Going green with green fingers

The writer reminisces about her childhood when her parents were already practising a green lifestyle by growing veggies for the dinner table
cabbage

um at the cabbage patch. Notice the huge (and edible) leaves which farmers remove before selling them.
brinjals

I was in a mall shopping for a camera when the shop assistant, who happened to know my parents, enquired after them.

His admiring remarks about the cabbages that my dad used to grow jolted memories of the vegetable garden surrounding the government quarters where we once lived.

So, when I got home, I wasted no time digging out the old photos that are living proof of dad’s green fingers.

In the early 1970s, dad expanded his hobby of flower gardening to planting vegetables.I remember how thrilled I was watching vegetables grow and trees fruiting. However, I also recall the strong smell of cow dung. Dad used it liberally as a fertili ser for his cabbages, brinjals and lady’s fingers.It was a familiar pong in our house.

Dad collected the fresh dung from the local cowherd (who supplied us with fresh cow’s milk). Cabbages were planted in the flower bed in front of our house, and in several plots between our government quarters and the health centre clinic.

Some cabbage plants were grown in large flower pots. They made great gifts for admirers who probably sweet-talked dad into parting with them.

It was fascinating to find out that those plants sprouted from tiny seeds.

I remember seedlings being tenderly nurtured in a damp nursery tray before they were transplanted into earth that was thoroughly mixed with cow dung.

I can still picture how dad used to till the earth with a cangkul (hoe) to carve neat rows before using his hands to break up the soil as he mixed it with dung. On hot days, dad would carry his watering-can and go round the garden to water the plants at least twice a day.

If the weather was wet, work began after the rain stopped.

Mum and dad would be in the garden searching under every leaf and frond to expose pesky snails that usually abound in such damp conditions.

These snails can cause significant damage to plants if they are not killed off. So, it was like a treasure hunt for them to push aside leaves to extract a variety of large and tiny snails.

I can still remember the crushed snails being fed to a flock of ducks that we reared in a pen at the back of our house.

Besides the cabbage plants in the front and side garden, and brinjal bushes outside the kitchen window, there was also a herb garden behind our house.

Here, fragrant pandan (screwpine) leaves, lemongrass, lengkuas (galangal) and the common ginger grew in abundance.

Whenever mum needed to use these ingredients in her cooking, she just needed to step out and harvest them.

There was also a climbing plant we call sim lor choy (a Thai vegetable) growing on a trellis. Mum uses its leaves to make a delicious, lemak vegetable dish.

I later discovered that our backyard garden was watered by water that was used to wash fish in, because I used to see bits of dried fish gills “growing” on some of the plants.

Today, there is no vegetable patch in our garden, but we still have the ubiquitous pandan leaves and lemongrass, along with a few species of shrubs that are grown for medicinal purposes.

Looking back, it’s interesting to note that mum and dad were already practicing a form of green living way back when it was not yet the “in thing”

Mum is familiar with farming because when Ah Kong or grandfather was based in Muar after World War 2, the family grew their own fruits and vegetables in a plot of land close to their government quarters home near the hospital.

Mum said the children were instructed to set aside their chamber pot every morning for Ah Kong to dilute the contents with water and use it as plant fertiliser.

This natural fertiliser, commonly used by farmers in those days, produced a healthy yield for the family’s consumption.

The family had to grow their own vegetables out of necessity because there were many mouths to feed and Ah Kong worked hard to ensure that everyone had a well-balanced diet.

Mum said their plot, planted with a variety of leafy vegetables as well as brinjals and chillies, was bordered by a fence of sayur manis.

She said their chilli yield was so good that they could trade them for goat’s milk from a neighbour.

This was very handy because Aunty Polly, who was then a baby, was fed this milk.

After a visit to the market the other day, mum told me that her regular market lady was aggressively promoting her stock of organic vegetables.

The lady was probably not English-educated, but mum said the word “organic” was rolling off her tongue effortlessly.

Mum wondered if she truly understood this hackneyed word, but I hope discerning customers will ask about farming methods to find out if the vegetables are truly organic.

I’ve learnt that not all plump, leafy vegetables are the best because their “perfect” condition may mean that a great deal of chemicals have been pumped into them to ensure that they are free from “blemishes”.

Maybe less-than-perfect fruits and vegetables are best because they grown the natural way.

While growing our own food would be ideal, the next best thing is to buy from local farmers who use responsible farming methods.

We end up paying less for fresher products because of lower energy costs for transport from nearby farms.

Source: Peggy Loh