It’s high time we rediscovered these delicious nuts, but be warned: like the Victorians, squirrels can’t get enough of them

When I think of the crops I’m eager to grow, my mind rarely goes to nuts. But when I spotted the last of the season’s cobnuts at the greengrocer’s, it occurred to me that this could be one to consider. The nuts that come from the hazel – a tree that grows in many a woodland and also my front garden – have been foraged for millennia and cultivated versions have existed since Roman times.

It’s the cultivated varieties you want to plant for a decent crop of cobnuts, as wild hazel produces smaller yields. This is a tree that prefers mild conditions, hence their connection to Kent, where they were grown abundantly during the Victorian era (one of the most popular varieties is called the Kentish cob.) They prefer a sunny spot, in free-draining earth – a challenge for me with my clay soil – in a sheltered position where they’ll be protected from frosts that would affect pollination.

Crops such as vetch, field beans and forage peas can improve soil if you use them as a mulch

I am locked in an eternal battle with my soil. Now, I adore the earth and believe it to be miraculous in its life-giving properties. But I’d be lying if I said I don’t sometimes (or often) feel deeply frustrated with the intransigence of the heavy clay I’m working with in my veg patch. Clay soil is especially miraculous in how nutrient dense it is. Yet, those nutrients are, somewhat ironically, more challenging for gardeners to access for their crops than with other soil types.

The answer – as with almost all problems faced in a chemical free, mostly no-dig garden – is adding a mulch of organic matter (either compost or well-rotted manure) that can be incorporated into the earth by insects, who will improve its texture in the process. And yet, this trusty approach is tricky in my veg patch as we live on a hill and there is about a metre’s difference between one side of the site and the other. This situation (plus the stubbornness of soil made sodden by a wet winter and then solid by a heatwave summer) has meant the layers of compost I laid over the last year have been either washed away or not particularly well incorporated into the deeper soil.

From kale to hostas, there are many vegetable patch options that are hardy, low-maintenance and delicious

You’d have to have been living under a rock (which would have been a cool and sensible place to dwell) to not have felt the intensity of the heatwaves this summer. I’ve yet to meet a plants person who isn’t concerned by the impact of the changing climate on the living things we share the planet with – as well as our fellow humans. If one had any doubts, the sight of parched grasslands and garden plants withering to a crisp should have set those aside.

As I’ve shared in previous columns, this summer I was sparing with what I watered. I emptied the water butts and only used mains water on plants that were likely to survive and provide a harvest. Any sign of floundering and the crops were for the chop – sorry, stunted courgettes! And if you’ve been reading my column for a while, you’ll also know that I turned over one of my annual beds to golden raspberries and tayberries this year in a bid to have more plants that are less needy. So you can imagine my joy when I saw that brilliant gardener Jack Wallington has written a book that delves deep into this low-impact, resilient approach to edible gardening. Perfect timing.

Vines are a beautiful addition to an edible garden, yet will only thrive with plenty of light and shelter

My garden faces east-ish and gets a decent amount of sunlight, but it’s fairly exposed and can be cool, so plants that need really warm weather don’t like to grow here. Yet, there’s a corner by the back door that’s a pocket of sun and shelter, and a wise former occupant decided to plant a grapevine there. If I hadn’t inherited this mature grapevine, I can’t imagine I would have thought to plant one, but if you’ve got the right conditions they’re a lovely addition to an edible garden.

First you have to choose whether you want to grow wine grapes or dessert grapes. Wine grapes are smaller and less palatable – but hardier – than dessert grapes, which generally need to be grown in a sturdy greenhouse in order to fully ripen. Grapevines can be sourced from plant sellers and garden centres, and most will have been grafted – so make sure to choose a vine that is best suited to your soil type and local climate.

They are a delightful cross between a raspberry and a blackberry – and fruit abundantly with the right care

This time last year, when my veg patch was feeling chaotic, I decided to make a big and fairly consequential change to my setup – devoting one of my five annual beds to perennial fruit. I figured that it would be less effort, more bang-for-your-buck and, importantly, less water and resource-intensive once the plants were settled in. It felt very daring to give up the sunniest bed in a relatively small space but now that the tayberries are here, I’m seeing that my bold decision has really paid off.

Tayberries are a delightful cross between a raspberry and a blackberry that grows vigorously and fruits abundantly with the right care. I purchased my tayberries as small potted plants, although it tends to be cheaper to buy them as bare root stock in winter. If you’re fortunate enough to know someone who has an established tayberry, plants can be readily propagated through tip layering – rooting long branches when they touch the ground.

Starting your crops where you will harvest them avoids transplant shock and can speed growth. Just beware of hungry animals!

I like to think of myself as a fairly laissez-faire food grower. I see the prescribed sowing windows as guidance mostly, and have been known to bung a healthy seedling in a bed alongside a different plant family even if it goes against my crop plan. But when sowing seeds, I am all about control. I’m a devoted user of modular seed trays, preferring to keep my seeds compartmentalised so that I can monitor their germination and growth before choosing the ideal moment to plant them out.

Yet some crops lend themselves to being sown directly in the spot where they’ll grow until harvested. Quite a few crops can be sown outdoors now, in early summer’s generally friendly weather.

For a fairly low-maintenance crop, the root vegetable can yield an impressive and nutritious harvest, and is surely due an influencer-rebrand soon

My third column on edible plants that I don’t actually grow myself is about one that I do not loathe, as I do celeriac, nor love, as I do sweetcorn. It is the swede, a root vegetable I would describe as “fine”.

Also known as neeps or rutabaga, swedes are hardy vegetables, related to the turnip and part of the brassica family. For a fairly low-maintenance crop, they can yield an impressive harvest that tastes fairly sweet and is very nutritious. I would wager that they are in for an influencer-driven rebrand sometime soon.

Looking at your veg patch with fresh eyes can be inspiring – and a helpful way of rectifying past mistakes

Regular readers might remember me having a wobbly time in the garden last year. Life was lifing (as the kids say) and with that came many hiccups and failures. The veg patch had a wanton disregard for my hopes during growing season, which taught me the importance of finding value and beauty in what was growing, instead of lamenting all that was not.

This season, I’ve found myself approaching the veg patch with a more determined attitude. It’s been six years since my partner and I cleared the couch grass and nettles from the parcel of earth at the bottom of our garden, moved a ton or so of compost on to it to create vegetable beds, and grew the first crops in our new home. And now feels like the right time to take a look at our growing space with fresh eyes. It’s not a blank space, of course, but I’ve been asking myself how I’d grow here if I’d just adopted this patch.

You’ll need a large area and a sunny aspect, but this plant is a true delight when homegrown

If you read my recent piece about celeriac, you’ll know that I’m trying to make an effort to write about crops that I don’t actually grow myself – this is my next instalment. Unlike celeriac, which I don’t like, I don’t grow sweetcorn because I simply don’t have the right space and conditions. So if you’re fortunate to have the room and sunny aspect for it to thrive, I’m jealous. When freshly plucked and shucked, homegrown sweetcorn is beyond delightful.

As you might suspect, sweetcorn grows best during long, hot summers – so get your seeds started now as they’ll want some warmth to germinate (in a propagator ideally) and pleasant weather as they get growing. As with so many of the best summer crops, it likes fertile and moisture-retentive soil, and as much sun as the summer days have to offer. Seedlings more than 8cm tall are ready to be planted out, but resist putting your seedlings into the ground until the days are warm and the risk of frost is well passed. And keep some fleece handy to throw over them should the temperature drop unexpectedly.

If your garden is not big enough for the fruit tree you’d like, this technique may be the answer. It’s handy for healing snapped stems, too

There’s a cherry tree outside the gym I go to. I walk past it as I arrive and leave, and gaze out of the window at it between sets. At this time of year, it blossoms in the most stunning way. The flowers on one side are bright white, on the other side they are the warmest pink, and every spring it reminds me of a special skill that I was once taught that I wish I had call to use more – grafting.

Grafting is the method through which two different plants from the same species or genus are joined together to grow as one. It is a technique commonly employed in the cultivation of fruit trees and explains how the cherry tree I described above could appear to be one tree while behaving like two spliced together. The reason it can do this is that the resulting plant benefits from the qualities of the two different original plants. For example, a delicious apple variety that would normally result in a full-size tree could be grafted on to the rootstock of a smaller variety, so that it produces the desired fruit while being suitable for a modestly sized garden.

It may be ugly, but this edible bulb gives substantial harvests and can stay in the ground in the colder months

It occurred to me recently that, understandably, I only write about the plants I’m really into. And what that means is there are certain crops that have yet to be honoured on this page simply because they’re not to my taste. So this week’s column is about one of the ugliest vegetables I’ve ever met – in looks and taste! – which some of you may well adore … the celeriac.

Celeriac reminds me of Krang from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (that’s one for the millennials!) and I have a strong suspicion that these two little monsters taste about the same. Celeriac has been the ruiner of many a soup that I have been fed, overshadowing the taste of the other ingredients and dominating the flavour profile. Although I am not a fan myself, these vegetables are relatively straightforward to grow and garner a substantial harvest from. So if it is a taste you like, they are well worth a go.

You can pep up your cooking by growing wild garlic, crow garlic and three-cornered leek

Unlike most gardeners, I’m not especially captivated by spring bulbs. I do love that they symbolise the return of fairer weather, but I only have the tulips and narcissi that I adopted when we moved here and, every autumn, I fail to consider planting more to replenish their dwindling numbers. Lucky for me, I also adopted the kind of spring bulb that I’m more inclined towards – because they’re edible. Wild alliums are what I’m really looking for to herald the arrival of spring.

Too many edible wild plants are only edible in theory, in my opinion. I’m mostly of the “just because you can, doesn’t mean you should” school of foraging. But that’s not the case when it comes to the most well-known member of this wild allium group. The strongly flavoured leaves of wild garlic (Allium ursinum) cover the woodland floor wherever they are resident, producing clusters of white, star-shaped flowers that are edible too – but leave most of them for the pollinators please! I’m a big fan of this delectable plant and am fortunate enough that it has made a home in my front garden. As with all foraging endeavours, make sure you’re 100% certain you have identified the plant correctly, pick where you are allowed, and always leave plenty behind. Fortunately, when it comes to this group of plants, it’s fairly easy to know if you have gone wrong as all the leaves should smell strongly of and taste like garlic or onions.

Knowing how much water and warmth different seeds need to germinate will improve your changes of getting a great crop of vegetables

Many of our minds will soon – if they haven’t already – turn towards sowing seeds. While germination appears to happen willy-nilly in the wild, this process requires a certain set of factors to take place. Different seeds require different conditions, and knowing what your seeds need will mean more successfully germinate and fewer are wasted.

To an unimaginative eye, a seed looks inert. Yet they are packed with genetic information and biological processes poised to unfold. All it takes is the right configuration of signals and stimuli from the environment to let them know it’s time to dare to grow.

Garden crops such as apples, garlic, carrot and beetroot will grow better if they experience low temperatures in winter

Having made it through January, I’m wishing for the swift arrival of spring. After a long winter (they always feel long) seasonal change starts to loom. Yet I remind myself why, for many of the plants and crops we love, a sustained cold period is essential.

While little plant growth takes place in winter, important biological processes happen in this stillness. For a great number of plants that are able to survive cold weather, a good period spent below a certain temperature is key to their flowering in spring – a process called vernalisation.

The whole plant is edible and they don’t need much light – so they’re an easy, tasty treat

January can hardly be considered an abundant time of year. All but the evergreens are barren and bare. Yet there is an approach to year-round growing that, in the depths of winter, feels all the more miraculous. Microgreens are not a “type” of plant, but a method of growing leafy crops which doesn’t require much space or effort – and, importantly for now, can be done indoors – in order to achieve an unseasonably fresh burst of flavour on your dinner plate.

Any plant that is edible from top-to-toe can be grown as a microgreen. From salad leaves like lettuce and sorrel to herbs such as basil, dill, coriander and fennel, plus all the brassicas from the very delicious mustard greens and rocket to the far less spicy broccoli and kale. Also on the fuller side of the flavour profile are nasturtiums and sunflowers, which produce juicy shoots with a nutty flavour. Peas also produce a substantial shoot with pretty leaves and tendrils. Amaranth, carrot and perilla are other edible plants I am eager to try.

No over-buying or rigid planning. Here is my list of things I won’t be doing in the garden this year

Every January, I gripe about the tyranny of setting any kind of resolution while we’re in the depth of winter. Short gloomy days and long drawn-out nights are a truly uninspiring backdrop for resolving to make meaningful changes in your life. I’d love to meet whoever came up with the idea of new year resolutions and give them a piece of my mind.

So I want to try something else this January. I want to make a list of things I’m giving up. Not the punishing kind of giving up. I’m not planning to give up any of the delicious things that I’ve happily overeaten these last few weeks. Instead, I’m going to give up doing the things that make me – and more specifically, my veg patch – feel less than good enough.

All you need is oil, vinegar, steel wool and a whetstone to get everything looking as good as new

I am a tool-care evangelist. I like to keep my harvest knife sharp and my garden fork hung up tidily in the shed. At least this is what I tell myself – because I believe tool care is important despite, in reality, being the kind of grower who drops her secateurs and forgets to pick them up before an overnight rain, or leaves a trowel stuck in the ground at the end of a veg bed, convinced – erroneously – that I’ll remember to put it away as the sun starts to set.

Rust corrodes the metal parts of our garden tools, affecting how well they work and even their safety. Small patches can be removed using wire wool and perseverance but, ideally, we’d prevent it from appearing in the first place by cleaning, drying and storing our tools properly after each use. But if you, like me, are a fallible human who occasionally finds certain tools have turned the shade of autumn leaves, it is entirely possible that they can be rescued.

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If plants pop up where you weren’t expecting them, don’t pull them up – you never know what you might find

I’ve been as honest as possible about the rubbish growing season I’ve had this year. For reasons beyond my control – mostly life, work and weather – it’s been far from my best. I’ve hobbled along, trying to keep my cool when my trays of seed have barely germinated and while attempting to rescue root-bound plants that I’d somehow forgotten about. I’ve come to the realisation that it’s fine to have an off year as long as you embrace it. As the saying – often attributed to Buddha – goes, pain is inevitable but suffering is optional.

For me, that’s meant welcoming as many “volunteer plants” as I have space for. The term is often used as a kind synonym for weeds, but I use it to mean plants growing where I hadn’t planned for them to be. And given that I mulch with compost made from my garden waste and kitchen scraps, and leave my crops to flower and self-seed, unexpected plants always pop up.