slow living

My top 5 plants from Oak & Monkey Puzzle

My top 5 plants from Oak & Monkey Puzzle

Some plants stay with you.

Not just because they performed well, although these ones certainly did, but because they came to represent something much bigger. A season. A milestone. A long held dream finally made real.

Oak & Monkey Puzzle was where so many of my plant dreams came true. It was the first place I could truly grow the things I had longed for. The plants I wanted to cut in armfuls. The plants that marked the seasons so clearly. The ones that offered beauty, fragrance, structure, and that particular kind of generosity that makes a garden feel deeply lived in.

For nine years on five acres in Spargo Creek, I built that garden slowly, season by season, precinct by precinct. It held me through some of the hardest years of my life, but it also gave me so much. It gave me a place to test my ideas. It gave me proof that beauty and productivity can sit side by side. It gave me a garden full of plants that worked hard, and a few that were simply too magnificent not to grow.

This month, as part of my April month of milestones, I’ve created a free eBook for newsletter subscribers featuring the full Oak & Monkey Puzzle plant list, organised garden by garden across the property. It is a list built over nearly a decade of living, growing, observing, and refining on five acres.

In this article, I begin with my top five plants I return to again and again when I think about Oak & Monkey Puzzle.

They are not the only plants I loved there, not by a long shot, but they are five that hold something of the spirit of that garden for me.

Subscribe to the newsletter to download your free copy of the entire eBook

Hydrangea paniculata

If there is one plant I have become known for, it is probably this one.

The Hydrangea paniculata I grew at Oak & Monkey Puzzle never came with a cultivar name. It was simply sold to me as Hydrangea paniculata, and over time it became one of the plants I most relied upon. Hardy, generous, and deeply beautiful across an extraordinarily long season, it carried the kind of quiet strength I value so much in a garden.

In spring and summer, it was all freshness and lift. Then came that beautiful soft shift into blush tones, before the flowers deepened into the rusted, parchment like autumn phase I love so much. Even after that, the spent flower heads held beautifully through winter, catching frost and low light in a way that made them feel just as valuable as when they were in full bloom.

That is what I mean when I talk about high performance plants. They do not only offer one fleeting moment. They hold their place and give back over time. This is something I talk about in my upcoming book - stay tuned for a huge announcement!

This plant mattered enough to me that when I left Oak & Monkey Puzzle, I took cuttings from it and planted them again at Little Cottage on a Hill. To me, that says everything. It’s a plant I would happily propagate from one property to another. I will never let it go!

Fragrant repeat flowering roses

For me, a rose must earn its place through fragrance as well as beauty.

At Oak & Monkey Puzzle, one of the great joys was finally being able to grow armfuls of roses that were not only beautiful, but richly scented and generous across the season. I did not want roses that gave one quick flush and disappeared. I wanted repeat flowering roses that I could keep cutting, keep bringing inside, and keep living with.

Three of my great loves were ‘Jude the Obscure’, ‘Golden Celebration’ and ‘Just Joey’. They had the softness, fragrance and fullness I longed for, and they brought that old world sense of abundance that is almost impossible to replicate with florist flowers. To cut them fresh from the garden and bring them indoors was one of those bucket list moments that felt every bit as magical as I had imagined.

They were not just ornamental plants. They shaped the atmosphere of the picking garden. They offered fragrance, seasonal continuity, beauty in the vase, and the kind of richness that makes you want to stop whatever you are doing and take notice.

If I am making room for a rose, it must be doing all of that.

Hellebores

Hellebores are among the plants I rely on most for that crucial turning point in the year when winter begins to loosen its grip.

At Oak & Monkey Puzzle, they brought beauty at exactly the moment it was most needed. When so much else was still resting, hellebores were already there, quietly holding the garden and offering the first sense that the season was beginning to shift.

I grew all sorts, from single black to double black, single whites and many shades in between. What I love most about them is their restraint. They are not loud plants, but they are deeply moving in their timing and presence. They flower when the garden still feels sparse. They ask you to come closer. They reward attention.

They are also wonderfully suited to cool climate gardens, particularly where there is filtered light and a certain softness of setting. At Oak & Monkey Puzzle, they sat beautifully within the more layered and intimate planting combinations, offering that low, luminous kind of beauty that can anchor a whole moment in the garden.

They are, without question, one of the plants I would never want to garden without. Post Office Farm Nursery are your hellebore specialist growers.

Peonies

Peonies are the exception in this list.

When I talk about plants that work hard or offer more than one thing back, peonies are not necessarily the first to come to mind. They are not long flowering. They are not especially structural for most of the year. And yet, when you can grow them well, you do.

Because they are magnificent.

At Oak & Monkey Puzzle, I discovered just how well peonies respond to a cool climate with real winter chill and frost. The corals, especially ‘Coral Charm’ and ‘Coral Supreme’, became particular herbaceous peony favourites. Their colour is not static. It shifts and softens as the blooms age, moving through tones that feel almost impossible to describe properly unless you have lived with them day by day.

I also loved the contrast between herbaceous peonies and tree peonies. Herbaceous peonies disappear completely and return with fresh energy each year. Tree peonies hold more of a woody presence and bring a different kind of structure. Both are worth growing.

Peonies ask for patience. They are not instant plants. But that is part of their beauty too. They remind us that some things in a garden are worth waiting for.

Sweet peas

Sweet peas are pure joy.

There is really no other way to say it.

They are one of the plants I most strongly associate with the kind of abundance I wanted to experience at Oak & Monkey Puzzle. Not abundance in the sense of excess, but in the sense of being able to cut huge fragrant bunches, carry them inside, press them into someone’s arms, and fill a room with their scent.

Once you have grown and picked sweet peas yourself, it is very hard to feel the same way about buying them.

Their flowers are delicate, but their generosity is immense. They climb, they flower, they perfume the air, and they give that unmistakable feeling of the season being fully alive. They are one of those plants that engage memory so quickly. A smell, a bunch in a child’s hands, a vase on the table, and the whole time of year comes flooding back.

If you are thinking about sweet peas now, this is the time to plant seed. And if you have never grown them before, I would encourage you to begin. They ask for a little care, but they return it in spades.

Why these five?

All five of these plants hold something different for me, but they are united by one thing. They helped make Oak & Monkey Puzzle feel like the garden I had always dreamed of.

Hydrangea paniculata gave me longevity and seasonal depth.

The roses gave me fragrance and armfuls.

Hellebores gave me late winter lift.

Peonies gave me beauty for beauty’s sake.

Sweet peas gave me scent, abundance and sheer delight.

Together, they tell a story about the kind of garden I was creating there. A garden where plants were chosen not only because they looked good in one moment, but because they contributed to the life of the place. Because they carried the season. Because they gave me something to cut, notice, remember, or revere.

And because, in one way or another, they helped shape the experience of living there.

Subscribe to the newsletter and download the full Oak & Monkey Puzzle plant list

As part of my April month of milestones, I’ve created a beautiful free eBook for newsletter subscribers featuring the full Oak & Monkey Puzzle plant list, organised garden precinct by garden precinct.

It is a detailed record of the planting across the property, built over nine years of living and gardening on five acres, and I hope it offers both inspiration and practical ideas for your own garden, whatever scale you’re working at.

You can subscribe to the newsletter here.

Join a workshop

If you love plants that work hard and give more than one thing back, my Medicinal Garden workshop is a natural next step. We’ll explore some of the most useful and beautiful plants to grow, and how they can enrich both your garden and your daily life.

Explore current workshops in the shop.

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

Stay connected

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

And stay tuned. There is a major announcement coming very soon, and I cannot wait to share it with you.

Thanks so much for following along.


Natasha xx

You may want to check out my related content below:
Hydrangea Paniculata: A Year-Round Beauty in the Garden – this is a plant that never fails to bring joy

April garden tasks for Australian climates & adding interest for winter – The first week of the month of milestones.

Autumn Gardening Jobs - A Gentle Approach for a Bountiful Season

The Medicinal Garden Workshop with Caroline Parker & Natasha Morgan — Step into the magic of nature

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

When the world feels uncertain, grow one thing

When the world, feels uncertain, grow one thing.

The other day, after my wicking bed garden workshop, I found myself sitting on the verge beside the tomatoes and zucchini, both of them running late, and just letting myself think.

We had spent the day talking about wicking beds, soil, seasonal timing, water, what to plant now, what to plant next. But underneath all of that, there was another conversation quietly running through the room.

Not just how to grow things, but why.

And I have been wondering whether you are thinking what I am thinking.

Not from a place of panic.

Not from catastrophising.

Just from that quieter, steadier sense that perhaps it is time to come back to some very basic things. To growing something. To using that patch of soil. To learning one skill properly. To becoming, in whatever small way, a little more capable at supporting ourselves and each other.

Because when the world feels uncertain, and right now for many people it does, there is something deeply steadying about knowing how to grow food, preserve it, share it, and use your own hands well.

This is not about fear

I want to be very clear about that.

This is not about prepping (although there is absolutely nothing wrong with that!).

It is not about panic buying seed packets, building a bunker, or imagining that we each need to disappear into our own little fortress of self sufficiency.

It is about practicality.

It is about remembering that useful skills matter.

It is about knowing that if you can grow herbs, lettuce, beans, tomatoes, pumpkins, or a row of garlic, that matters. If you can save seed, preserve quinces, dry beans, make passata, or share extra seedlings with a neighbour, that matters too.

These things do not solve everything. But they do change your relationship to uncertainty. They shift you, even slightly, from passive worry to active participation.

And that matters a great deal.

Why growing food can feel so grounding

There is something about food growing that pulls us back into rhythm.

You notice the weather differently. You pay attention to timing. You begin to understand what your soil can do, how much sun reaches a certain corner, where water sits, what thrives, what struggles, what needs protecting. You become more observant, more capable, more responsive.

Even one small success can change something in a person.

A pot of parsley by the door.
A bed of salad leaves.
A few winter brassicas.
A bucket of potatoes.
A row of peas.
A tomato vine that actually gets to ripen properly.

These are small things, yes. But they are also not small.

They build confidence.
They build skill.
They build memory.
They build a sense that you can participate in your own life more actively.

That is part of why gardening matters so much to me. It is never only about the harvest. It is about what the practice asks of us, and what it gives back.

The question I keep coming back to

What if each of us just grew one thing?

I talk about this in my book, which comes out in September (announcement coming soon!), and I find myself returning to the idea more and more.

Not everyone has room for an orchard.
Not everyone wants chickens.
Not everyone is going to preserve forty jars of tomatoes or redesign their whole backyard.

But one thing is possible for many more people.

One herb.
One bed.
One fruit tree.
One climbing bean on a fence.
One trough of leafy greens.
One skill.
One seasonal crop.

If every household grew one thing well, and if enough of us shared knowledge, seed, excess produce, and encouragement, the effect would be far bigger than the individual crop itself.

That is how resilience works in real communities. It is rarely dramatic. It is cumulative.

What Victory Gardens can teach us now

Lately I have also been thinking about the old Victory Gardens.

During the First and Second World Wars, governments in countries including the United States and Britain encouraged ordinary people to grow food at home, in backyards, on vacant land, in school grounds, in public plots, and wherever else space could be found. The goal was practical, to supplement food supplies, ease pressure on transport and commercial agriculture, and help households contribute in a meaningful way. The movement also had a strong morale and community dimension. It gave people something useful to do with their uncertainty. 

That is the part I find compelling.

Not the wartime slogan.
Not the patriotism.
Not the idea that we should romanticise hardship.

What interests me is the reminder that ordinary domestic skills have social value. Growing food, preserving it, and sharing it are not fringe activities. They are practical, intelligent responses to unstable times.

And perhaps that is something worth remembering now.

Not as a re enactment.
Just as a useful precedent.

A reminder that growing food has long been one way people contribute, steady themselves, and strengthen the places they live.

What I am noticing in my own garden

I am lucky.

I have a verge garden.
I have wicking beds.
I have years of growing knowledge.
I have a reasonably full larder.
I know how to preserve and plan ahead.

And even so, I am still thinking differently at the moment.

I am thinking about what I want to grow next.
I am thinking about what earns its place.
I am thinking about what stores well, what feeds us well, what is worth repeating, what is genuinely useful.

I am also thinking about timing. About late tomatoes and late zucchini. About what the season has done. About what the next one may ask.

This is what gardening teaches so well. You do not control the season. You respond to it. You observe first, act second.

That is true in the garden, and I think it is true in life as well.

What your comments told me

One of the most moving parts of sharing that reel was the response.

So many of you were already thinking along similar lines.

Some of you are expanding your productive gardens.
Some are planting extra and collecting seed.
Some are building raised beds or converting them to wicking beds.
Some are preserving more, drying beans, refilling pantries, saving what the garden offers.
Some are wanting hens.
Some are revisiting older skills.
Some are simply asking where to start.

That breadth of response mattered to me because it showed that this is not a fringe thought. It is a real one. Quiet, practical, shared by many people, each in their own circumstance.

And importantly, not everyone was starting from the same place.

Some people already grow a lot and want to become more deliberate.
Others are at the very beginning.
Others feel the urge but not yet the confidence.

All of that is valid.

If you are new to this, start smaller than you think

If your head is going here too, but you are worried you do not know enough, start smaller than you think you should.

Do not begin with the fantasy version.

Begin with what fits your life.

Grow what you actually eat.
Grow what is easy in your climate.
Grow something that gives you a quick return.
Grow something that teaches you one useful lesson.

A pot of herbs is not nothing.
A trough of rocket is not nothing.
A few lettuce seedlings are not nothing.
Learning how to sow coriander at the right time is not nothing.
Growing a decent crop of spinach in winter is not nothing.

It is a practice.

And practice works by repetition.

If you already have skills, this may be the moment to use them more fully

If you already know how to grow, preserve, propagate, compost, save seed, or cook from the garden, perhaps this is the moment to lean in a little more.

Not in a frantic way.

Just in a more conscious one.

Maybe that means planting an extra row.
Maybe it means finally getting serious about succession planting.
Maybe it means preserving what you might once have let slide.
Maybe it means teaching your children.
Maybe it means sharing seedlings.
Maybe it means checking in on a neighbour.
Maybe it means using your front yard, your verge, or the sunny side of the fence a bit more deliberately.

Skills gain value when they are used and shared.

Practicality can be a form of contribution

I keep coming back to that word, contribution.

For me, this is not about control. It is about contribution.

Growing something is a contribution.
Saving seed is a contribution.
Learning to preserve food is a contribution.
Giving away excess produce is a contribution.
Showing someone how to start is a contribution.
Using your garden, however small, with care and intention, is a contribution.

In uncertain times, practical acts can help settle the nervous system because they return us to what is concrete. Soil. Water. Seed. Season. Repetition. Usefulness. Care.

That is not escapism.

That is participation.

So where is your head at?

That is really the question behind all of this.

Are you thinking about growing more right now?

Are you wondering where to start?

Are you worried you do not know enough?

Or do you already have skills and want to use them more fully, more thoughtfully, more generously?

Because if this is where your mind is going too, then maybe this is a conversation worth having.

And maybe, in one way or another, I can help.

Join a workshop

Explore current workshops in the shop.

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


A new date the for the Wicking Bed Garden workshop has also just been added for Sunday 17th May. Places are limited, so please get in quick if you have been wondering how you can grow more with less. You can book via the shop section of the website or here https://www.natashamorgan.com.au/shop/wicking-bed-garden-workshop-with-natasha-morgan

Continue your gardening journey with me

If you enjoy this kind of content, my workshops offer more detail and guidance on design, productivity and seasonal care.

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.

I share seasonal tips, behind the scenes at Little Cottage on a Hill, and new resources through my newsletter. Subscribe to receive my entire plant list from the garden as a personal thank you.

You may want to check out my related content below:

Cultivating beauty in a war zone – Alla Olkhovska’s garden of resistance - gardening as a form of survival. Of resistance. Of legacy.

Why I Grow. Why I Design. Why I Return. - Finding comfort in small daily acts.

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?


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


Thanks so much for following along.
Natasha xx

Beauty, Tending, Belonging: Why I Keep Growing Things

Growing things is how I remember who I am.

It is the quiet, steadfast practice that has held my hand through every season of my life, from childhood curiosity to the work I do now in my garden and on the page. When I grow something, even just one small plant, the world narrows to a scale I can hold and, at the same time, somehow expands; I feel both anchored and open, both soothed and alive.

The childlike wonder of beginnings

Every time I tuck a seed into soil or take a cutting from a plant I love, I feel that small, familiar flutter of wonder. Will it take? Will it sulk? What will it become in this particular patch of earth, with this particular light, wind and weather? I still find myself checking far too early for signs of life, scanning the surface for the faintest lift of soil, the first sliver of green that says, I am here.

That moment never gets old. A seed pushing through, a bud swelling, a tendril finding something to hold – these are such modest events, but they land in me like miracles. They remind me of being a child pottering in gardens where no one needed me to impress them, where the whole point was to notice, to touch, to be in conversation with whatever was growing. Growing things returns me to that state, again and again – curious, attuned, unguarded.

Contentment in tending

People sometimes imagine that the satisfaction of gardening lies in the finished picture – the overflowing beds, the baskets of produce, the vases of flowers on the table. For me, the deepest contentment lives in the tending itself. Watering a single pot at the back door. Brushing past lemon verbena and carrying its scent with me into the house. Tying in a wandering stem so it can find the light more easily.

There is a profound relief in doing one small, useful thing for something living – especially on the days when life feels unruly, loud or beyond my control. I don’t need to fix the world; I can deadhead a rose, top up a wicking bed, check the moisture under the mulch with my fingers. Each of these gestures is tiny, almost invisible from a distance, but together they knit a rhythm that steadies me. The garden gives back in beauty and harvest, yes, but it also gives back in pace – in a tempo my nervous system can actually live inside.

Curiosity, exploration and discovery

Growing things has always been my favourite way to ask questions. What happens if I plant garlic between the flowers? If I leave the seedheads standing through winter? If I turn off the irrigation and see who copes? Gardens, by nature, are experiments written in soil and time. I rarely follow the textbook to the letter, yet still, the garden grows – and that gives me courage to keep trying, adjusting, learning on the job.

Curiosity shows up in small daily explorations: a lap of the wicking beds in bitter weather, checking which plants are holding their nerve; a wander along the verge to see what self-seeded while I was busy elsewhere; a notebook scribble about which flower kept the bees busy longest. The garden keeps offering discoveries – a leaf my child holds up like a jewel, a volunteer plant in exactly the right place, a combination of scent and light that makes me stop mid-task and simply breathe. In a noisy world, growing things is how I keep my capacity for surprise alive.

Beauty as a way of staying

There’s a misconception that beauty in the garden is indulgent, something to earn only after the “real work” is done. In my world, beauty is the real work – not in a decorative sense, but as a reason to keep showing up. The shape of morning light through grasses, the hum of bees in borage, the brush of lavender against a path – these are not extras, they are invitations.

When beauty is woven into the everyday, care stops feeling like a chore and becomes almost instinctive. I don’t step outside because I should; I step outside because some part of me longs to see how the fennel is catching the sun today, or whether the sweet peas have finally decided to open. Beauty turns maintenance into ritual, ritual into rhythm, and rhythm into a way of moving through a year that feels intentional and kind.

Growing one thing, and then more

So much of my work rests on a simple, almost disarmingly small idea: grow one thing. Not an entire garden overhaul, not a reinvention of your life, just one honest plant that fits inside the days you already have. A pot of parsley by the gate with a note that says, “Take some.” A single tomato on a sunny sill. A flower whose scent makes your shoulders drop each time you brush past.

For me, the profound power and contentment of growing things lives precisely there – in the way one plant can change how you see light, weather, time and yourself. You start noticing where the frost settles, where the wind sneaks through, which days you have energy to tend and which days a brief look and a deep breath are enough. From the outside, it doesn’t look like much. From the inside, it’s a quiet revolution: a decision to participate, to pay attention, to belong to the living world rather than stand apart from it.

That is where my childlike joy sits now – not in grand gestures, but in these repeatable, seasonal acts of care. A seed. A cutting. A single bed re-mulched before the rain. Each one is a small promise: I will grow one thing. And from that, for me at least, contentment keeps quietly, generously, growing.

Continue your gardening journey with me

If you enjoy this kind of content, my workshops offer more detail and guidance on design, productivity and seasonal care.

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.

I share seasonal tips, behind the scenes at Little Cottage on a Hill, and new resources through my newsletter. Subscribe to receive my entire plant list from the garden as a personal thank you.

You may want to check out my related content below:

The Medicinal Garden Workshop with Caroline Parker & Natasha Morgan - a journey through the healing power of plants bringing them into your everyday life from your own garden that nurtures the body, mind, and soul.

Why I Grow. Why I Design. Why I Return. - Finding comfort in small daily acts.

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

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

Thanks so much for following along.
Natasha xx

Romanesco: fractal beauty from the brassica bed

I harvested the first Romanesco heads this week and had to stop and stare.

Those luminous chartreuse spirals feel like a little lesson in pattern and patience. I grow Romanesco because it is delicious, beautiful, and surprisingly resilient in a cool temperate garden like Daylesford.

What is romanesco

Romanesco is a brassica that sits between cauliflower and broccoli. It cooks like cauliflower, with a flavour that is slightly sweeter and nuttier. The texture is tender but holds shape beautifully, which makes it perfect for roasting and for dishes where you want structure on the plate.

Why I plant it

I like plants that serve more than one role. Romanesco offers food, sculptural presence, and a steady supply of leaves for the kitchen (and chooks!). The heads become seasonal markers in the bed, and when they finally appear it feels like the garden offering a small celebration.

How I grow romanesco in a cool temperate garden

Timing

  • Sow in late summer to early autumn for spring harvests. In cooler pockets, start seed in trays under cover, then transplant once seedlings are sturdy.

  • You can also sow in late winter for late spring to early summer heads if your season allows. Stagger a few sowings to spread the harvest.

Site and soil

  • Full sun and rich, living soil are non-negotiable. I prep beds with compost and a light sprinkle of a balanced, organic fertiliser, then mulch after transplanting.

  • Brassicas like consistent moisture. My wicking beds hold an even soil profile which helps prevent stress and buttoning. Water at the base rather than overhead to discourage disease.

Spacing

  • Give each plant room to develop a full head. I use 45 centimetres between plants and about 45 centimetres between rows. Good airflow is essential.

Protection and care

  • Cabbage white butterflies adore brassicas. I keep insect exclusion netting over young plants. If you are not netting, check daily and remove any green caterpillars by hand.

  • Feed little and often. I alternate seaweed and compost teas through the season and keep mulch topped up to regulate soil temperature.

  • Romanesco appreciates cool nights for head formation. If a sudden warm spell arrives, keep water consistent and shade the bed lightly in the afternoon if needed.

Rotation and companions

  • Rotate brassicas yearly to protect soil health and reduce disease.

  • Companion plant with dill, calendula, and sweet alyssum to support beneficial insects and soften the edge of the bed. I’ve planted this lots with spinach, lettuce and radicchio for a diverse and thriving polyculture 

Harvest and storage

  • Pick when the head is tight, uniform, and firm. Use a sharp knife and keep a few leaves attached to protect the florets.

  • Store in the crisper wrapped loosely. Eat within a few days for best flavour.

Small-space tip
Romanesco is a statement plant. If you only have room for one, give it pride of place at the end of a bed or in a large wicking container and underplant with herbs or salad greens.

Kitchen notes and serving suggestions

Roasted romanesco with yoghurt tahini and pomegranate molasses

Break into florets. Toss with extra virgin olive oil, sea salt, and cracked pepper. Add a Middle Eastern spice profile such as cumin, coriander, or za’atar. Roast hot until caramelised at the edges. Finish with a yoghurt and tahini drizzle, a thread of pomegranate molasses, fresh herbs, and toasted nuts.

More ways to serve

  • Toss warm florets with anchovy, lemon zest, chilli, and breadcrumbs.

  • Steam until just tender, then dress with olive oil, lemon, and parsley for a simple side.

  • Cut into small florets for a quick tray bake with chickpeas and red onion.

  • Use the leaves as you would kale. Slice and sauté with garlic and a squeeze of lemon.

Cook’s tip

Do not overcook. Romanesco is at its best when the spirals stay intact and there is still a little bite.

Sustainability notes

I like to use the whole plant. The leaves are excellent, the core can be thinly sliced for stir-fries, and any trim goes to the chocks, compost or worm farm. If a plant wants to flower and you do not need seed, let it. The bees will thank you.

Troubleshooting at a glance

  • Tiny or loose heads: heat or stress. Keep water steady, mulch well, and plant for the cool end of your season.

  • Caterpillars: net early, hand-pick, and encourage beneficial insects with companion flowers.

  • Yellowing leaves: a sign of nutrient drawdown. Side-dress with compost and water in.

Continue your gardening journey with me

If you enjoy this kind of content, my workshops offer more detail and guidance on design, productivity and seasonal care.

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.

I share seasonal tips, behind the scenes at Little Cottage on a Hill, and new resources through my newsletter. Subscribe to receive my entire plant list from the garden as a personal thank you.

You may want to check out my related content below:

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

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.

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

Thanks so much for following along.
Natasha xx

September garden tasks for Australian climates

September brings the first real lift in the garden. Soil is waking up, buds are moving, and it is time to set a steady spring rhythm.

Images by Amber Gardener

Find your climate

Across Australia, the month’s advice is grouped by climate — temperate, cool and alpine, subtropical, tropical and arid. Each region has its own priorities for what to sow now, and whether to direct sow, sow in trays, or transplant.

Shared tasks for all climates

These are the recurring September jobs I keep as a checklist at the potting bench:

  • Mulch garden beds while the soil is moist and gradually warming.

  • Last chance to plant bare rooted deciduous trees, shrubs and vines before real heat arrives. Container grown plants can go in through spring.

  • Plant evergreen shrubs and trees including citrus. This is also a good window to relocate established evergreens.

  • Feed fruit trees if you didn’t in late winter. Clean away spent growth on perennial herbaceous plants.

  • Propagate by cuttings or layering. Divide established perennials such as chives.

  • Tie in berry canes before the spring surge. Plant passionfruit where suitable.

  • Harden off August seedlings for 7 to 10 days before planting out.

Seeds and seedlings by climate

Here are quick, climate-specific highlights for sowing and planting in September.

Temperate

Begin warm season crops under cover, and direct sow cool tolerant staples.
Try: tomatoes, basil, climbing or bush beans, cucumber, zucchini, pumpkin, sweet corn, plus greens like lettuce, rocket and silverbeet. Start frost tender plants in trays if frost risk remains.

Cool and alpine

Frosts and even late snow are still possible in higher areas. Favour trays and protected spots for warmth.
Try: beetroot, broccoli, cabbage, cauliflower, lettuce, peas, silverbeet, spring onions and radish. Start warmth lovers such as tomatoes, basil, squash and sweet corn in trays, then transplant once conditions settle.

Subtropical

Conditions are mild to warm with some storm activity along the coast. A wide range is possible.
Try: beans, cucumber, eggplant, capsicum, pumpkin, sweet corn, okra, rockmelon, watermelon, herbs such as basil, dill and coriander, plus sweet potato and taro in suitable sites.

Tropical

Dry season heat builds with rising humidity. Choose crops that relish warmth.
Try: cowpeas, okra, sweet corn, sweet potato, taro, basil and zucchini.

Arid

Days are warming quickly. Work with heat adapted species and keep waterwise practices front of mind.
Try: tomato, eggplant, capsicum, zucchini, pumpkin, rockmelon, watermelon, okra, sweet corn, and herbs such as basil and oregano.

How I work with September

I organise spring sowing in small, frequent batches rather than one big push. It spreads the harvest, reduces risk and keeps the workload more even. If you are in a frost-prone pocket, keep warmth lovers in trays a little longer and plant out once nights are reliably mild.

Quick checklist

  • Mulch beds and top up paths.

  • Plant or relocate evergreens, and complete any bare root planting.

  • Feed fruit trees and tidy perennials.

  • Start spring sowing by climate, using trays for warmth lovers where frost is possible.

  • Tie berry canes, start passionfruit in suitable areas, and keep pond care light but regular.

Continue your gardening journey with me

If you enjoy this kind of content, my workshops offer more detail and guidance on design, productivity and seasonal care.

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:

Workshops are back. Gathering again for Spring – Discover the rest of the years workshops — from Garden Design, Productive Gardens, Wicking Beds and Medicinal Gardens.

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

Stay connected for more seasonal inspiration:
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Thanks so much for following along.
Natasha xx

What It Means to Live Well: Personal Reflections

What It Means to Live Well: Personal Reflections

In today’s fast-paced world, the concept of living well often brings to mind images of luxury and success. But for me, living well is something much deeper—it’s about embracing simplicity, nurturing meaningful connections, and finding balance between ourselves, nature, and community.

Early in my career as a landscape architect, I was drawn to large-scale projects and the sense of accomplishment they brought. Yet, something was missing—a yearning for a life more connected and intentional. Over time, I’ve discovered that living well begins with nature. By slowing down and aligning with its rhythms, we learn to appreciate the beauty in every season, from the stillness of winter to the renewal of spring. This balance, grounded in simplicity and community, is what living well truly means to me.

At Little Cottage on a Hill, I’ve found joy in the small moments—whether it’s harvesting herbs or witnessing the landscape change. I hope my reflections inspire you to explore your own journey of living well, in ways that feel authentic and meaningful to you.

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