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.
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.
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Natasha xx
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