The Kitchen Garden

I started growing things as a child. A little patch of soil, a handful of seeds, and a vague sense that something magical might happen. I planted carrots and radishes, and three weeks later — impatient and curious — I tugged at the first leafy tuft, surprised to find no carrot at all.

Since then, I’ve grown gardens on balconies, under conifers (a mistake), and in soil far too acidic for anything to thrive. But here, on the edge of the Utrechtse Heuvelrug, I finally feel like I’ve found the rhythm of it. Or at least the beginnings of one.

This year, for the first time, it all began to work.

Not a garden expert (just someone who loves it)

I don’t pretend to be a gardening expert. I don’t rotate crops in spreadsheets or germinate rare heritage varieties under UV lights. This garden is instinctive, aesthetic, a little bit romantic. It’s about learning, unwinding, and routine. About growing things slowly, and forgiving myself when something goes wrong.

I like to think of it as my outdoor studio: part kitchen, part meditation room, part patch of gentle chaos.

Orderly chaos

The garden itself is laid out symmetrically — a touch borrowed from grand estate gardens, scaled down to suit our life. Gravel paths in dolomite split form clear lines, and wooden beds (simple, practical, budget-friendly) create just enough structure to balance the climbing plants and leafy greens.

On one side lies the herb garden, on the other, vegetables and fruit. The layout brings a quiet sense of order. Not strict, but thoughtful.
It allows room for wildness, yes, but always within a structure that feels intentional.

This year’s crop and a few mistakes

This spring I went, as ever, a little overboard. I now have 80 aubergine seedlings. (If you need one — or twelve — do get in touch.) There are beans, lettuces, courgettes, tomatoes, maize, and cucumbers. A raspberry bush has decided to claim its own bed entirely, and frankly, I’m letting it.

My favourite moments? Sowing, planting out, and harvesting. The beginning, the hope, and the reward. Pest control, however, not so much. I’m not fond of slugs or leaf-lice battles, unless I win.

From garden to pantry

What I love most is the thought of what comes next: preserving, pickling, fermenting. I dream of shelves lined with jars, of apple compote and homemade vinegar, of Sunday afternoons bottling things in linen aprons.
I’m not there yet. But I’m learning.

Part of this garden is about beauty. Part of it is about pleasure. And part of it is simply about slowing down and understanding how long it really takes to grow one carrot.

A kitchen garden, the Hazel & Morris way

There are no plastic trays, no neon labels. Just wooden borders, soft symmetry, lavender nearby, and the sound of the chickens two steps away.