M and I arrived on our orchard plot this morning to discover that there was no fence between us and the adjacent back gardens. Three workmen had sunk the concrete poles for a new metal mesh one. Our 'wildlife hedge' had been reduced. The men had cut back an invasive creeper commonly known as 'Mile a minute' or Russian vine (Polygonum baldschuanicum) and also some honeysuckle which had landed on our side. Wildlife, in the form of a friendly robin was showing an interest in the proceedings.
Removal of shared vegetation was not in the spec. Fortunately M was already armed with the loppers (we had been intending to prune that morning) so we changed task.
From ten till twelve, or thereabouts, M and I set about filling two brown recycling bins with what was now garden rubbish. When we had finished M took the bins back and I spiked the muddy grass paths with a fork to assist drainage.
When I was a student teacher a decade ago, part of the assessment process was 'reflection on practice'. This is the practice I had today:
- You do not always know what you are going to find when you arrive on the job. But it pays to be polite.
- 'Mile a minute' and honeysuckle can be told apart reasonably well, but it helps the student if this is pointed out sooner rather than later.
- A tougher pair of gloves or even gauntlets would make a good Christmas present.
- When you chop stuff up small you can fit more in. Bashing it with a spade also helps. Please exercise caution while doing this.
- Old blackberry canes (even the non-cultivated ones) should really be cut out at the end of each season. If you can reach them.
- Make the most of every opportunity. I look forward to training the honeysuckle over a nice new fence.
M, our apprentice, asked for a list of winter tasks that we could tackle together. Last week it was time for a spot of winter maintenance - removing the green mould, spots and smears from our smaller greenhouse.
We discussed the pros and cons of industrial strength disinfectants, sprays and solvents; we consulted the books. But we ended up taking up her suggestion of a large bottle of distilled vinegar. Firstly, it was cheap (supermarket own brand) secondly it was effective and thirdly, it was environmentally friendly (we have rocket and an indoor vine growing inside the greenhouse).
Having removed as many fixtures and fittings as practicable, M, whose enthusiasm was greater than mine, set to work inside with a sponge dipped in a dilute solution of vinegar. I refilled her bucket at intervals and polished off what she had started with paper kitchen roll.
We are both happy. However, I am a little ashamed to admit that this is the first proper clean our greenhouse has received in seven years. Having M around has made me do it.
It must be seven years ago, certainly while Woolworths was still trading in the UK, that our friend L offered to buy us an apple tree. She gave us ten pounds and we got a Bramley from 'Woolies'. Now it was time for M our 'apprentice' to buy a tree. She wanted a Bramley too and for ten pounds.
We probably spent half that amount as we drove around the Essex/Hertfordshire borders on a rainy Tuesday morning pricing trees. We learned a lot. We started with one of our favourite nurseries - at least £28.00 for a Bramley in a very large pot. We put our dripping selves into the car and found a garden centre that was offering half price on everything. A bargain if you wanted evergreens, conifers, bay trees or olive trees. We tried a very large cut price store on the trading estate. Inexpensive jam-making stuff (I'm going back) but no apples. I bought broad beans as a consolation. Next stop, a big store near the North Circular. Patio apples. M did not want a patio apple, she wanted a Bramley. M dragged me away from the half-price area. I had spotted and wanted to rescue a sad cyclamen.
We finally found a Bramley in another store on another occasion while buying winter bulbs for a customer. Ten pounds for a tree originally bare-rooted, which had been crammed into a pot with lots of peat. We went back with M.
Now M's tree is planted in the spot she designated for it earlier, completing an arc of trees that starts with our eating apple, then the 'rescued' apple that was disentanged from the grapevine, the vine itself and the damson tree. Each has its own antecedents, known or unknown, and a fruitful history. May that be so for M's tree too.
It has taken me a long time to love housework.
Most of the time I am busy with paid gardening, allotmenteering. keeping house is in third place. But for my grandparents cleanliness was next to godliness. For them it had all the force of a commandment. Alas, cleaning was all too readily taken up under compulsion.
What convicted me was grime. When I started to wear my reading glasses for housework they magnified dust, greasy finger marks, insect smears on the windows, spiders webs in corners, spilled coffee stains on the laminate flooring, wellington boot marks by the door.
My Victorian ancestors would have been proud of me as I got down on my knees with the antibacterial disinfectant. Let us spray.
I have polished the kettle, the toaster, the letterbox, the front door, the pictures that hang along the hall. Every time I think I've come to the end of it I see another object with that offending smear. It's similar to weeding. You think you have finished and then one last dandelion beckons.
Most days I clean gladly rather than sadly and not entirely because I have a horror of becoming an elderly person with a drawer of utensils blemished with verdigris.
As I stand in the hall, light shines back from its clean surfaces. Tomorrow I will tackle another corner. That's enough for today.
Halloween has come and gone, I am thankful to say, and in our local corner store I bought their last pumpkin priced at a bargain £1.01. This orange 'giant' weighing in at just under 3 kilos is presenting me with a tasty challenge. Should I choose starters (soup), a main course (risotto), a dessert (pie) or all three. Or marmalade?
This last option is not as strange as it sounds. Sophie Grigson's Eat Your Greens is one of my favourite cookbooks (the lady understands allotmenteering) and she provides a recipe for a runny but pleasant 'marmalade' where oranges, pumpkin and sugar are boiled until the mixture is thick enough to pour into jars. I think I will try it.
A friend has given us a packet of herbal tea-bags. Whilst waiting for my infusion to brew I enjoyed reading the packet and noting relationships between the languages of Western Europe. (Please excuse me, readers of Polish and Russian - yours are on the box too).
In order the names in my heading read - German, Dutch, English and Norwegian, French and the Latin botanical name for the stinging nettle. My husband reminded me of the last one. I was puzzled as to the origin of Ortie. When you know the Latin it is obvious.
Meanwhile on the plot, my nettles in the wildlife hedge which I cut back earlier in the year are still growing strong. I could make my own herbal tea, I suppose, but at the back of my mind is the advice of the children's television presenters of my youth 'Don't try this at home, boys and girls'. So, for the moment, I will stick to mint (Mentha spicata and Mentha piperita) - Spearmint and Peppermint.
