Just about every vegie has been regarded as an aphrodisiac at some time or other and each and every one of them was probably far more likely to lead to a bit of rumpy pumpy than a haunch of venison, three swans and a vat of mead, if you were royalty, or a crust of mouldy bread if you weren’t.

2. Find fresh parsnip seed. This will be easier if you grew them last year, as they’ll go to seed with great glorious umbels and one gone-to-seed parsnip will give you hundreds of seeds. Parsnip seed is only viable for a year, so if yours doesn’t germinate, it’s elderly. Buy from a place with a quick turnover and good stock-keeping.

3. Wait till spring. Sorry about that. Parsnip seed may germinate and grow now, but the small plants will rush to seed in spring, all top and no bum. This is parsnip eating time and parsnip envying time, as you peer over the fence at your neighbour’s bounty and know they are getting vegies with more savour and tenderness than you can buy except at the farmer’s market (get there early).

4.  Drop a large gardening fork onto your soil, prongs first. If the prongs go in, your soil is rich and soft and you don’t need to dig it, just make sure it’s weed-free. If the fork just falls over then dig your soil deeply, so the parsnip roots can go deep down and grow truly fat.

5.  Sow the seeds; cover with the smallest possible amount of soil so the seeds don’t blow away.

6. Water, feed conservatively – too much nitrogen will give lots of leaves and little parsnip. A mulch of compost is perfect or a scatter of well-rotted hen manure when they are about as big as your hand, then just make sure they get enough water to swell well and keep doing it. A drought-starved parsnip is tough and stringy.

7. Wait. Parsnips grow slowly, but the flavour grows as they do. They may be big enough to eat as ''tiddlers'' by Christmas, but best to eat baby carrots instead and leave the parsnips till they’ve had a frost or two, to turn them properly sweet.

8. And this time next year, use that garden fork to dig them out, carefully, so the prongs don’t wound the parsnip – you need to dig deep then lift, not poke. Shake off the dirt, leave the leaves on the ground to turn into mulch then soil in their turn, and take your precious harvest indoors to do something wonderful with them, like bake them slowly, peeled, with a roast of lamb or chook; or cut into thin chips, rub with half maple syrup and half olive oil and bake till soft and browned; or just rub peeled chunks with olive oil and bake with a few cloves of garlic, and eat with pepper and salt.

I rarely add salt to veg, but a small scatter performs magic on a parsnip. And a home-grown one, soft and earth-rich and fragrant, deserves it all.

This week I:

* found three LARGE ripe tomatoes by the water tank, ripened in the reflected light and stored heat – magic;

* picked many, many camellias, pink, white and deeper pink;

* ate frost-cold, just-picked navel oranges;

* thought about making cumquat marmalade but didn’t get around to it;

* didn’t get around to planting the asparagus seedlings from last year into the permanent bed either; and

* thanked Bryan for cleaning up the pruning mess I left last week. The wombats are grateful too.