You may want to check out my related content below:

The Power of Noticing: How a Garden Wander Led Me to Morels – Explore the quiet magic of noticing the small wonders that grow in your garden.

Finding Light in Dark Times – Reflect on how gardens can provide solace and healing during challenging moments.

Solitude and Connection Through Gardens – Discover how gardening can nurture both solitude and connection.

Gardens, Growth, and Community: My Story – A deeper look into how gardens shape not just landscapes, but communities and lives.

Rooted in Reflection, Growing with Intention – Explore the intentionality behind creating a garden that serves both purpose and beauty.

Want more like this?

And in doing so, we live well.

If you’re drawn to this way of gardening—where beauty and abundance sit side by side, where design follows the rhythm of the seasons, and where small acts of tending become something sustaining—I share more in my e-books. Inside, you’ll find guidance on planting design, seasonal care, and combinations that bring softness, structure, and quiet beauty into your own garden.

→ Browse the e-books for deeper guidance on thoughtful planting and garden layering.
→ Share this post with friends who share your love of gardens that move and breathe.
→ Subscribe to my newsletter for seasonal insights, workshop updates, and more from Little Cottage on a Hill.

Thanks so much for following along.

Natasha xx

For glimpses into workshops, daily life, and my thoughts from Little Cottage on a Hill, you can find me on Instagram, Facebook, LinkedIn, and YouTube. And if you’d like a more personal update, subscribe to my Newsletter for a monthly note on what’s growing, what’s inspiring me, and what’s next.

Click the links below to stay connected—I’d love to have you along for the journey.

Caring for Ornamental Grasses – When (and Whether) to Cut Back

As we head toward winter here in the southern hemisphere, it’s the time of year when I’m often asked: Should I be cutting back my grasses now?

My answer, more often than not, is not yet.

For many of us, ornamental grasses are still holding strong—bleached, upright, architectural. They continue to offer form, movement, and quiet seasonal interest right through the cooler months. Cutting them back too early removes not just their visual contribution, but also the habitats they offer to insects and birds.

So if you’re unsure what to do right now in late May, my suggestion is this: observe closely, and wait if you can. Let the garden keep offering what it still has to give.

Below, I’ve shared what I do in my own garden at this time of year—including when (and whether) to cut back each type of grass, how to divide them, and how to support them through the seasons.

Why I return to grasses, again and again

I return to grasses time and time again. They’re a favourite go-to in my garden design toolkit—they offer structure and softness, but also bring a kind of seasonal rhythm that anchors the garden and that just keeps on giving.

They catch the light, respond to the breeze, and shift with the seasons—moving from verdant to architectural, continuing to anchor the space even through winter.

That’s why I leave mine standing for as long as I can.

Here at Little Cottage on a Hill, the 27-metre long northern planting—filled with Miscanthus, Calamagrostis, Panicum, Molinia and others—does so much of the heavy lifting during the cooler months. It softens the boundary, offers a sense of enclosure, and holds a rhythm at the garden’s edge.

But eventually, they do need cutting back. And each one has its own rhythm.

When to cut back – species by species

Miscanthus (e.g. ‘Eileen Quinn’, ‘Kleine Fontaine’, ‘Yakushima Dwarf’)
Leave standing through winter. Cut back in late winter to early spring, just before new shoots emerge. Trim to around 10–20cm (4–8").

Calamagrostis ‘Karl Foerster’
Often pushes fresh growth early. Cut back in late winter, just before the green blades return. Trim to around 10–15cm (4–6").

Panicum (e.g. ‘Blue Steel’, ‘Iron Maiden’)
Hold their form well into winter. Cut back in late winter or early spring, down to 10–15cm (4–6").

Andropogon scoparius ‘Blaze’
Cut back just before new growth appears in late winter.

Molinia arundinacea
Cut back in late winter. These often flatten with heavy rain or frost, but their form is still beautiful when caught in low light or mist.

And once they’re cut? Don’t be too quick to compost what’s left behind.

Spent grasses make beautiful materials for vases, loose seasonal arrangements, or even twisted into wreaths. Their fine structure, bleached tones, and natural curves bring a quiet, sculptural quality indoors. I often gather armfuls of Miscanthus or Calamagrostis to use around the house—nothing too styled, just simply arranged in a jug or laid across a shelf.

Why not cut grasses back in autumn?

It’s a question I’m asked often—and I understand why. For years, autumn clean-up was the default. But I’ve found that grasses give so much more when left in place:

• They provide visual structure and softness when everything else is pared back

• They shelter overwintering insects and offer food for birds

• They create contrast against bare branches, frosts, and low winter light

• They add sound to the garden—seedheads rattling softly in the breeze

Unless the plant has collapsed or rotted at the base, I always choose to leave it be.

Can they be divided? What about in winter?

If a grass is thinning in the centre or starting to dominate a space, division is a simple way to rejuvenate it or create new plantings.

But winter isn’t the ideal time to divide. Most ornamental grasses are dormant through the colder months, and disturbing them too early can lead to stress, rot, or poor re-establishment.

Instead, wait until early spring—just as new growth begins to show. That’s when the crown is active, and divisions settle in more easily. I usually look for the first signs of green shoots before lifting and splitting a clump.

Use a sharp spade to divide the clump cleanly, replant or pot up the divisions, and water them in well. With the full growing season ahead, they’ll re-establish quickly.

Do they need feeding or mulching?

Most ornamental grasses are fairly low maintenance. I do mulch lightly with compost or aged mulch in early spring after cutting back—not to push excessive growth, but to support soil health and give the plants a good start for the season.

Are all grasses safe to leave through winter?

In wetter climates or heavy soils, some grasses can be prone to rotting at the crown if left standing too long. If a grass has flopped or shows signs of decay, it’s perfectly fine to cut it back a little earlier. As always: observe the plant, and respond accordingly.

Can I grow ornamental grasses in pots or small spaces?

Absolutely. Grasses can thrive in containers and smaller gardens—especially those with upright, clump-forming habits. Some of my favourites include:

• Calamagrostis ‘Karl Foerster’ – strong vertical structure that holds its shape beautifully

• Panicum ‘Blue Steel’ – upright with soft, airy flowering plumes through late summer

• Miscanthus ‘Eileen Quinn’ – compact and elegant, ideal for pots or tight borders

The key is choosing varieties that are more restrained in size, and matching their mature height to the scale and depth of the container. A tall grass in a shallow pot will never thrive—so I always make sure the root zone has room to stretch, and the proportions are balanced.

A favourite pairing: grasses, Echinops and Echinacea pallida

One of the things I’ve observed this past year is how well Echinops works structurally in combination with grasses—particularly Calamagrostis. Where I’d planted Echinops ritro just in front of a drift of Calamagrostis ‘Karl Foerster’, the tall, rigid stems of the Echinops acted almost like a scaffold—quietly holding the grasses upright and preventing them from flopping in the wind.

It’s a small detail, but it’s shifted how I think about layering structure in the 27-metre north-facing verge bed. This winter, I’m propagating more Echinops from saved seed so I can carry that rhythm further through the planting. Grasses and Echinops have become one of my favourite combinations—offering contrast, resilience, and structure that carries through the seasons.

I love the way Echinops brings both edge and softness: thistle-like, globe-shaped flowers in mid-summer, followed by intricate seedheads that hold their form through winter. Their upright stems catch the light and hold their line long after flowering is finished—adding texture and subtle architecture to the garden in its quieter months.

Similarly, I’ve long admired the way Echinacea pallida moves with some of the finer, shorter grasses. There’s something so quietly graceful in the pairing—the fine, reflexed petals of the pallida drooping elegantly around a cone of dusky seed, mirrored by the movement of surrounding grasses. Miscanthus ‘Eileen Quinn’ works especially well here—tightly clumped, upright, and modest in scale without losing presence.

Other compact grasses I return to for these kinds of pairings include:

• Panicum ‘Blue Steel’ – fine-textured with gentle autumn tones

• Miscanthus ‘Kleine Fontaine’ – with a lovely upright form

I like to plant in drifts of four or five—a rhythm that brings coherence without feeling too uniform. It’s a tip shared with me by my dear friend Lily Langham, and it’s one I return to often. Whether it’s grasses, Echinacea, or Echinops, that repetition adds a softness and strength to the planting—giving enough body to hold space while still allowing for movement and light.

These combinations bring layered interest, seasonal movement, and a gentle wildness to planting—anchoring the space, yet always shifting with light and breeze.

Where I source my grasses

If you’re looking to introduce more ornamental grasses into your own garden, I’m often asked where I source mine from. These are nurseries I’ve personally used and return to again and again—for their quality, range, and thoughtful curation of plants suited to Australian conditions:

• Antique Perennials – in King Lake, with a beautiful range of grasses and perennials that work beautifully in seasonal planting

• Lambley Nursery and Gardens – in Ascot, known for their dry-climate plant palette and strong garden performance

• The Diggers Club – online and their wonderful three Victoria locations, especially good for accessible, well-labelled plants and beginner-friendly information

If you know of any other specialist nursery you trust, I’d love to hear.

Wherever you source your plants, make sure to check the mature size, form, and growth habit—it makes all the difference when selecting grasses for the right rhythm, scale, and movement in your space. I’ve made mistakes in the past, assuming that Miscanthus ‘Yukashima Dwarf’ was in fact a dwarf, and I can guarantee you it certainly is not! (I’ll be shifting a clump of it this winter away from the front of a bed!!)

Some things I’ve learnt over time

• Leave grasses standing through winter if they’re still holding well

• Cut back in late winter to early spring, just before new growth appears

• Divide in early spring—not winter—when growth begins

• Mulch lightly after cutting back

• Observe your climate and plant condition before acting

• Use spent grass stems for sculptural arrangements or natural wreaths

You may want to check out my related content below:

My Top 3 Grasses For All Seasons Gardens – Discover the best ornamental grasses that bring year-round beauty and structure to your garden.

Curious about ornamental grasses?

If you’re exploring how to bring beauty, softness, and structure into your garden—whether through boundary planting, small courtyard moments, or grasses that catch the light just so—I share more in my e-books. They offer guidance on planting design, seasonal care, and combinations that bring function and beauty together.

→ Browse the e-books for more insight into thoughtful planting and garden layering.
→ Share this post with friends who love grasses as much as you do.
→ Sign up for the newsletter to receive seasonal tips, workshop updates, and more from Little Cottage on a Hill.

Thanks so much for following along.
Natasha xx

For glimpses into workshops, daily life, and my thoughts from Little Cottage on a Hill, you can find me on Instagram, Facebook, LinkedIn, and YouTube. And if you’d like a more personal update, subscribe to my Newsletter for a monthly note on what’s growing, what’s inspiring me, and what’s next.

Click the links below to stay connected—I’d love to have you along for the journey.

Redefining Productive: What it means in my Garden

The word productive is used often in gardening—and just as often misunderstood. In a world that ties productivity to industry, output, or how much we can do or grow in a day, I’ve come to define it quite differently. For me, a productive garden is not about squeezing more in or working harder. It’s about planting that is considered and seasonally responsive. About choosing to cultivate things that nourish life—mine, and the life around me.

Yes, there are the obvious harvests—fruits and vegetables, of course. But for me, a truly productive garden also offers herbs and flowers, medicinal plants and edimentals, aromatics that scent the air and calm the nervous system. It gives me ingredients to cook with, preserve, and share. Plants to distil, to dry, to make into teas, tinctures, or salves. Flowers that feed pollinators and brighten the kitchen table. Even fungi, self-seeded volunteers, or the tiniest harvest of lichen or moss in a shaded pocket—these are all part of it.

One of the things on my bucket list when I created the garden at Oak & Monkey Puzzle was to be able to grow armfuls of fragrant, old-world roses—just huge, beautifully scented blooms you’d never find in a florist. The kind you can only grow yourself. I still remember the first time I filled a fat vase with them. That moment—that experience of abundance, of purpose, of beauty you’ve grown with your own hands—that’s exactly what a productive garden means to me.

Productivity happens here too—in the quiet, layered architecture of a compost bay, where scraps become soil. It’s in the seed-saving, the slow rotation of beds, the gentle work of fungi under the surface. It’s not just about the garden’s offerings—it’s about the systems and relationships that sustain them.

When I speak of a productive garden, I’m speaking about a place that celebrates beauty as much as abundance. A space that gives something back, season after season. One that holds stories, rituals, and rhythms of tending and refining.

It doesn’t need to be big. My current garden is just 515m²—and it’s more productive than my five-acre property ever was. It’s not about scale—it’s about responding to constraint. The smaller space asks more of the design, and it rewards it. Because the constraints are tighter and the thinking has to be sharper, the garden becomes more intentional in response. Every square metre has a purpose, and most plants are multifunctional—chosen for their ability to offer both structure and scent, food and beauty, shade and shelter. It’s a garden that works with me, and for me.

Productivity, to me, is the art of creating something generous. It’s not about striving. It’s not about metrics. It’s not even about output. It’s about living in rhythm with the land—and letting that rhythm shape what the garden becomes.

You may want to check out my related content below:

From Forest Clearing to Town Garden: A Story of Growth – Discover the journey of transforming a space from raw nature to a thriving garden, filled with lessons and inspiration.

Landscape Lingo: The Chelsea Chop and Ways to Have Plants Look Their Best – Learn about the Chelsea Chop technique and other gardening tips to help your plants reach their full potential.

Your Ultimate Gardening Inspiration Resource – Curated by our community for our community, this resource is filled with inspiration and practical tips for your gardening journey.

Creativity, Connection, and Beauty at Babbington Park with Lean Timms– Inspired, grateful, and reminded that making time for creativity and connection isn’t always a luxury—sometimes it’s a necessity.

Want more like this?

If you’re drawn to this way of gardening—where design, purpose, and deep seasonal connection guide what and how we grow—I share more in my upcoming book, due for release in 2026 with Murdoch Books, as well as through my workshops, e-books, and seasonal newsletter.

→ Share this blog with your friends and gardening allies to spread the love and knowledge.

→ Sign up for the newsletter to stay up-to-date on upcoming workshops, garden tips, and exclusive updates from Little Cottage on a Hill.

As always, thanks so much for following along.

Natasha xx

For glimpses into workshops, daily life, and my thoughts from Little Cottage on a Hill, you can find me on Instagram, Facebook, LinkedIn, and YouTube. And if you’d like a more personal update, subscribe to my Newsletter for a monthly note on what’s growing, what’s inspiring me, and what’s next.

Click the links below to stay connected—I’d love to have you along for the journey.

A garden shaped by life – My full Q&A from The Garden Gadabout with Pip of The Garden at Moorfield5

I was recently invited to take part in The Garden Gadabout—a thoughtful and beautifully curated Substack series by Pip Steele-Wareham of The Garden at Moorfield. If you’ve read Pip’s writing, you’ll know how deeply she sees and how generously she reflects. So when she asked if I’d contribute a Q&A, I didn’t hesitate.

We spoke about scale and story, soil and sentiment. About letting go of five acres and building a life on just over 500 square metres. About design, daily rhythms, and how a garden can be both deeply personal and quietly shared.

The questions gave me pause in all the right ways. They asked not just what I do, but why—and what it’s all come to mean over time. I’m grateful to share the full Q&A here on the blog, for anyone who missed it in its original home.

Sometimes, through these kinds of conversations, you meet a kindred spirit. That’s how I’ve come to feel about Pip. And it’s an honour to be featured in her series alongside so many thoughtful gardeners and growers.

Read on below for the full Q&A. It’s a super deep dive that’s for sure! 

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Q&A with Natasha Morgan and Pip Steele-Warenham of The Garden at Moorfield

Have you always gardened, and what is your earliest garden memory?

I’ve always gardened, for as long as I can remember. My earliest memories are in the backyard of a dear family friend in inner Melbourne. She had a generous, established garden and let me dig, plant, and explore freely. I remember being small enough that I had to kneel down to get my hands into the soil—but that didn’t matter. I was hooked. I always left with a cutting or a handful of seeds.

That early experience planted something in me: a sense that a garden could be both a sanctuary and a place of possibility. That sense has never left me.

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What brought you to making a life spent in gardens and in garden design/landscape architecture?

I was always drawn to design and creativity, and I found my way to architecture first, and then landscape architecture. But it was the living, breathing nature of gardens that pulled me in.

My mother was an immigrant from the former Yugoslavia, and like many women of her generation, she placed immense value on education, stability, and profession. Gardening—and even landscape architecture—were seen more as hobbies than viable careers. I was encouraged to pursue medicine, and for a while, I tried. But after several years of chronic illness in my late teens, and time spent navigating the medical system, I realised with deep clarity that medicine was not my path.

That moment of stepping away left me in an in-between space, unsure of what came next. I turned to career counselling, and architecture emerged as a natural fit—something that aligned with my creative instincts and spatial awareness. But three-quarters of the way through my architecture degree, I found myself increasingly drawn away from the drawing board and into the garden. I spent most of my spare time transforming the backyard of my rental into an abundant, productive space filled with herbs, vegetables, and fruit trees. Each year, I harvested the produce and turned it into preserves and handmade gifts—overflowing Christmas hampers for friends and family. It was joyful, purposeful work. Work that made sense.

The pull toward something more grounded became impossible to ignore. I enrolled in landscape architecture as a double degree, and for the first time, I felt like I was exactly where I was meant to be. Landscape architecture offered a beautiful intersection between design, ecology, and care. It wasn’t about building over land—it was about working with it.

I spent over a decade lecturing in landscape architecture at RMIT and Melbourne Universities. Alongside that, I worked in high-level practice for 15 years, including managing the design and construction of The Australian Garden (Stage 2) at the Royal Botanic Gardens Cranbourne. That experience taught me that landscapes aren’t just spaces—they’re stories. And when shaped with care and intention, they influence how we live, how we connect, and how we feel.

After having children, something shifted. I was burnt out. I felt a strong pull to step back from large-scale work and begin to live the very things I had been designing and teaching for years. That desire became Oak & Monkey Puzzle—a 5-acre property in Spargo Creek that allowed me to bring together design, growing, teaching, and community in one living, evolving space. It marked the beginning of a slower, more intentional way of life—one grounded in the seasons, shaped by circumstance, and defined by a deep collaboration with the land.

That journey continues today at Little Cottage on a Hill, where I now explore how to distil all of those lessons into a much smaller space—and share them with others through writing, workshops, and teaching.

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Does your property or garden have a name?

Yes, my current garden is called Little Cottage on a Hill. It’s just 515 square metres, but it’s a living prototype for everything I teach and share.

Before that, I spent nearly a decade at Oak & Monkey Puzzle—a 5-acre gold rush-era property in Spargo Creek. It was once the old post office, general store, and pub. That garden was my design laboratory, community hub, and sanctuary—and very much my foray into country living.

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How would you describe your personal garden, and how long have you been creating it?

I began creating this garden in 2022, after we left Oak & Monkey Puzzle. It was a conscious decision—a deliberate downsizing. I wanted to see if I could distill everything I had learned on five acres into just over 500 square metres. What emerged is Little Cottage on a Hill—a small garden with big ambitions.

This garden is the next chapter in a life lived in close relationship with land and season. It’s small but mighty. A productive, seasonal, ever-evolving space that works hard to nourish my family and inspire others. The verge is planted; the driveway, a courtyard. The fences aren’t just boundaries—they’re frameworks for borrowed views and moments of respite. Here, beauty and utility are never mutually exclusive.

Even the smallest gesture—a path, a fence, a planting pocket—serves a purpose. It’s a space shaped by years of design thinking, scaled down but no less intentional. In many ways, this garden is a working prototype—one I share through my writing, workshops, and courses. It’s proof that you don’t need endless space to live abundantly. With careful planning, observation, and a relationship with the seasons, even the smallest plot can feed a life.

But Little Cottage on a Hill is more than just a garden. It’s a philosophy. It came to life in the wake of a personal reckoning during the pandemic. At the time, we were still living at Oak & Monkey Puzzle, and I’d spent nearly a decade transforming that place into a design laboratory and community hub. But when the world shut down, everything I had built suddenly felt hollow. The vibrant exchange that gave the property its energy was gone. And though I continued to share it through social media, it no longer felt meaningful in the same way.

And yet—something profound happened in that pause. When supermarket shelves were empty and uncertainty hung in the air, I realised that if I had access to soil, sky, water, and seed, I had everything I truly needed. That moment changed me. It made me reflect deeply on what matters, and how much is enough.

Letting go of Oak & Monkey Puzzle wasn’t easy. It had been my canvas, my gathering place, my refuge. But in stripping things back, I found something I hadn’t expected—clarity, calm, and a new kind of creativity. That shift in consciousness led me here, to a smaller space, a slower pace, and a deeper alignment with the life I wanted to live.

This garden carries the essence of everything that came before, but it’s also something entirely new. It’s grounded in simplicity, resilience, and beauty. It’s proof that a meaningful, abundant life doesn’t depend on scale.

My children have grown up alongside my gardens—first running barefoot through wide paddocks, now helping harvest from raised beds just steps from the kitchen. This space reflects not just who I am now, but who we are, together.

It’s the smallest garden I’ve ever had—but it’s where I feel the richest. It’s where I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.

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Do you garden alone, or with the help of others?

For the most part, I garden alone. There’s a rhythm to it that I find deeply grounding—a kind of quiet companionship between myself and the plants, the soil, the shifting light. Those solo hours are when I observe, recalibrate, and plan—not just for the garden, but for life. It’s a moving meditation that keeps me tethered to the seasons and to myself.

That said, I’m no longer doing everything alone. After years—decades, really, of using my body so fully in both design and physical labour, I’ve begun to feel the quiet accumulation of effort. So now, every fortnight, Sage comes to lend a hand. They help with the larger jobs—edging, mulching, workshop prep, and the kinds of physical tasks that once came easily but now ask more of me.

But what began as a practical arrangement has grown into something more meaningful. I’m now mentoring Sage as they build the skills and confidence to start their own design consultancy, building on their already incredible gardening abilities. It’s a quiet, beautiful exchange: skills passed on, ideas explored, and the beginnings of a new chapter for someone else.

My children, now teenagers, will from time to time lend a hand, especially if there’s something to harvest. They’ve grown up in my gardens, from the sweeping terraces of Oak & Monkey Puzzle to the layered abundance of Little Cottage on a Hill. While they might not always leap at the chance to weed or plant, I know the garden has shaped them—gently, and profoundly.

The garden is a personal space, yes—but it’s also a communal one. There’s the wider circle: the people who visit during workshops, the conversations shared during garden walks, the questions asked and stories exchanged.

So while I often garden alone, I never feel alone in it. There’s connection in every task—in the soil, in the community, in the hands that help and the stories that grow alongside the plants.

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What inspired you to plant the garden you have and how has it evolved from your initial ideas?

This garden began as an experiment. A question, really: How much beauty, abundance, and resilience can be created on a small footprint? After years of designing and tending five acres at Oak & Monkey Puzzle, I wanted to explore how those same principles—thoughtful spatial design, seasonal rhythms, productive planting—could be distilled into just over 500 square metres. What emerged was Little Cottage on a Hill.

It started with the intention of being a teaching garden. A way to show what’s possible when you work creatively with constraints. The verge is fully planted, the driveway doubles as a courtyard, vertical space is used for espaliers and climbers, and fences are positioned to frame views while offering privacy. It’s a garden full of small-space design strategies—but it’s also nuanced and layered. Practical and poetic. It had to work hard, but it also had to feel good.

Over time, it’s become less about showcasing and more about stewarding. Less of a model garden, and more of a living, evolving space that reflects both who I am and the life I want to lead. It changes constantly—responding to the climate, to the needs of my family, to ideas I’m exploring in my teaching or writing. I trial things all the time.

One of the best examples is the wicking beds—now one of my favourite ways to grow. They’re waterwise, eliminate the need for bending, and have proven outrageously productive. Since 9 January, I’ve harvested over 150kg of produce from just six 1x1m beds. It’s hard to overstate the impact that kind of abundance has in a small garden.

There’s also a quiet tension in the garden that I’ve come to appreciate. It’s both public and private. Parts of it are intentionally shared through workshops, photography, storytelling. And yet much of it remains just for us. It holds the dailiness of life: the moments before breakfast spent watering, the after-school harvests, the quiet pauses I take while walking the paths with a cup of tea in hand.

The original question still lingers, but it’s deepened over time: What do I want this space to offer? What can it hold? What does it ask of me in return? In that sense, this garden isn’t a finished project—it’s an ongoing conversation. And the longer I tend it, the more I understand that its purpose isn’t to be perfect, but to be alive.

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What is your favourite way to spend time in your garden?

Early mornings and last light in the evenings are the times I value most. Before the day begins or as it winds down, I take a quiet walk through the garden—usually with a cup of tea in hand. I’m not there to do anything in particular. It’s more about observing. What’s thriving, what’s struggling, what might need doing in the days ahead.

It’s in these moments that I feel most grounded. The pace is slow, the garden is still, and I can take it all in without distraction. Sometimes I notice small things—a new leaf, a pest issue, a planting that’s doing better than expected. Other times it’s just the act of being in the space that brings clarity.

These quiet check-ins help me stay connected to the garden and to myself. They’re small but significant. They anchor the day—and often shape what comes next.

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What has been the biggest adjustment to downsizing your garden?

Not being able to grow everything I once did—that was the biggest shift. At Oak & Monkey Puzzle, I had the space to experiment widely. There was room for everything: orchard zones, rambling perennials, indulgent trials. Downsizing meant letting go. Not just practically, but emotionally.

But with that came something unexpected: clarity. When space is tight, every decision matters. Every plant has to earn its place—whether for food, structure, habitat, or simply the joy it brings. Every corner must be considered, and that level of intentionality has brought a new kind of creativity.

Plants rarely get second chances here. If they’re finicky or not suited to the microclimate, they’re replaced. That’s not to say the garden is pared back to the point of compromise—it’s still full of character and incredibly special things. But I’m more pragmatic now. I no longer have the time or space to nurse plants along.

The focus is sharper. The palette is tighter. And yet, within those constraints, the garden still surprises me. Self-sown seedlings, natural shifts, moments of seasonal serendipity—those things still find their way in. I may guide it, but I’m never fully in control—and I wouldn’t want to be.

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Do you have a favourite season in the garden and if so, why?

Autumn, always. The seedheads, the shifting tones, the softened light. It’s the season of gathering, preserving, and quiet reflection. The pace slows. The structure of the garden comes into focus. There’s a feeling of both abundance and closure that’s deeply satisfying.

But truthfully, I think every season becomes my favourite when I’m in it. They each bring something necessary. I’ve come to look forward to their return, knowing I won’t experience them again for at least another twelve months.

Even winter, which I initially found hard in this cool Central Highlands climate, now feels essential. A time for stillness, rest, and quiet planning. A time for taking stock.

This year, we’ve had an unusually long summer and autumn, and I’m curious to see what the rest of the year brings. The garden is never static. It’s always in conversation with the seasons, the weather, and the year’s unique temperament.

I’ve learned to welcome that movement. It reminds me that nothing stays the same—and that each season is fleeting, and full of its own kind of beauty.

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What is one of the most important things you’d say you do in your garden’s maintenance?

Soil health. I believe in growing soil—tending to it, nourishing it, building it over time. It’s the foundation for everything else. Thriving plants, resilience in changing conditions, a rich and vibrant ecosystem… it all starts from the ground up.

I focus on building structure and supporting soil life. That means regular applications of homemade compost, organic matter, and mulch—things like pea straw, leaf litter, and seasonal trimmings. I rarely dig. I use no-dig or low-intervention methods that preserve the integrity of the soil and protect the microbial and fungal networks that support plant health.

This has been one of the areas I’ve learned the most about in recent years—thanks in no small part to the work of people like Matthew Evans and his book Soil, and Charles Dowding’s no-dig approach. Their insights reshaped how I think about soil as a living system, not a neutral medium.

Good soil is dynamic. And when you look after it, it looks after everything else. For me, that’s the most important part of garden maintenance, because when the soil is healthy, the rest tends to follow.

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If you had to choose 3 plants to recommend to a new gardener, what would they be and why?

How do you stick to three? So here are five that I come back to again and again—both personally and in teaching others:

Hydrangea paniculata – A hardier hydrangea and a plant that earns its place in any garden. It offers months of interest: fresh summer blooms, autumn colour, and dried flower heads that carry its structure through winter. It’s generous, dependable, and incredibly rewarding for gardeners at any level.

Grasses—particularly Miscanthus and Calamagrostis – I often describe grasses as the framework of the garden. They offer movement, structure, softness, and seasonality. Calamagrostis ‘Karl Foerster’ and Miscanthus cultivars bring verticality and grace. They catch the light beautifully, especially in the cooler months, and offer year-round interest with very little fuss.

Garlic – It’s one of the most rewarding crops I grow. It doesn’t ask for much once it’s in the ground, but it does require patience and timing. It suits small spaces, works well in no-dig beds, and fits perfectly into my seasonal rhythms—planted in one season, harvested in another. When it’s pulled, dried, and stored, it keeps feeding us, friends and family for months to come.

Roses – I tend to grow old-fashioned, fragrant, repeat-flowering roses with big, expressive blooms. They thrive in tough conditions—and are still offering armfuls to bring indoors even after this long dry summer and autumn. I have a big vase next to my bed at the moment, and falling asleep to their scent is something I’ll never take for granted.

Echinacea – A plant I first grew at Oak & Monkey Puzzle, and one I’ve come to appreciate even more over time. I love it in all its stages: the upright blooms, the faded autumn tones, and the sculptural seedheads that persist through winter. It bridges ornamental, ecological, and medicinal value—beautiful to look at, vital for pollinators, and right at home in my collection of medicinal plants. It also has an inherent wildness that balances more structured plantings.

Each of these plants brings something different—structure, resilience, fragrance, generosity, or seasonality.

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What plant has been high maintenance, but you feel is worth the effort?

These days, I’m pretty selective about what I bring into the garden. Space is limited, and I tend not to grow anything that asks too much of me. But some things still tempt me, especially when I visit the Friends of Wombat Hill Botanic Gardens Nursery.

The team of volunteers has such deep plant knowledge. I’m often encouraged to try something rare or unusual—and sometimes, despite my better judgement, I do. The enthusiasm is contagious, and the plants are often ones you won’t find elsewhere.

One plant I still have a soft spot for is the peony. Their flowering is fleeting—maybe three weeks if you’re lucky—but it’s utterly captivating. They ask for specific conditions: cool winters, alkaline soil, time to settle. They can be fussy. But when they bloom, they’re unforgettable.

In a small space, high-maintenance plants have to justify themselves. And every now and then, a peony does exactly that.

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What plant do you dream of growing in your garden, that you’ve not yet acquired, or have struggled to grow?

Tree peonies. I’d love to grow them well again.

At Oak & Monkey Puzzle, I had a number of established plants—many of them gifted and transplanted from a much-loved older garden. Their flowering was always fleeting, but utterly exquisite.

Since moving, I’ve tried again. One didn’t make it. The other is still growing—ever so slowly, two years in, but holding on.

They’re definitely an exercise in patience. As the saying goes:

The first year they sleep, the second year they creep, the third year they leap.

I’m still waiting for the leap.

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Do you have a favourite tree in the garden, and why?

In this garden, it’s the weeping birches (Betula pendula).

We were very lucky to inherit six with the property, and I absolutely love them. One in particular anchors the circular seating space in the front verge garden. Its form is soft and sculptural, its canopy dapples the light beautifully, and it brings a sense of maturity and grace to what is otherwise a relatively young and evolving garden.

One of the first things I did when we arrived was lift and shape its canopy through formative pruning. It had looked a little wild and heavy, slightly scrappy—but with a bit of attention, it’s become something of real beauty.

I’ve always been drawn to birches. They remind me of European gardens and the cool-climate landscapes I feel most at home in. I planted a forest of birches at Oak & Monkey Puzzle, so having them here feels like a quiet thread that’s carried from one chapter of my life to the next.

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Do you have any sentimental plantings in the garden?

One planting that holds deep meaning for me is a clump of Lily of the Valley (Convallaria majalis), gifted to me by my children’s grandmother, Joscelyn.

It’s the same flower she brought to the hospital when my son Oliver was born—a delicately small and beautifully scented bunch. Ever since then, Lily of the Valley has been tied to his birthday in my mind. It flowers in spring, often right around that time.

Joscelyn passed away late last year, and having that planting in the garden now feels especially meaningful. It’s a connection not just to her, but to a moment in time, to my children’s family story, and to the kind of quiet legacy that gardens so often carry.

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What has been the most inspiring book/books, podcasts or programs, for inspiring your own garden?

It’s hard to pinpoint a single favourite for this garden specifically. So much filters through as I design and imagine a space into being. Ideas, references, memories—they all seem to bubble up in layers.

These days, I work more intuitively. But a lifetime of learning continues to inform how I approach gardening, teaching, and design. Some influences are foundational, others ongoing.

Matthew Evans’ ‘Soil’ – This book changed the way I think about the ground beneath my feet. Evans brings soil to life as a living system—not just a growing medium, but the foundation of resilience, productivity, and environmental repair. It reaffirmed my belief that everything starts from the ground up.

Charles Dowding’s No-Dig Gardening – His approach to soil care through minimal disturbance aligns closely with how I garden. No-dig methods support soil biology, reduce weeding, and simplify seasonal rhythms. It’s a system that makes sense—and works.

James Corner’s work on landscape architecture – His writing on mapping and representation had a foundational impact on me during my studies and my years lecturing. He helped shift how I see and interpret space, not just as something to be measured, but as something to be read, inhabited, and worked with over time. I often share this in garden workshops, particularly when we talk about understanding a place before making design decisions. Design analysis isn’t just about recording—it’s about uncovering the invisible relationships that shape a site.

The Avante Gardeners Podcast – A brilliant and grounded podcast that brings together thoughtful conversation, practical advice, and a sense of community. It reflects the kind of real-world gardening dialogue I value.

The Futuresteading Podcast by Jade Miles – Jade’s work around seasonal living, food growing, and values-based choices echoes much of what I practice and teach. Her interviews often offer the kind of clarity and encouragement that reaffirm this way of life.

Monty Don – I’ve followed Monty’s work since my late teens. His honesty, depth of knowledge, and clear love for gardens has always resonated. But what’s influenced me most is his global lens. Through series like Around the World in 80 Gardens, he shows how gardens reflect culture, identity, and place. That changed how I saw gardening—not just as an activity or profession, but as a deeply human, expressive act tied to where we live and who we are.

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Are there gardens or gardeners, other garden designers that inspire you?

So many—it’s hard to land on just a few.

Piet Oudolf – I admire his commitment to designing gardens that evolve across the seasons. He treats every stage of a plant’s life cycle as worthy of attention—bloom, seedhead, and decay alike. His use of form and repetition creates structure, but it’s the way he works with nature, the seasons, and cycles—rather than against them—that resonates most with me.

Fiona Brockhoff – A long-standing influence. Her gardens respond honestly to site, climate, and architecture. She uses local materials and native plants with confidence and clarity. Her work always feels grounded, distinctly Australian, without being nostalgic.

Tim Pilgrim – Tim’s planting style is naturalistic, layered, and expressive. There’s a softness and rhythm in his gardens that allows the landscape to speak for itself. He has a deep understanding of seasonality and restraint, and the balance he strikes between structure and ease is no small feat.

Alasdair Cameron (Cameron Gardens) – His gardens are generous and refined, always responding to the broader environment. He blends horticultural skill with a sensitivity to place, crafting spaces that are both practical and emotive. I particularly admire the way his plantings evolve with time—there’s movement and maturity in how they grow.

Stefano Marinaz – Stefano’s work with small gardens is especially compelling. His designs are layered, immersive, and clearly intended to be lived in, not just admired. Even in urban sites, he finds ways to invite in biodiversity and embed sustainability in subtle but meaningful ways. His South Kensington courtyards are a masterclass in compact generosity.

Lily Langham – A dear friend, local, and someone whose work I return to often. Her gardens are immersive, full of texture, detail, and a layered wildness that feels both curated and intuitive. She has an extraordinary eye for plants—rare and interesting selections that sit comfortably alongside the familiar. Her commitment to biodiversity is quiet but powerful. These are gardens you inhabit slowly. Beyond the planting, she’s also someone who thinks deeply about how gardens are lived in, not just how they look. I spend a lot of time in her garden, and it never ceases to teach and inspire.

Taylor Cullity Lethlean (T.C.L.) – Having worked with T.C.L. for a decade before my tree change, their approach remains one of the most formative influences on how I see and shape space. Their work places people at the centre of the landscape experience—integrating movement, memory, and narrative. Their commitment to placemaking, strong design principles, and poetic interpretation of site continues to inform my work. Projects like The Australian Garden at Cranbourne, which I had the privilege of contributing to, embody this layered, place-specific design philosophy.

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What do you want to feel or others to feel when they visit your garden?

I want people to feel something shift. Even just slightly. A softening. A grounding. A reminder that there’s richness in the everyday, in the seasonal, in working with what you’ve got.

I hope they leave with a sense of possibility, not in a romantic or faraway sense, but the kind that lives right under your feet. That a garden, however small, can hold beauty, abundance, practicality, and meaning all at once. That you don’t need acres. You just need intention.

This garden is full of solutions—real, practical ones—for making a small space work hard. It’s thoughtful, layered, and honest about what’s possible when you apply design thinking to a limited footprint.

But it’s more than that. It’s a kind of living case study. A scaled-down, built-by-hand expression of everything I explored at Oak & Monkey Puzzle. It’s a testing ground. A prototype. A place to try, refine, observe, and try again.

It’s never been about perfection. It’s about being present. Being alive to the seasons. And understanding that gardens, like us, are always evolving.

And while the space is mine, I’ve always wanted it to feel shareable. When people walk through the gate, I want them to feel welcome. I want them to see the underlying structure, the systems, the generosity in the planting—but also the gentle reminder: you can do this too. On your own terms, in your own way. It doesn’t have to be magazine-perfect to be meaningful.

If people leave feeling calmer, more curious, more confident, or more connected to something they’d forgotten, then the garden has done its work.

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What do you think makes a successful garden?

A successful garden for me is one that gives back. That supports life—human, plant, and animal. That feeds, shelters, and offers something in return to the place it belongs to.

It doesn’t need to be perfect. In fact, perfection is rarely the goal. A successful garden evolves with its gardener. It responds to climate, soil, capacity, and care. It adapts. It endures.

There’s a deep satisfaction in walking through a garden that’s both beautiful and useful. Where structure and softness sit side by side. Where there’s room for mess, for self-seeding, for seasonal change.

To me, success lives in the garden’s small, consistent contributions—feeding a household, supporting pollinators, holding space for rest and reflection.

If it nourishes, restores, and invites you to return again and again, it’s doing more than enough.

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What impact has the garden, and being in the world of gardens, had on you?

Gardens have always been part of my life. So it’s hard to say whether they’ve changed me, or whether I’ve simply grown into who I already was, through them.

I don’t see myself as separate from the garden. I feel intrinsically bound to plants and soil. The garden isn’t something I step into and out of—it’s where my thinking happens, where my values play out, and where my way of life takes shape.

It’s also where I find my contentment. My validation doesn’t come from external approval—it comes from presence. From noticing the way light catches the seedheads of Miscanthus in the last hour of the day. From seeing sweet peas push through the soil with the quiet promise of fragrance to come.

It’s in those small, almost invisible moments that I feel most sure of this path, not just the one I’ve chosen, but the one I’ve been called to.

There’s magic in the simplicity of it all. The alchemy of placing a seed or a cutting in the soil and watching it take on shape, form, and life of its own. That quiet unfolding reminds me, every day, what matters. And what’s worth tending to.

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What would you say is your most memorable or proud moment as a gardener/garden designer?

This one’s definitely a no-brainer—but it’s not just one moment.

The first would have to be seeing Oak & Monkey Puzzle come to life. It began as a derelict old homestead and tree stumps, and blackberries, and over time it became something far greater than I imagined—a home, a productive garden, and a place that brought people together. It became a hub for workshops, long-table events, and shared learning. What makes me most proud isn’t just what I created physically, but how it allowed others to feel nourished, inspired,and  connected.

The second is what I’ve created here at Little Cottage on a Hill. Taking everything I learned on five acres and distilling it into just over 500 square metres was both a challenge and an exciting invitation. I wanted to prove that you don’t need scale to live well. This garden is as much about how I live as it is about what I grow. It’s a place where beauty and utility sit side by side—and being able to share that through writing, teaching, and everyday experience has been one of the most meaningful parts of my life.

And if I look ahead, I hope my next proudest moment will come with the release of my book in September 2026. It’s a big project—one that brings together decades of learning as a landscape architect, lifelong gardener, teacher, and mother. My hope is that it finds a place in every gardener’s library, no matter their level of experience.

A book that’s returned to—useful, generous, inspiring, and practical. Something equally at home on the potting bench or the bedside table. Something that not only inspires and shows what’s possible, but also how to begin. A book that helps people create gardens that are not only beautiful and abundant, but that truly support the way they want to live.

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Want more like this?

If you enjoy this kind of reflection—woven with seasonal insight, practical tips, and personal storytelling—I share a monthly newsletter direct from Little Cottage on a Hill.

→ Share this blog with your friends and gardening allies to spread the love and knowledge.

→ Sign up for the newsletter to stay up-to-date on upcoming workshops, garden tips, and exclusive updates from Little Cottage on a Hill.

Thanks, as always, for being here…

Natasha xx

For glimpses into workshops, daily life, and my thoughts from Little Cottage on a Hill, you can find me on Instagram, Facebook, LinkedIn, and YouTube. And if you’d like a more personal update, subscribe to my Newsletter for a monthly note on what’s growing, what’s inspiring me, and what’s next.

Click the links below to stay connected—I’d love to have you along for the journey.

The Garden Remembers You

Sandy McKinley of Acre of Roses, has been part of my world for a long time now. She picked me a ute-load of roses from Acre of Roses for the very first floristry workshop I held at Oak and Monkey Puzzle in 2016. I’ll never forget it—my old red ute overflowing with those fragrant, full-petalled blooms, a gesture that said so much without needing to be said at all. That kind of generosity is just who she is.

Since then, we’ve woven in and out of each other’s lives in that easy way old friends do. We check in every few months—small business chats, big-picture questions, laughing at the chaos and complexity of it all. We’ve run workshops together, leaned on each other in the quieter seasons, and shared a belief in what the garden gives us when we’re paying attention.

Sandy’s writing, like her garden, holds a stillness that invites you in. There’s no instruction manual here—just an offering. A reminder that tending the land is also a way of tending yourself. Her words speak to something I think so many of us feel but struggle to name: the way a garden can hold us when the rest of the world asks too much.

I’m honoured to share her piece, The Garden Remembers You, here on the blog. Alongside it, you’ll find a series of photographs taken recently at Acre of Roses by Amber Gardener (@itsnaturalight). Amber and I met just a few weeks ago at Lean Timms’ photography workshop at Babbington Park, so it feels beautifully full-circle to bring her work into this space too.

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​​The Garden Remembers You

By Sandy McKinley

There is a rhythm in the garden that doesn’t follow the clock.

It’s in the way dew clings to rose petals just after dawn, how birdsong echoes through the mist before the world is awake, and how time itself begins to soften when your hands are deep in rich, cool soil. It is in these moments—barefoot, breathing, becoming—that the garden becomes something far greater than a place to grow things. It becomes a sanctuary. A remembering. A way home to ourselves.

Acre of Roses was never simply a business. It was born from the ache of overextension, from years of striving, achieving, overcommitting—until my body, and my spirit, asked me to stop. Not slow down—stop. And in that stillness, I began again. I turned to the earth, and she turned toward me.

The first rituals were small: writing in a journal while surveying the garden in the early morning light. Sipping a warm tea brewed from the Apothecary Garden’s herbs. Lighting a beeswax candle at dusk as the day began to exhale. Gathering rose petals to infuse in a batch of water kefir—soft, floral, and gently effervescent, a tonic for body and soul. These weren’t grand gestures, but grounded, repetitive acts of care that tethered me to the moment, to place, and to myself.

And I wasn’t alone in this return. Rob Roy—my husband and partner in all things rooted and real—was beside me. Where I found healing in scent, soil, and stillness, he found his rhythm in building, restoring, and shaping beauty from the bones of old structures and salvaged materials. His hands laid the pathways through the rose rows, designed to gently store the heat of spring and coax early blooms. Together, we wove something living. Not just a garden, but a place for others to arrive and exhale.

I began to notice how my nervous system recalibrated with the scent of lemon balm, how May Chang lifted the heaviness in my chest, and how simply brushing against the Miscanthus in the wind felt like being sung to.

Gardens teach presence without preaching it. You cannot rush a rose into bloom, nor will a perennial flower on demand. And so we attune ourselves to their tempo. To the slow push of new shoots. To the decay and letting go of autumn. To the hush of winter, which is not death but restoration. Dormancy is survival. The garden knows.

To me, tending a garden is one of the most radical acts of self-restoration. It is sensual, in the truest sense of the word. Through scent, sound, texture, and temperature, we are drawn back into the body. Back into the breath. It offers us the precious invitation to feel without needing to fix.

At Acre of Roses, guests often arrive tightly wound. I see it in their shoulders, their hurried questions, their need to fill the quiet with plans. And then—something shifts. Sometimes it’s in the cedar hot tub under the stars. Sometimes in the quiet rhythm of swinging gently in cane chairs on the veranda, watching the bees and butterflies dance through shafts of light in the late afternoon garden. Often, it’s in the first truly deep breath taken while wandering through the rose farm at dusk. We call it the Trentham Shrug—that moment when the body remembers it can release.

In this way, the garden is both mirror and medicine. It reveals what’s ready to fall away and what might want to grow next. It reminds us that abundance does not mean more—it means enough. Enough light. Enough water. Enough stillness.

So let this book be your companion as you rediscover your own rituals. As you coax tomatoes from warm beds or tend a single lavender on your windowsill. As you press herbs between pages, or simply press pause.

You don’t have to do it all. The garden doesn’t ask for perfection. It asks for presence.

And in return, it offers us what the modern world so often withholds: silence without loneliness, work without rush, and a path back to wholeness.

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A little note before you go

Sandy’s words aren’t just a guest post—they’ll also appear in my upcoming book, which I’m currently writing and will be released by Murdoch Books in September 2026.

I asked Sandy to contribute to the book because what she wrote here—about restoration, rhythm, the quiet rituals that shape a day—reflects so much of what I believe and value.

As I shift into a slower season of writing, I’ll be pausing in-person workshops for winter. But I’ll still be here—sharing garden notes, behind-the-scenes glimpses, small updates from the writing desk, and moments that don’t quite fit anywhere else.

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Enjoyed this blog?

→ Share this blog with your friends and gardening allies to spread the love and knowledge.

→ Sign up for the newsletter to stay up-to-date on upcoming workshops, garden tips, and exclusive updates from Little Cottage on a Hill.

Thanks, as always, for being here…

Natasha xx

For glimpses into workshops, daily life, and my thoughts from Little Cottage on a Hill, you can find me on Instagram, Facebook, LinkedIn, and YouTube. And if you’d like a more personal update, subscribe to my Newsletter for a monthly note on what’s growing, what’s inspiring me, and what’s next.

Click the links below to stay connected—I’d love to have you along for the journey.

Feijoas: A Hedge That Earns Its Keep

I can’t tell you how thrilled I was when I saw the first feijoas on the ground this week. Just a few, nestled into the gravel under my hedge. But that’s how you know—they fall when they’re ready. No guesswork. No squeezing or poking. Just a gentle drop and the most incredible scent wafting up when you lean in close.

This hedge of mine was planted about a year and a half ago—still only around a metre high—but it’s already started producing. Here, everything in the garden has to work hard, even the hedges. So when one starts gifting much-anticipated fruit like this, it literally stops me in my tracks. 

It’s not just a productive hedge either—it’s one of the many design devices at work in my small garden. Eventually, when it reaches around 2 metres tall, it will do what I planted it to do: screen out the neighbouring rooftops that currently interrupt my line of sight to Daylesford’s rolling hills. That’s the goal. A living screen that brings fruit, privacy, softness, and structure all at once.

Even though I live right in town on a small block, this hedge will eventually create the ‘illusion’ that I’m tucked away in the country. That moment—afternoons on the verandah, cuppa in hand, hills stretching out beyond, and little-to-no sight of neighbouring rooftops—feels just within reach now. It’s these layered, multifunctional elements that I think make a garden sing.

I’ve always loved feijoas, eaten fresh, cut in half with the pulp scooped out with a spoon, but the turning point was a galette from Two Fold Bakehouse. I’ll never forget it. Roasted feijoas, still in their skins, paired with apple and wrapped in Alison’s sourdough pastry. It absolutely blew me away. I hadn’t tasted feijoas like that before—soft, perfumed, almost spiced without anything added. I literally haven’t stopped thinking about it since.

What Makes a Feijoa Worth Growing?

Feijoas are one of those trees that quietly pull their weight. Evergreen, drought-tolerant once established, fire-retardant (which matters out here), and fruiting at the tail-end of the season—just when the apples are finishing and the garden starts to exhale.

I first came across the idea of a ‘fedge’—a feijoa hedge—through the team at Milkwood. It stuck with me. The practicality of it. A windbreak that feeds you. Shelter for a veggie patch or a chicken run. Pollination support if you plant a few different varieties close together. And that slow daily shuffle when the fruit starts dropping—bending down, collecting them one by one. It’s the sort of rhythm I love.

They’re slow to start, but once they do, they don’t muck around. As Milkwood puts it: “When feijoas fruit, they really, really fruit.” You’ll have more than enough for fresh eating, sharing, and preserving.

A Few Tips From the Patch

• Planting: If you’ve got room, plant more than one. Some are self-pollinating, but many need a mate to produce well. I have 7 in a row.

• Spacing: 1.5 metres apart is ideal for a fedge. I was impatient and planted thema little closer for faster ‘filling-out’.

• Flowering: The petals are edible—sweet and sherbet-like. We always try a few at the very start of the season in anticipation of what’s to come, but go easy if you want a proper fruit set - no flowers, means no fruit!

• Harvesting: Don’t tug them off the tree. If they’re ready, they’ll fall. That’s your cue.

And if you’re wondering what to do with a glut—don’t peel them. Trust me. And trust Milkwood. Roast or stew them skins-on, jam them with fig and ginger, or try your hand at a fermented soda, syrup or shrub.

For the Love of Feijoas

There’s something about them that feels old-world and underappreciated. I’m always amazed how many people don’t know what they are. Or worse—grow them for hedging and don’t pick the fruit. It’s a quiet sort of abundance. The sort that asks for a bit of observation. A bit of seasonal noticing. Which suits me just fine.

Would I plant a feijoa hedge again? Absolutely. It’s not just about the fruit—it’s the feeling of walking out into the garden, finding something unexpected, and being reminded why you planted it in the first place. And for me, it’s also the promise of those uninterrupted views—when the feijoas finally meet the horizon and I feel like it’s just me and the hills.

And if anyone reading this has a galette-worthy feijoa recipe—or another way to roast them whole—I’d love to hear it.

Local Love: Two Fold Bakehouse

The galette that made me fall in love with roasted feijoas came from Two Fold Bakehouse—a small home bakery here in Daylesford that quietly does extraordinary things.

Two Fold bakes naturally leavened, organic loaves using stoneground flours and works with the seasons, letting what’s growing locally shape what’s baked. But their bread is about far more than bread—it’s about relationships. Farmers in wheat fields, millers milling, bakers folding, and community gathering. Their commitment to regenerative agriculture and a local grain economy is felt in every bite. I feel fortunate that I can call the super humble sourdough baker extraordinaire, Allison, a dear friend. 

You can buy their bread via:

• Thursday Bread (weekly) – order online for pick-up in Daylesford, Yandoit or Kyneton

• Daylesford Sunday Railway Market – every second Sunday

• Hepburn Wholefoods Collective – fresh loaves every Thursday from 3pm

• Join her mailing list – to find her latest news and wholewheat sourdough baking workshops

I love what she stands for—and I’m endlessly inspired by what Allison creates.

Further Reading

I highly recommend Milkwood’s guide to feijoas—practical, generous, and full of the good kind of seasonal wisdom.

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You may want to check out my related content below:

From Fumigation to Flavour: What Happens to Imported Garlic Before It Reaches You – Explore the journey of garlic before it makes it to your kitchen in this insightful blog post.

Fermenting Garlic: A Recipe for Resilience – Learn how fermenting garlic can enhance its flavour and shelf life, while building resilience in your kitchen.

Enjoyed this blog?

→ Share this blog with your friends and gardening allies to spread the love and knowledge.

→ Sign up for the newsletter to stay up-to-date on upcoming workshops, garden tips, and exclusive updates from Little Cottage on a Hill.

Thanks so much for following along,

Natasha xx

For glimpses into workshops, daily life, and my thoughts from Little Cottage on a Hill, you can find me on Instagram, Facebook, LinkedIn, and YouTube. And if you’d like a more personal update, subscribe to my Newsletter for a monthly note on what’s growing, what’s inspiring me, and what’s next.

Click the links below to stay connected—I’d love to have you along for the journey.

Gardenstead: A New Digital Home for Gardeners

Over the past few weeks, I’ve been quietly exploring a new digital platform that feels a bit like discovering the potting shed of your dreams: full of good company, tools you never knew you needed, and a sense of grounded purpose. It’s called Gardenstead, and today I’m excited to share why I’ve joined—and why you might want to as well.

And no—this isn’t a paid collaboration or sponsorship. I’m not affiliated with Gardenstead in any formal way. I simply see it as a beautiful opportunity to be part of something that aligns deeply with what I believe gardening is truly about: generosity, community, knowledge-sharing, and connection to place.

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What is Gardenstead?

Gardenstead is the first social media platform created solely for gardeners. Launched in April 2025, it’s a purpose-built space for people who grow—vegetables, herbs, flowers, trees, houseplants, or simply a curiosity about it all.

Unlike mainstream platforms, where garden content is scattered and often drowned out by the noise, Gardenstead brings everything into one place: a platform where gardeners of all kinds can connect with each other meaningfully, locally and globally. There are now tens of thousands of gardeners on the platform from over 100 countries, and it’s growing fast.

Here, you can:

• Join or start groups dedicated to topics you love (e.g. no-dig methods, native planting, greenhouse gardening, composting, soil health)

• Connect with others in your exact garden zone or climate, from your own neighbourhood to the other side of the world

• Share updates, ask questions, and track your growing journey

• Trade tips on everything from pruning techniques to seed saving

• Check hyper-local weather forecasts and updates

• Explore expert content tailored to your region and interests

• Engage directly with seasoned gardening pros and passionate home growers alike

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One of My Favourite Features: 

My Neighbourhood

Gardenstead isn’t just about the global gardening community—it’s about strengthening the one just outside your door.

The My Neighbourhood feature is a standout. It allows you to connect with gardeners who live near you—whether that’s in the same suburb or just down the road. That means conversations about microclimates, specific pests, or where to source great compost aren’t just possible—they’re easy. It’s a refreshing shift from generic advice to highly relevant, place-based learning.

A Community Built on Generosity

From the moment I joined, I felt it. Gardenstead is more than a platform—it’s a shared table. A space where people don’t just showcase the after but generously share the during. Where failures are just as welcome as triumphs, and there’s a genuine sense that we’re all learning together.

I’ve already connected with home growers who’ve inspired me, and I’ve contributed where I can—whether that’s offering a tip on seed sowing or sharing seasonal observations from my own patch in Daylesford.

The tone is welcoming, the exchange is thoughtful, and it reminds me a little of what the internet used to feel like—a place to genuinely connect.

Co-Founded by Leading Garden Voices and Visionaries

It’s no surprise the platform already feels so well-considered. Gardenstead was co-founded by a unique team of creators and innovators who truly understand both gardening and digital community-building. Their combined vision is rooted in care, curiosity, and a real understanding of what gardeners need.

Meet the leadership team:

• Patrick Vernuccio – Also known as @thefrenchiegardener, is a global gardening content creator, strategist and former exec at Netflix and Playstation.

• Jamie Walton – The voice behind @nettlesandpettles, bestselling author and garden content creator.

• Dave Friesema – Investor and entrepreneur, formerly CEO of Sleep Country Canada.

• Srin Sridharan – Chairman of Boundaries North, known for his vision in purpose-driven investment.

• John Barrack – Entrepreneur, lawyer, and florist.

Together, they’ve built something powerful: a platform that is at once warm, intentional, and scalable. Their global network of gardening influencers already reaches over 5 million people, giving Gardenstead a head start in building real momentum.

“There was no online space where gardeners could truly feel at home. We built Gardenstead to change that,” said co-founder Patrick Vernuccio. “This is more than a gardening app—it’s a lifestyle community organically rooted in holistic sustainable practices and the love for growing food, plants & biodiversity.”

Jamie Walton echoes that energy:

“The growth potential of Gardenstead is incredible. We’re tapping into a passionate, global community that’s been underserved for too long.”

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You Can Find Me There

If you’re already part of Gardenstead—or if you’re curious to explore it—I’d love for you to connect with me. I’m there under my usual handle natasha_morgan_, the same as Instagram, to keep it easy.

You’ll find a mix of my thoughts on garden design, seasonal planting notes, soil health, and behind-the-scenes glimpses from my home garden at Little Cottage on a Hill. It’s early days, but I’ll be building out more content over time.

This feels like the beginning of something meaningful—and I’d love to grow it alongside you.

Come Along

If you’ve ever wished for a quieter, deeper, more generous corner of the internet where people care about soil, seeds, and sustainability—Gardenstead might be the place.

Whether you’re an experienced grower, a new gardener feeling your way, or someone dreaming of their first raised bed or windowsill of herbs, there’s room for you here.

💬 Let’s connect on Gardenstead

🔗 My handle: natasha_morgan_

Enjoyed this blog?

→ Share this blog with your friends and gardening allies to spread the love and knowledge.

→ Sign up for the newsletter to stay up-to-date on upcoming workshops, garden tips, and exclusive updates from Little Cottage on a Hill.

Thanks so much for reading and for sharing this garden journey with me.

With gratitude and excitement,

Natasha x

For glimpses into workshops, daily life, and my thoughts from Little Cottage on a Hill, you can find me on Instagram, Facebook, LinkedIn, and YouTube. And if you’d like a more personal update, subscribe to my Newsletter for a monthly note on what’s growing, what’s inspiring me, and what’s next.

Click the links below to stay connected—I’d love to have you along for the journey.

Syrup Gift Pack Winners Announced + A Workshop Update

Recently, I asked for your help: What kind of workshops would you love to learn from me this year?

Across Instagram, blog comments, emails and DMs, I was genuinely moved by the care, thought and creativity you shared in response.

Every message was heartfelt. I read every single one—and you’ve given me so much to dream into as I shape the next season of workshops.

It was impossible to choose just one standout, so…

I’ve decided to send out not one, but three of my Natasha Morgan Seasonal Syrup Gift Packs as a small thank you for the beautiful ideas and encouragement.

Drumroll….. The winners are @bek.bec @dameofdaylesford and Eve

All winners have been contacted personally—but whether you commented on my socials or blog, replied via email, or messaged me directly, please know:

You’ve helped shape what’s to come, and I’m so deeply grateful.

Your presence in this community means everything and more to me.

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Workshop update

All of my autumn workshops are now sold out—except for four spots left this Saturday at the Wicking Bed Garden Workshop.

It’s the last chance to join before I pause workshops until spring, while I focus on finishing the book.

But this certainly isn’t goodbye… not even close⠀

My seasonal newsletter will be blooming through winter, filled with practical tips, behind-the-scenes moments, planting guides, and early access to future workshops.

If you’re not already on the list, now’s the perfect time to subscribe.

http://eepurl.com/iTENo6

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You may want to check out my related content below:

If You Could Learn Anything From Me This Year, What Would It Be? – Discover what I’ve been reflecting on the workshops I’ve shared over the years—and dreaming into what might come next.

Enjoyed this blog?

→ Share this blog with your friends and gardening allies to spread the love and knowledge.

→ Sign up for the newsletter to stay up-to-date on upcoming workshops, garden tips, and exclusive updates from Little Cottage on a Hill.

Thank you again for being here—for your ideas, your encouragement, and the beautiful way you keep showing up.

With love, gratitude, and sticky syrup-stirring hands,

Natasha x

For glimpses into workshops, daily life, and my thoughts from Little Cottage on a Hill, you can find me on Instagram, Facebook, LinkedIn, and YouTube. And if you’d like a more personal update, subscribe to my Newsletter for a monthly note on what’s growing, what’s inspiring me, and what’s next.

Click the links below to stay connected—I’d love to have you along for the journey.

Where Creativity Begins: Notes from a Morning at The Stones

Last Sunday morning, I arrived early at The Stones Open Garden to take photos for the book. It was one of those rare and quiet starts to the day—the kind that gifts you time before the crowds. I wandered with Jeremy as he made those final preparations that gardeners know so well. Tea in hand, camera slung over my shoulder, I felt something I hadn’t felt so poignantly in a while: that deep stillness that invites you to notice, immersed and fully.

We talked about many things—gardens, yes, but also design, backgrounds, and the creative lens through which each of us sees the world. Jeremy and Grant, as some of you may know, both come from textile design backgrounds. That part of their story stayed with me, not just because of the stunning garden they’ve made in a dry, exposed, and often unforgiving landscape—but because of the way their past experience shapes the way they see.

It reminded me of something I used to say often in my university teaching days: never forget where you’ve come from. Your past—no matter how unrelated it may seem to your current work—always finds its way in. It informs how you see, what you value, what you notice. And often, it becomes the very foundation of your unique creative expression.

As Jeremy spoke about working with only six colours in textile design and how that limitation pushed him to create more intentionally, I found myself reflecting on one of the core ideas I hold close: that creativity often flourishes within constraint. Too many choices can be paralysing. But when you’re limited—by climate, materials, space, or experience—you’re forced to dig deeper. To make do. To innovate.

At The Stones, the materials are deliberate and honest: stone, gravel, resilient grey-foliaged plants, succulents that can withstand extremes. It’s not just a design choice—it’s a story of place, necessity, and vision. It’s what happens when your materials are shaped not just by aesthetic desire, but by lived experience.

I sometimes think gardens are the most expressive medium I know. They’re not just about beauty or productivity—they’re a reflection of how we see the world. And every designer, every gardener, brings something of themselves to the process. We’re not just growing plants—we’re growing perspectives. We’re revealing something about how we move through the world and what we pay attention to.

This thread—of creativity, constraint, and inspiration—is one I’ll be pulling at in the book. It’s close to my heart. Not just where we find inspiration, but how we work with what we have. How we shape something deeply personal and expressive out of the limitations of time, climate, budget, experience.

So often, what appears to be a limitation becomes the very thing that gives our work its edge, its depth, its authenticity.

And on that quiet Sunday morning at The Stones, I was reminded all over again that the way we see the world—our lens, our history, our palette—is the start of every great garden. Every great idea.

Thanks for walking beside me as I write and reflect. There’s more to come.

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You may want to check out my related content below:

From Forest Clearing to Town Garden: A Story of Growth – Discover the journey of transforming a space from raw nature to a thriving garden, filled with lessons and inspiration.

Your Ultimate Gardening Inspiration Resource – Curated by our community for our community, this resource is filled with inspiration and practical tips for your gardening journey.

Creativity, Connection, and Beauty at Babbington Park with Lean Timms– Inspired, grateful, and reminded that making time for creativity and connection isn’t always a luxury—sometimes it’s a necessity.

Enjoyed this blog?

→ Share this blog with your friends and gardening allies to spread the love and knowledge.

→ Sign up for the newsletter to stay up-to-date on upcoming workshops, garden tips, and exclusive updates from Little Cottage on a Hill.

Thanks so much for reading and for sharing this garden journey with me.

Natasha xx

For glimpses into workshops, daily life, and my thoughts from Little Cottage on a Hill, you can find me on Instagram, Facebook, LinkedIn, and YouTube. And if you’d like a more personal update, subscribe to my Newsletter for a monthly note on what’s growing, what’s inspiring me, and what’s next.

Click the links below to stay connected—I’d love to have you along for the journey.

Musings on Visiting The Stones Open Garden

Sometimes a place leaves you so full—so utterly brimming with ideas, gratitude, connection, and awe—that you have no choice but to capture it somehow, even if it’s just a voice recording while driving home.

That’s exactly what happened after visiting The Stones Open Garden in Clydesdale, hosted by the incredible Jeremy and Grant, last weekend. I’ve finally had a chance to sit down, transcribe my thoughts, and share them with you. These are the raw, heartfelt musings of a day that filled my cup to overflowing.

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Driving back from The Stones, my head was just so full—of ideas, connections, contentment, and joy.

It was one of those days that reminded me how deeply important it is to carve out time for experiences like this. I met so many wonderful people, including Helena (Spade and Trowel) and Annabelle Reid (seasoned Open Gardens volunteer). I also had the chance to reconnect with my local Friends of Wombat Hill Botanic Gardens—a group that always feels like home.

There’s something about these moments. They are soul-expanding, heart-expanding, mind-expanding. All the things.

A simple morning spent wandering a thoughtfully created garden space… and yet it does so much to realign my spirit.

Jeremy and Grant’s property is nothing short of divine. It’s layered and thoughtful, offering not just beauty but deep generosity in its design. It’s the kind of place you can feel rather than just see. Spaces like theirs remind me of why I do what I do—and why creating environments that hold meaning matters.

As I drove, ideas kept tumbling out. Things I want to explore in my book.

Thoughts about materiality—how plants themselves are a form of materiality, as vital and considered as stone or timber.

How my particular landscape architecture lens shapes the way I see the world, even when I’m thinking about planting, gardening, or seasonal living.

At times, the scale of the book project I’m working on feels overwhelming.

And at other times, like Sunday, it feels absolutely exhilarating.

This book is hard. It’s pulling together everything I have learnt—and everything I’m still learning.

It’s woven from the conversations I have, the people I bump into, the shared love of gardens, of design, of making and craftsmanship.

All these threads are creating a tapestry bigger than just me. They form a web of inspiration, memory, and generosity.

Sunday was also a gentle but powerful reminder of something I have always known in my heart:

People who love gardens—people who love plants, design, making—they tend to be big-hearted, warm, generous souls.

I feel incredibly blessed to be part of that community.

It’s this community—this rich, nurturing, beautiful web—that is also the community who will hold my book in their hands one day.

And I want to give so much back.

Because I wouldn’t be here without them—their lessons, their stories, their quiet acts of sharing and generosity.

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You may want to check out my related content below:

From Forest Clearing to Town Garden: A Story of Growth – Discover the journey of transforming a space from raw nature to a thriving garden, filled with lessons and inspiration.

Your Ultimate Gardening Inspiration Resource – Curated by our community for our community, this resource is filled with inspiration and practical tips for your gardening journey.

Creativity, Connection, and Beauty at Babbington Park with Lean Timms– Inspired, grateful, and reminded that making time for creativity and connection isn’t always a luxury—sometimes it’s a necessity.

Looking for seasonal garden insight and glimpses behind the writing of the book?

→ Share this blog with your friends and gardening allies to spread the love and knowledge.

→ Sign up for the newsletter to stay up-to-date on upcoming workshops, garden tips, and exclusive updates from Little Cottage on a Hill.

Thanks so much for reading and for sharing this garden journey with me.

Natasha xx

For glimpses into workshops, daily life, and my thoughts from Little Cottage on a Hill, you can find me on Instagram, Facebook, LinkedIn, and YouTube. And if you’d like a more personal update, subscribe to my Newsletter for a monthly note on what’s growing, what’s inspiring me, and what’s next.

Click the links below to stay connected—I’d love to have you along for the journey.

May in the Garden: Slowing Down, Tending What Matters

As May unfolds, the Little Cottage On A Hil garden here in Daylesford, Victoria, begins to slow. The light softens. The days shorten. There’s a quietness that settles in if you let yourself notice it.

This is a working month — not the fast, frantic kind of work that spring demands, but the steady, grounding kind. Clearing, planting, moving things to better places. Making the sorts of decisions that shape not just this season, but the ones to come.

It’s the last month of autumn… and it matters.

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Across Every Australian Climate: The Quiet Work of May

No matter where you garden in Australia — cool mountains, dry inland plains, lush subtropical backyards — the rhythm in May is much the same. It’s a time to:

• Plant trees, shrubs, climbers, and perennials while the soil still holds some warmth.

• Lift and divide perennials that have outgrown their space, giving tired clumps a new lease on life.

• Cut back spent berry canes and tidy deciduous shrubs.

• Compost fallen leaves, layering them to feed the soil.

• Sow cool-season green manures like broad beans, mustard, or vetch to build soil fertility.

• Strengthen the structure of your garden: repair trellises, replace stakes, check tree ties before the winter winds arrive.

It’s not glamorous work. But it’s the work that sets up a garden to thrive quietly through winter and burst back with strength in spring.

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May by Australian Climate Zone: Knowing What to Lean Into

Every garden carries its own micro-season, but May still offers some broad guideposts depending where you are.

Cool and Alpine Climates

(Think Canberra, Hobart, and the high country)

• Frosts are on their way, and the coldest places may even have had one already.

• Sow hardy greens like rocket, spinach, and broad beans.

• Start lifting parsnips now — a brush with frost only makes them sweeter.

• Divide rhubarb crowns while the soil is still workable.

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Temperate Climates

(Think Melbourne, Adelaide, Perth)

• Rain is more frequent now, especially in Perth and Adelaide.

• It’s a good month to sow peas, snow peas, rocket, mizuna, lettuce, and broad beans.

• Plant garlic, shallots, and strawberries if you haven’t already.

• Begin winter pruning on fruit trees and ornamentals once the leaves have fallen and the garden’s skeleton is easier to read.

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Subtropical Climates

(Think Brisbane, Northern NSW)

• May is generous here — mild, sunny, forgiving. (Hopefully, the rains are giving you some sort of reprieve!)

• Sow beetroot, carrots, broccoli, fennel, onions, silverbeet, and snow peas.

• It’s also the right time to plant garlic, shallots, and strawberry runners.

• Keep an eye on citrus for signs of gall wasp — this is the moment to get on top of it.

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Tropical Climates

(Think Darwin, Far North Queensland)

• May marks the beginning of the dry — warm days, little humidity, few storms.

• Ideal for sowing beans, cucumbers, capsicum, chillies, basil, and coriander.

• Keep the soil covered and shaded. Mulching becomes essential as the dry season sets in.

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Arid Climates

(Think Alice Springs, inland WA and SA)

• Crisp mornings, warm sun, and cooling soil.

• Garlic, peas, broad beans, spinach, silverbeet, and onions all go in now.

• Compost and mulch whatever you can — every scrap of organic matter counts in these landscapes.

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What May Teaches Us

May in Australia reminds me that gardens aren’t built on grand gestures. They’re shaped through small, consistent actions. Quiet choices. A bit of lifting and transplanting. A handful of seeds tucked into soft soil. Noticing what needs shifting — and having the patience to do it.

This month, I’ll be spending time clearing out the last of summer’s tangle at Little Cottage on a Hill, moving a few perennials that have outgrown their place, and quietly preparing the beds for winter crops.

It’s not about racing toward an end. It’s about tending what’s here — and trusting that the work of today will unfold, quietly and generously, in its own time.

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You may want to check out my related content below:

What to Plant in April: A Regional Autumn Guide for Australian Gardeners– Learn how to make the most of April’s golden gardening moment by sowing for the season ahead, no matter your climate.

Growing Pumpkins Up: Maximising Small Spaces for a Thriving Productive Garden – Learn how to maximise small for a Thriving Productive Garden.

Growing Zucchini: Space-Saving and Pollination Tips for an Abundant Harvest – Learn how to maximise space and boost pollination for a bountiful zucchini crop in your garden.

The Joy of Growing Strawberries: A Journey Through Every Climate – Explore how to successfully grow strawberries in different climates and enjoy a sweet, seasonal harvest.

Watering Deeply: The Key to Thriving, Resilient Plants – Watch my Instagram reel for tips on how deep watering helps your plants grow stronger with deeper roots.

Growing Soil: The Foundation to Vibrant Gardens and Nutrient-Dense Plants – Dive into my blog post where I explore how healthy soil is essential for supporting vibrant, thriving plants.

Want more seasonal garden guidance and behind-the-scenes updates?

→ Share this blog with your friends and gardening allies to spread the love and knowledge.

→ Sign up for the newsletter to stay up-to-date on upcoming workshops, garden tips, and exclusive updates from Little Cottage on a Hill.

Wishing you slow days and small victories in your garden this May.

Natasha xx

For glimpses into workshops, daily life, and my thoughts from Little Cottage on a Hill, you can find me on Instagram, Facebook, LinkedIn, and YouTube. And if you’d like a more personal update, subscribe to my Newsletter for a monthly note on what’s growing, what’s inspiring me, and what’s next.

Click the links below to stay connected—I’d love to have you along for the journey.

The Ground Beneath Our Feet: Why I Use Gravel and How I Keep It Looking Beautiful

Gravel is one of those humble yet hard-working elements in a garden—beautiful in its simplicity, endlessly useful, and, when done well, incredibly low maintenance.

At both Oak & Monkey Puzzle and Little Cottage on a Hill, I’ve used 20mm Tuscan gravel throughout the garden. Also known as Safari, it’s a warm-toned crushed stone that’s become my favourite. The colour is soft, layered, and earthy—never cold, never flat.

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 Why I Always Choose Tuscan (Safari) Gravel

• The colour matters. I work with a mostly monochromatic palette in my exteriors and interiors—black and white—and I’ve found that white or grey gravel can feel too stark, too cold, too dull. Tuscan, by contrast, feels alive. It shifts beautifully through the seasons, catching the warmth of autumn leaves, the softness of winter light, the exuberance of spring growth.

• 20mm with no fines. That means there are no fine particles or stone dust, which can compact and create a hard crust where weeds thrive. Instead, this gravel is free-draining and forgiving.

Angular and stable. As a crushed stone, it locks in place. Unlike round pea gravel, which rolls and shifts (and ends up in your shoes), Tuscan gravel in a 20mm aggregate stays put. I can push a wheelbarrow, move bins, even roll a wheelchair across it with ease.

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What Lies Beneath (and Why I Never Use Barrier Fabrics)

I never use weed mat or root barrier underneath gravel. It might seem like a good idea at first, but it always lifts, tears, and makes hand-weeding near impossible.

Instead, I take the time to scrape back the topsoil—removing any seed bank that might otherwise sit dormant and spring to life. Then I lay a minimum of 75mm (3 inches) of gravel for a generous, workable surface.

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How I Keep It Looking Beautiful—Without Chemicals

Gravel isn’t weed-proof, but it is easy to maintain if you stay on top of things:

• No glyphosate. Ever. It destroys soil biology, poses risks to people and animals, and has no place in a thriving garden.

• Boiling water works beautifully for small patches—especially those with deeper roots. I always empty the urn after workshops onto a few weeds.

• Flame weeding is effective—but risky. I once nearly set the studio alight, so only use on still days and with absolute care.

If short on time, pluck off the flower heads before weeds go to seed. It’s a quick win that stops them spreading while you find time for a proper clear-out.

Gravel is one of those quiet elements that holds everything together. It creates rhythm and structure, allows water to permeate, softens hard lines, and gives plants a subtle stage on which to shine.

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Curious about garden design from the ground up?

Join one of my hands-on seasonal workshops or subscribe to my newsletter for stories, tips, and behind-the-scenes glimpses into life at Little Cottage on a Hill.

You may want to check out my related content below:

Designing for Expansiveness: Small Space Garden Strategies at Little Cottage on a Hill– Learn how I’ve applied a series of design strategies to maximise space while ensuring a sense of expansiveness and flexibility. 

If you’d like to experience life here and this incredible space first-hand, I’d love to welcome you to one of my upcoming workshops. Come and walk the garden, learn something new, and connect with others creating lives rich in beauty, practicality and purpose.

Explore my workshops:

~  The Productive Garden with Natasha Morgan – Learn how to grow abundantly, no matter your space.

~ Garden Design with Natasha Morgan – Craft a garden that balances structure, beauty, and functionality.

~ The Wicking Bed Garden with Natasha Morgan – Build a self-watering, water-wise garden for effortless growing.

~ Preserving The Seasons with Natasha Morgan – Capture seasonal flavours with time-honoured preserving techniques.

~ Introduction to Backyard Chicken Keeping with Saffron and Natasha  – Learn how to raise happy, healthy chickens at home.

Thanks for being here for the journey.

Natasha xx

For glimpses into workshops, daily life, and my thoughts from Little Cottage on a Hill, you can find me on Instagram, Facebook, LinkedIn, and YouTube. And if you’d like a more personal update, subscribe to my Newsletter for a monthly note on what’s growing, what’s inspiring me, and what’s next.

Click the links below to stay connected—I’d love to have you along for the journey.

The Power of Noticing: How a Garden Wander Led Me to Morels

Wandering the garden with a cup of tea in hand is one of my favourite things to do. It’s quiet, slow, unhurried. Just a gentle loop to see what’s changed. For someone with a busy mind and restless hands, these little garden walks are the times I find myself exhaling. My thoughts begin to quiet, and my eyes tune in. I stop thinking about what I need to do next and start noticing what’s right in front of me.

That’s how I spotted them—small, textured caps pushing up through the mulch in the Wicking Bed Garden. I crouched down for a closer look. They had that unmistakable honeycombed morel look to them, but I’d never found any growing in real life despite hunting for them in all the right local spots. I sent a photo to my friend Speedy (@speedy6579), who’s an absolute encyclopaedia when it comes to all things botanical. Shared it with another of his mycologist friends, the verdict was in. Both quite certain and equally surprised that what I’d found was Morchella rufrobrunnea—the blushing morel.

It’s not every day you find morels growing in a little backyard garden in central Victoria. Daylesford no less.

They popped up right on the edge of the paths between the wicking beds, where I laid woodchips last year - a space that was lawn when we first moved here. Now, those mulched paths are quietly composting down beneath our feet, becoming rich, living soil in place. I top them up each season and let the cycle begin again. It seems the fungi have found what they need in that environment. Speedy’s advice is to leave them to mature in place, and the spores might have a chance of spreading and naturalising here.

The idea of more morels, living right here, makes me ridiculously happy.

I learnt today that all Morchella species are edible once cooked. That in itself feels like a bit of a gift.

When we lived at Oak and Monkey Puzzle, one of my favourite autumn rituals was mushroom foraging with the kids—searching the property and adjoining pine forests for Saffron Milkcaps (Lactarius deliciosus) and Slippery Jacks (Suillus luteus). Saffron and Oliver, despite being so young, became absolute pros at spotting them. With the first good autumn rains, they’d race to find the first saffron-stained stem of the season. It’s one of those memories that sticks

And now, on this tiny 515 square metre block, we’ve found morels. It feels like a kind of full circle. Unexpected, but somehow exactly right. A quiet little nod from the soil.

But what it brought up for me—once more—is how important observation is. Not just in gardening, but in everything. I’ve always been that way. Even as a kid, I was the one watching. Noticing small things. The way someone moved, the way the air changed before rain, the signs that something was about to shift. It’s how I’ve learnt to garden—not through hard and fast rules, but through paying attention. Seasons, cycles, subtle changes. All of it teaches you if you stop to notice.

It’s also where I feel the most content. I know that word gets thrown around, but I mean it in the truest sense. It’s where I feel most ‘myself’, most at peace. I’m not sure how to explain it without it sounding a bit ‘woo woo’, but it’s the closest I get to that feeling of being completely in the right place, at the right time. Part of something bigger. Connected to the ecologies of all living things.

So no, it’s not just a random mushroom sighting. For me, anyway, it’s a serendipitous reminder. That when I slow down, and pay attention—even just for a moment—the world has a way of showing us things we never expected. And that’s where the magic is.

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Workshops are slowing down a little over winter while I focus on writing the book, but if you’d like to keep in touch, the best way is through my monthly newsletter. It’s where I share what’s growing here, what I’m preserving, what I’m learning and so much more—and you’ll be the first to hear when new workshops are announced too.

Subscribe to the newsletter

Explore upcoming workshops

As always, it’s so lovely having you here,

Natasha xx

Green Manure - The Soil-Building Secret Most Gardeners Overlook

Green manure is one of the quiet achievers in my garden — and one of the most effective tools in my artillery. I’ve returned to it time and again to restore structure in compacted beds, improve soil biology, and give tired ground a season to rest and recharge.

Sometimes called cover crops, living mulch, or catch crops, green manure refers to fast-growing plants sown not for harvest, but purely for the benefit of the soil. Once they’re established, you cut them down before flowering and either dig them in or let them break down naturally on the surface.

It’s a beautifully simple process — and one that has the potential to completely transform the productivity and resilience of your garden.

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What Does Green Manure Actually Do?

Green manure works on many levels at once. It:

• Improves soil structure by breaking up compacted or heavy soils

• Feeds the soil by adding organic matter as it breaks down

• Fixes nitrogen through legumes like vetch, field peas and clover

• Suppresses weeds with dense ground cover

• Protects against erosion by shielding bare soil

• Holds moisture and supports soil microbes

Some crops, like mustard and marigold, even act as biofumigants — naturally suppressing nematodes and soil-borne diseases. It’s a gentle but powerful way to build healthier soil from the top down.

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What to Grow (and When)

The best green manure crops for your garden will depend on your climate and the time of year. Here’s a quick guide I use in my own garden in cool-temperate Victoria:

Cool-season crops (autumn–early spring):

• Field peas (Pisum sativum subsp. arvense) - also known as dun peas or forage peas

• Broad beans (Vicia faba) - also known as fava beans or tick beans

• Woolly pod vetch (Vicia villosa) - sometimes called hairy vetch or winter vetch

• Mustard (Brassica juncea, Sinapis alba) - often sold as white or brown mustard, and used as a biofumigant

• Grazing rye (Secale cereale) - also known as cereal rye or winter rye — not to be confused with ryegrass

• Oats (Avena sativa) - sometimes referred to as forage oats or cover crop oats

Warm-season crops (spring–summer):

• Buckwheat (Fagopyrum esculentum) - also known as Japanese buckwheat or summer cover crop

• Cowpea (Vigna unguiculata) - sometimes called black-eyed pea or forage cowpea

• Soybean (Glycine max) - also referred to as soya or summer legume green manure

• Millet (Panicum miliaceum, Setaria italica) - includes Japanese millet, French white millet, and foxtail millet

• Lablab (Lablab purpureus) - also called hyacinth bean or dolichos lablab

• Marigold (Tagetes spp.) - including French marigold and African marigold; used as a natural pest deterrent

You can grow them as single species or in combination. I often mix oats for structure, legumes for nitrogen, and mustard to help manage pests — that balance seems to support the soil from all angles.

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How to Grow Green Manure

It’s easy to incorporate green manure into your rotation — whether you’re preparing a new garden bed or resting an existing one.

1. Clear any weeds or spent crops

2. Broadcast your seeds thickly and evenly

3. Lightly rake or cover with a layer of compost

4. Water well and keep moist during germination

5. Cut back just before flowering (6–10 weeks, depending on crop)

At this point, you can either dig the plants into the soil or, as I do, cut them down and let them become a green mulch. Over time, the roots decompose in place, creating beautiful pathways for air, water and life below the surface.

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Dig or No-Dig?

The traditional method is to slash the crop and dig it in. This speeds up decomposition and releases nutrients for the next planting.

In my garden, I do things a little differently. After a slow and thoughtful shift to no-dig practices, I now cut green manure crops at the base and leave the roots to decompose in place. The tops are laid as mulch, often with compost on top, and the bed is left to rest until the next planting. It’s a slower process, but I’ve found it strengthens the soil in the long term — especially in areas with compacted clay.

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Things to Keep in Mind

• Cut before flowering: If you leave them too long, they’ll go to seed and could become weedy.

• Allow time: Depending on your method, it can take a few weeks before the bed is ready to plant again.

• Monitor slugs: The lush growth can shelter them, especially in cooler months.

Choose manageable crops: Some, like rye, can be tough to slash and slow to break down.

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Green manure might not be the most glamorous feature of a garden, but it quietly supports everything else. It’s a gentle investment in the long-term health of your soil — something I’ve come to deeply value in my own journey as both a grower and a designer.

Used thoughtfully, it can be one of the most regenerative things we do in the garden. One season’s cover crop can lay the foundation for years of thriving productivity.

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Keen to learn more?

I’d love for you to join me at The Productive Garden Workshop, where I’ll walk you through the principles of productive garden design—green manure included! Together, we’ll explore how to nurture your soil, boost your garden’s resilience, and create something truly abundant. I can’t wait to share these practices with you and help you build a garden that thrives season after season.

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If you’d like to experience life here and this incredible space first-hand, I’d love to welcome you to one of my upcoming workshops. Come and walk the garden, learn something new, and connect with others creating lives rich in beauty, practicality and purpose.

Explore my workshops:

~  The Productive Garden with Natasha Morgan – Learn how to grow abundantly, no matter your space.

~ Garden Design with Natasha Morgan – Craft a garden that balances structure, beauty, and functionality.

~ The Wicking Bed Garden with Natasha Morgan – Build a self-watering, water-wise garden for effortless growing.

~ Preserving The Seasons with Natasha Morgan – Capture seasonal flavours with time-honoured preserving techniques.

~ Introduction to Backyard Chicken Keeping with Saffron and Natasha  – Learn how to raise happy, healthy chickens at home.

You may want to check out my related content below:

Soil Testing: Know Your Soil – Understand the importance of soil testing and how it can improve your garden’s productivity in my latest blog post.

Watering Deeply: The Key to Thriving, Resilient Plants – Watch my Instagram post for tips on how deep watering can help your plants thrive and become more resilient.

Explore both for a deeper understanding of garden care!

Thanks so much for reading and for sharing this garden journey with me.

Natasha xx

For glimpses into workshops, daily life, and my thoughts from Little Cottage on a Hill, you can find me on Instagram, Facebook, LinkedIn, and YouTube. And if you’d like a more personal update, subscribe to my Newsletter for a monthly note on what’s growing, what’s inspiring me, and what’s next.

Click the links below to stay connected—I’d love to have you along for the journey.

How to Plant Garlic in Australia: A Practical Guide for Every Climate

Garlic is one of the most satisfying crops to grow. It doesn’t take up much space, it stores well, and once you’ve had homegrown garlic, the supermarket version just doesn’t compare. It’s stronger in flavour, fresher, and you know exactly how it’s been grown.

This guide walks you through how to grow garlic at home in Australia—step by step—with practical, seasonal insights and the science behind those long-held planting traditions.

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When Should You Plant Garlic in Australia?

There are two main planting windows people follow across the country:

1. March to May (autumn)

2. The winter solstice (around June 21)

Both can work well depending on your location, variety, and soil conditions.

In cool and mountain regions (like parts of Victoria, Tasmania, and the southern highlands), planting anytime from March to May gives your garlic time to establish roots before winter. Some gardeners prefer the tradition of planting on the shortest day of the year, allowing the bulbs to stay dormant through winter and take off once spring arrives.

In temperate and subtropical regions, earlier planting (from March) gives the garlic a head start before cooler days set in. The autumn equinox (around March 20–21) is often used as a reference point.

In tropical climates, garlic needs a bit more help—specifically cold treatment. You’ll need to vernalise your cloves by storing them in the fridge for 4–6 weeks before planting. Choose varieties suited to warmer conditions and be aware that bulb development can be less reliable in consistently warm climates.

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Softneck vs Hardneck Garlic: What’s the Difference?

• Softneck garlic (e.g., Artichoke, Silverskin, and Subtropical): Stores well, ideal for warmer climates, produces more cloves per bulb.

• Hardneck garlic (e.g., Turban, Creole): Suited to colder climates, often easier to peel and more complex in flavour, but doesn’t store quite as long.

Ask your local grower or seed supplier what’s worked in your region—they’ll usually know what varieties are best suited to your conditions.

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How to Plant Garlic: Step-by-Step

1. Prepare your soil

Garlic thrives in well-drained, fertile soil, ideally with a pH between 6.0 and 7.0. Dig through compost or well-aged manure and ensure good drainage—raised beds are great for this.

2. Break the bulbs into cloves

Use the largest, healthiest cloves. Leave the skin on and don’t peel them. Do this just before planting to prevent drying out.

3. Plant pointy end up

• Depth: 5 cm

• Spacing: 10–15 cm between cloves, 20–30 cm between rows

4. Water in well and mulch

Mulch with straw, sugarcane or lucerne to suppress weeds, retain moisture, and stabilise temperature.

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Caring for Garlic as It Grows

• Water consistently during active growth, especially in spring. Ease off once the leaves start to yellow.

• Feed with diluted seaweed solution or compost tea every 4–6 weeks during the growing season.

• Weed regularly—garlic doesn’t like competition, and mulch will help reduce weed pressure.

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Harvesting Garlic

Garlic is usually ready around 17–25 weeks after planting.

You’ll know it’s time to harvest when:

• The bottom leaves are yellow or brown

• The top few leaves are still green

Don’t wait until the whole plant dies back—you risk splitting or rotting in the ground.

To harvest:

• Gently loosen the soil with a fork

• Pull the bulbs carefully by the stem

• Shake off excess soil (don’t wash)

• Lay out in a shaded, well-ventilated area to dry

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Curing and Storing Garlic

Cure your garlic for 2–3 weeks in a dry, airy place out of direct sun—this helps it store well.

Once cured:

• Trim the roots

• Cut stems to your preferred length, or braid if softneck

• Store in mesh bags or baskets in a cool, dry place—never in the fridge (unless you’re vernalising for next season)

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Where to Buy Garlic for Planting in Australia

Avoid supermarket garlic—it’s often imported, fumigated, and treated to stop sprouting.

Here are trusted Australian sources for quality planting garlic:

1. The Diggers Club

Heirloom, seasonal garlic varieties for different climates.

🔗 diggers.com.au

2. Green Harvest

Certified organic garlic, with growing tips and regional suitability.

🔗 greenharvest.com.au

3. The Seed Garlic Shop

Specialises in diverse, locally adapted garlic varieties.

🔗 theseedgarlicshop.com.au

4. Garlic Kingdom Australia

Over 50 regeneratively grown garlic varieties.

🔗 garlickingdom.com.au

5. Tooley Garlic (VIC)

Disease-free planting garlic with limited national shipping.

🔗 tooleygarlic.com.au

6. Local Farmers’ Markets

A fantastic place to find garlic suited to your specific region. Many stallholders will sell garlic for planting and happily offer tips. Ask about variety, harvest time, and whether the garlic is untreated. It’s also a great way to connect with your local food community.

🌱 Pro tip: The best time to buy seed garlic is late summer to early autumn, before the season’s planting stock sells out.

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Side Note: Can You Plant Garlic Under Tomatoes?

If you’re tight on space, or working with a productive kitchen garden, you might be wondering whether garlic can be planted under your tomato plants toward the end of the season.

The answer is yes—and it’s actually a smart move.

If your tomatoes are starting to wind down with the first frosts approaching, planting garlic underneath them now makes excellent use of timing and space. Tomatoes will soon be finished, and their mature root systems won’t interfere much with the young garlic cloves. Once you remove the tomato plants—either by lifting them or cutting them off at the base—you’ll have your garlic already in place and growing steadily.

Tip: Cutting tomato plants at the base and hanging them upside down is an old-school way to allow the last fruit to ripen off the vine—without disturbing the garlic you’ve just planted underneath.

This kind of succession planting is ideal in smaller gardens. It keeps your beds working efficiently while also allowing you to stagger harvests. And if you’re resting other beds with a green manure crop, like I often do, this balance between productivity and renewal is what keeps the garden thriving year-round.

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Why I Grow My Own Garlic

There’s nothing quite like growing your own garlic—from selecting the cloves to harvesting and hanging your crop to cure. Once you’ve experienced the flavour, freshness and satisfaction of growing it yourself, you won’t go back.

You know exactly what’s gone into it (and what hasn’t). It becomes part of your pantry, your garden rhythm, and your seasonal calendar. It’s a small act of self-reliance that makes a real difference.

And if you’d like to explore more ways to grow for abundance—without chemicals, overwhelm, or waste—I cover all of this and more in The Productive Garden workshop.

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If you’d like to experience life here and this incredible space first-hand, I’d love to welcome you to one of my upcoming workshops. Come and walk the garden, learn something new, and connect with others creating lives rich in beauty, practicality and purpose.

Explore my workshops:

~  The Productive Garden with Natasha Morgan – Learn how to grow abundantly, no matter your space.

~ Garden Design with Natasha Morgan – Craft a garden that balances structure, beauty, and functionality.

~ The Wicking Bed Garden with Natasha Morgan – Build a self-watering, water-wise garden for effortless growing.

~ Preserving The Seasons with Natasha Morgan – Capture seasonal flavours with time-honoured preserving techniques.

~ Introduction to Backyard Chicken Keeping with Saffron and Natasha  – Learn how to raise happy, healthy chickens at home.

You may want to check out my related content below:

From Fumigation to Flavour: What Happens to Imported Garlic Before It Reaches You – Explore the journey of garlic before it makes it to your kitchen in this insightful blog post.

Fermenting Garlic: A Recipe for Resilience – Learn how fermenting garlic can enhance its flavour and shelf life, while building resilience in your kitchen.

Dive into both for more garlic-related insights!

Thanks so much for following along.

Natasha xx,

For glimpses into workshops, daily life, and my thoughts from Little Cottage on a Hill, you can find me on Instagram, Facebook, LinkedIn, and YouTube. And if you’d like a more personal update, subscribe to my Newsletter for a monthly note on what’s growing, what’s inspiring me, and what’s next.

Click the links below to stay connected—I’d love to have you along for the journey.

From Fumigation to Flavour: What Happens to Imported Garlic Before It Reaches You

Garlic is a pantry essential in many households—prized for its bold flavour and long list of health benefits. But not all garlic is created equal. Much of the garlic sold in Australian supermarkets is imported, often from large-scale producers overseas whose post-harvest practices are significantly different from what most local consumers expect.

While those gleaming white bulbs may look fresh and perfect, their journey from paddock to plate tells a very different story—one that includes toxic fumigation, cosmetic bleaching, and processes that may strip garlic of its natural potency and nutritional benefits. Here’s what really happens to imported garlic before it lands on your plate—and why choosing Australian-grown garlic is a decision rooted in health, flavour, and sustainability.

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1. Fumigated to Comply with Biosecurity

To prevent the importation of pests and diseases, imported garlic is fumigated with methyl bromide, a highly toxic chemical used in quarantine and pre-shipment processes. This treatment is mandated by Australian quarantine regulations for many fresh produce imports.

Methyl bromide is so dangerous to the ozone layer that its use has been banned in most situations under the Montreal Protocol, with very limited exemptions for quarantine (Australian Government – Department of Climate Change, Energy, the Environment and Water). It’s also toxic to humans and can impact the central nervous and respiratory systems (ABC News)

2. The Health Impact: Does Fumigation Affect Garlic’s Benefits?

Garlic’s health-promoting properties—particularly its antibacterial, antifungal, antiviral, and antioxidant benefits—are largely due to a compound called allicin, which is formed when garlic is crushed or chopped.

Allicin is highly volatile and sensitive to heat, chemicals, and processing, meaning treatments like fumigation and extended cold storage can degrade or destroy its potency (The Food Coach).

For those consuming garlic for its medicinal value, particularly for gut health, immunity, or natural anti-inflammatory properties, imported garlic may not provide the same therapeutic benefits as fresh, locally grown alternatives.

3. Why Imported Garlic Looks So White: The Role of Bleaching

That perfect white bulb often found in supermarkets? It’s rarely natural. Imported garlic is frequently bleached with chlorine or other agents to give it a consistent, uniform appearance and to help disguise blemishes from long-distance travel (The Food Coach).

While this is purely cosmetic and not required by Australian consumers, it adds another layer of unnecessary chemical exposure.

4. Growth Inhibitors: Stopping Sprouts Before They Start

To keep garlic looking “fresh” for as long as possible, imported garlic is also treated with growth inhibitors to prevent sprouting in transit and on the shelf. This allows it to last longer in cold storage—often months between harvest and sale (Lambs’ Ears and Honey).

But sprouting is actually a sign of life and vitality. Garlic that can sprout shows it’s still biologically active—an indicator of freshness. The lack of sprouting in treated garlic can be a red flag that it’s been chemically altered.

5. Heavy Metals and Contaminants: A Hidden Risk?

Some imported garlic has also been found to contain residues of heavy metals like arsenic and lead, thought to be the result of polluted soil or contaminated water used during intensive industrial farming in some countries (Agent Nateur).

While not all imported garlic is contaminated, poor regulation in overseas agriculture can lead to inconsistencies in quality and safety—especially for consumers buying bulk or unlabelled garlic.

6. A Flavour (and Texture) Compromise

Those chemical treatments don’t just affect health—they also impact taste. Imported garlic often lacks the sharpness and complexity of fresh garlic, with some reporting a rubbery texture or bitter, metallic aftertaste (Agent Nateur).

In contrast, Australian-grown garlic is typically harvested and sold seasonally, with a higher moisture content, rich aroma, and full-bodied flavour—ideal for cooking, preserving, or eating raw for health.

7. Don’t Plant Imported Garlic

While it may be tempting to plant a clove from the supermarket, doing so with imported garlic can be risky. These bulbs may carry soil-borne diseases or pests not present in Australia, which could harm local ecosystems and crops.

The Australian Garlic Industry Association and biosecurity authorities strongly recommend only planting certified disease-free garlic from trusted Australian growers (ABC News).

8. How to Spot Locally Grown Garlic

Here’s how to tell if your garlic is truly Australian-grown:

• Roots still attached – Imported garlic typically has its roots removed to meet quarantine requirements.

• Seasonal availability – Australian garlic is generally harvested between November and January.

• Label check – Look for “Product of Australia” labelling, especially at markets and smaller grocers. 

• Purple or striped skin – Many Aussie varieties aren’t stark white. They may be purple-tinged or have a papery blush.

• Get to know your local grower – One of the best ways to ensure your garlic (and other produce) is truly local is to build a relationship with your farmers’ market stallholders. Ask them where and how their garlic is grown, when it was harvested, and what varieties they favour. This connection helps us stay attuned to the seasonality, effort, and ethics behind what we eat—and supports small-scale growers doing things properly. There’s something incredibly grounding about knowing exactly who grew your food.

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Why I Always Choose Local

As someone who grows garlic and teaches others to do the same, I believe food should nourish, not compromise. Garlic is a cornerstone of cooking and medicine alike—so it matters deeply where it comes from and how it’s grown.

By choosing Australian-grown garlic, you’re not only supporting our farmers and food sovereignty, you’re also selecting a product that’s free from unnecessary chemical treatments, grown in healthy soil, and full of flavour and therapeutic potential.

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Bibliography

1. Nichols, J. (2022). Fresh vs fumigated — the difference between Australian and imported Chinese garlic. ABC News.

https://www.abc.net.au/news/rural/2022-12-10/australian-garlic-farming-sunshine-coast-rural-christmas-gift/101682854

2. Garlic: Is Yours Bleached and Chemical-Laden? The Food Coach.

https://www.thefoodcoach.com.au/articles/?ArticleID=1283

3. Australian Garlic vs Imported Garlic – What’s the Difference? Lambs’ Ears and Honey.

https://www.lambsearsandhoney.com/australian-garlic-vs-imported-garlic-whats-the-difference/

4. Why Chinese Garlic Is Bad: The Ugly Truth. Agent Nateur.

https://www.agentnateur.com/blogs/agent-tips/why-chinese-garlic-is-bad

5. Methyl Bromide Use in Quarantine and Pre-Shipment. Department of Climate Change, Energy, the Environment and Water.

https://www.dcceew.gov.au/environment/protection/ozone/methyl-bromide/quarantine-pre-shipment-use

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If you’d like to experience life here and this incredible space first-hand, I’d love to welcome you to one of my upcoming workshops. Come and walk the garden, learn something new, and connect with others creating lives rich in beauty, practicality and purpose.

Explore my workshops:

~  The Productive Garden with Natasha Morgan – Learn how to grow abundantly, no matter your space.

~ Garden Design with Natasha Morgan – Craft a garden that balances structure, beauty, and functionality.

~ The Wicking Bed Garden with Natasha Morgan – Build a self-watering, water-wise garden for effortless growing.

~ Preserving The Seasons with Natasha Morgan – Capture seasonal flavours with time-honoured preserving techniques.

~ Introduction to Backyard Chicken Keeping with Saffron and Natasha  – Learn how to raise happy, healthy chickens at home.

You may want to check out my related content below:

Your Right To Refuse Kerbside Herbicide Spraying – Learn about your rights and how to refuse herbicide spraying in your community on Instagram.

Summer Tomato Maintenance – Watch my YouTube video for tips on keeping your summer tomatoes healthy and productive.

Check them out for more gardening insights and tips!

Thanks so much for following along.

Natasha xx

For glimpses into workshops, daily life, and my thoughts from Little Cottage on a Hill, you can find me on Instagram, Facebook, LinkedIn, and YouTube. And if you’d like a more personal update, subscribe to my Newsletter for a monthly note on what’s growing, what’s inspiring me, and what’s next.

Click the links below to stay connected—I’d love to have you along for the journey.

Looking Back: A Rare Glimpse Inside Oak and Monkey Puzzle

Writing my book has become more than just a process of putting words on a page—it’s been an opportunity to reflect, to remember, and to truly see how far I’ve come. I don’t often give myself the space to do that. Like so many of us, I tend to look ahead—what’s next, what’s not quite right yet, what still needs doing. But lately, I’ve been reframing that mindset. Letting myself pause. Appreciate. Celebrate.

This before-and-after series of images from Oak and Monkey Puzzle is part of that reflection.

It’s not often I share the interiors of my homes. They feel deeply personal—quiet reflections of where I’ve been and who I’ve become. But this chapter, my life at Oak and Monkey Puzzle, shaped so much of what followed. It deserves a proper tribute.

Looking back to the photos from 2013 it still amazes me how we managed to bring this gem back to life.

A Place Steeped in Stories

Oak and Monkey Puzzle sits on land rich with history. Originally O’Connell’s store during the 1850s gold rush era, then also the Spargo Creek Post Office and later in the 1930s the local pub, the property was once a bustling hub of rural life. It was even once the recreation reserve with a cricket pitch that still quietly remains—a ghost of times long passed.

During the renovations, we uncovered so many stories hidden in the bones of the place. Layers of masonite, hessian and wallpaper peeled back to reveal an original mud filled wall—complete with fingerprints preserved like echoes of another time. Sometimes I would just stop and place my hands exactly where others had left their fingerprints and wonder who they belonged to, their stories, the trials, tribulations and successes that had brought them to that place and time. Those hidden discoveries reminded me that we were never really building something new, but instead stewarding something already full of life. Just giving it space to breathe again.

The early 1800s mud-filled wall, uncovered beneath multiple layers, predates traditional lathe and plaster construction. Here, mud was used as insulation, packed between the posts of the raw pole framework.

The Renovation Journey

Like every project I’ve lived in while renovating, it all began with a flurry of energy—then inevitably slowed somewhere around the 90% mark. It was never about perfection, though. Life was happening around the builds: the move from city to country, becoming a solo mum, building a new way of living from the ground up.

For the first year we invested time and energy into making the old girl habitable and giving her a shiny exterior but as I found myself in 2016 embarking on this life with just my two young children—with a shoestring budget and the generosity of friends—especially dear Rob from @acreofroses, who shared his building know-how and scaffolds—we chipped away at finishing each room. There’s something profoundly empowering in teaching yourself new skills out of necessity. In my case, learning how to use power tools became a kind of liberation. I built shelving for the larder, constructed brackets by hand, learnt how to line a wonky ceiling curved like the waves of a faraway sea with 4 m scaffold, nail gun and lining boards, and gradually turned what was a cold, uninsulated derelict yet history-steeped ruin into a warm, character-filled home and community hub. A forgotten jewel in a regional crown.

More Than Just a Home

The transformation of Oak and Monkey Puzzle wasn’t just about aesthetics. It was about building a life that reflected my values—creativity, sustainability, resilience, and a deep connection to place. Every layer stripped back and every board installed was a lesson in patience, perseverance and realising that I was so much ‘stronger’ than I ever could have imagined.

Looking at these before-and-after images, I’m reminded that so much is possible with a bit of vision and a whole lot of elbow grease. That with time, heart, and stubborn determination, we really can shape spaces—and lives—that feel good to be in.

A Rare Glimpse

This post offers a rare glimpse inside the old girl. The before-and-after images reflect the pace of life here—honest, imperfect, and full of intent. They capture a journey rather than a finished product, a home shaped slowly over time and filled with meaning at every stage. If you’ve followed along for a while, you’ll know my work is rarely just about gardens or buildings. It’s about living well. About crafting something meaningful, even if it takes a while.

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You may want to check out my related content below:

Oak & Monkey Puzzle: A Hub of Creativity, Community, and Connection –Explore how I embarked on a life-changing journey that brought me to Spargo Creek.

Documenting Little Cottage On A Hill: A Garden Designed by Hand – Learn how I  designed Little Cottage On A Hill  garden without a drawing.

Check them out for more gardening insights and tips!

If you’d like to experience life here and this incredible space first-hand, I’d love to welcome you to one of my upcoming workshops. Come and walk the garden, learn something new, and connect with others creating lives rich in beauty, practicality and purpose.

Explore my workshops:

~  The Productive Garden with Natasha Morgan – Learn how to grow abundantly, no matter your space.

~ Garden Design with Natasha Morgan – Craft a garden that balances structure, beauty, and functionality.

~ The Wicking Bed Garden with Natasha Morgan – Build a self-watering, water-wise garden for effortless growing.

~ Preserving The Seasons with Natasha Morgan – Capture seasonal flavours with time-honoured preserving techniques.

~ Introduction to Backyard Chicken Keeping with Saffron and Natasha  – Learn how to raise happy, healthy chickens at home.

Thanks for being here for the journey.

Natasha xx

For glimpses into workshops, daily life, and my thoughts from Little Cottage on a Hill, you can find me on Instagram, Facebook, LinkedIn, and YouTube. And if you’d like a more personal update, subscribe to my Newsletter for a monthly note on what’s growing, what’s inspiring me, and what’s next.

Click the links below to stay connected—I’d love to have you along for the journey.