My family have remarked on the absence of posts since September so I have hastily gathered a Christmas garland for them. What would I highlight at this season of the year? I will start with my Christmas cactus. It is a cutting from friends in Scotland and last winter survived an accident when I knocked off its one and only flower bud. It flourished in the dry summer, put on many more leaves, came back inside (as I have posted) and I am now rewarded with pendant pale pink blooms.
Second, comes our 'split' strelitzia which has responded to its re-potting and cooler environment with the orange tip of a yet to open flower bud at first mistaken, to my dismay, as a leaf beginning to die before it had unfurled. A misreading of the experts led me to expect this recent development would take between four and six years, but I am glad to be proved wrong. Perhaps it is not technically a 'new' plant but the biological twin of my family's which is blooming at this moment - though bare of festive ornamentation here.
Looking outside our front window I see, as readers might have expected, our collection of presents and 'rescue plants' - the Christmas roses in bloom, the recently planted polyanthus knocked down to 10p for a box of six (we bought three boxes), the white heather and the iris reticulata, tulips saved from last year just beginning to poke pointed cones above the soil, daffodils and hyacinths likewise.
And round the door, in defiance of the weather, buds our rose 'Golden Showers' which still holds the faint fragrance and promise of summer to come before the bitter winds and snow-laden winds of January begin to blow.
Thursday 27 December 2018
Monday 24 September 2018
Saved Seed for 2019
Autumn is the start of the horticultural year and last week I decided to go through our saved seed box. It was a timely opportunity for us to review what had worked, re-order where necessary and fix on crops and rotation for next season, whilst checking our part opened packets and sow by dates. We agreed on all the usual favourites: broad beans, runner beans, carrots, spring onions, cabbage (to be netted), rocket, basil, tomatoes, coriander, and sunflowers. These latter are from 2017 as this year's heads were too damp and failed to dry out. Winter squash features again with our 2018 harvest sitting in a trug in our front room. We are also going to try seeds from friends in Scotland grown under glass - indoor cucumbers and green peppers.
Then it was time to discard seed. Sadly, we jettisoned the hollyhocks. After one season they succumbed to a virus which distorted leaves and flowers. And we will not be growing hellebores as these require specialist conditions. As regards perennials we will keep taking cuttings - from pinks, lavender and our hardy fuschia and from the penstemons which are presently overwintering in the greenhouse. And next year we will split the Michaelmas Daisies, a gift from a former customer, which are currently in flower.
We had an older customer, now deceased, with a front garden full of self-seeded hollyhocks, and it was in tribute to him that my husband tried them in ours. They are biannual, so the ones surviving in the front have one more chance before we uproot them. After that we will plant penstemons beneath the shelter of the hedge.
Then it was time to discard seed. Sadly, we jettisoned the hollyhocks. After one season they succumbed to a virus which distorted leaves and flowers. And we will not be growing hellebores as these require specialist conditions. As regards perennials we will keep taking cuttings - from pinks, lavender and our hardy fuschia and from the penstemons which are presently overwintering in the greenhouse. And next year we will split the Michaelmas Daisies, a gift from a former customer, which are currently in flower.
We had an older customer, now deceased, with a front garden full of self-seeded hollyhocks, and it was in tribute to him that my husband tried them in ours. They are biannual, so the ones surviving in the front have one more chance before we uproot them. After that we will plant penstemons beneath the shelter of the hedge.
Thursday 6 September 2018
Harvest - Runner Beans
This week my husband took out two raised beds of runner beans. These were a variety new to us - 'Moonlight' whose resistance to high temperatures was demonstrated during our summer of heat and drought. But now in these latter shortening days their flowering and fruiting season was coming to an end. So on a sunny afternoon my husband set to and I sorted them for freezing or immediate consumption.
This year, however, we, by which of course I mean my husband, did not start freezing right at the end of the season when beans are thick and stringy. By August, we saw that we had enough to eat, give away and to freeze, allocating them for Christmas. It is a pity I did not do this earlier when we had our three allotments. But in the south east we only had a small fridge with a freezing compartment on top - enough for some ice cream and blackcurrants. Now we have large recycled yoghurt pots filled with apple puree, wild greengages and blackberries and of course bags of beans.
The alternative way of securing your festive root vegetables is to leave them growing in the ground which we used to do with leeks and Jerusalem Artichokes. Our 'Autumn King' carrots and parsnips are in our home-made raised beds - the carrots swelling already, the parsnips with a long way to go and the necessary first frosts before they are at their best. Next year potato bags perhaps friends and family have both suggested.
This year, however, we, by which of course I mean my husband, did not start freezing right at the end of the season when beans are thick and stringy. By August, we saw that we had enough to eat, give away and to freeze, allocating them for Christmas. It is a pity I did not do this earlier when we had our three allotments. But in the south east we only had a small fridge with a freezing compartment on top - enough for some ice cream and blackcurrants. Now we have large recycled yoghurt pots filled with apple puree, wild greengages and blackberries and of course bags of beans.
The alternative way of securing your festive root vegetables is to leave them growing in the ground which we used to do with leeks and Jerusalem Artichokes. Our 'Autumn King' carrots and parsnips are in our home-made raised beds - the carrots swelling already, the parsnips with a long way to go and the necessary first frosts before they are at their best. Next year potato bags perhaps friends and family have both suggested.
Wednesday 29 August 2018
Harvest - Greenhouse Tomatoes
Yesterday my husband decided that it was time to clear our small greenhouse of what remained of our tomatoes 'Gardener's Delight' and to harvest what could be saved. We agreed to do this earlier than our custom - or was that just our memories are coloured by the south east where the sun shines brightly through September? Our greenhouse is now cleaned and tidied, set aside for over-wintering tender culinary herbs such as thyme, some basil 'Minette' which has done well and later on the penstemons in pots and the jasmine by the porch. The outdoor jasmine by our shed is yielding its last few flowers before the autumn gales begin.
I was filled with a sense of sadness. This year's growing season seems to have passed so quickly. My husband nurtured his tomato seedlings indoors whilst sub-zero temperatures and strong winds blew in from the east. Then spring arrived - but I don't really recall it. After that came weeks and weeks of unbroken heat. Our greenhouse tomatoes flourished, but our lawn grew brown and we were watering it with dishwashing 'grey water' and leaving the herbaceous perennials to fend for themselves. The poppies loved it.
At last, in answer to many prayers, the weather broke and the usual north western showers resumed. Temperatures dropped, our grass grew and it was time to harvest the tomatoes. The weather now swings between late summer and autumn, the blackberries are mostly washed out and in our hedge the hips and haws abound.
My husband has taken the soil and compost from the tomato containers and enriched our depleted border, where the bulbs lie dormant ready for another spring.
I was filled with a sense of sadness. This year's growing season seems to have passed so quickly. My husband nurtured his tomato seedlings indoors whilst sub-zero temperatures and strong winds blew in from the east. Then spring arrived - but I don't really recall it. After that came weeks and weeks of unbroken heat. Our greenhouse tomatoes flourished, but our lawn grew brown and we were watering it with dishwashing 'grey water' and leaving the herbaceous perennials to fend for themselves. The poppies loved it.
At last, in answer to many prayers, the weather broke and the usual north western showers resumed. Temperatures dropped, our grass grew and it was time to harvest the tomatoes. The weather now swings between late summer and autumn, the blackberries are mostly washed out and in our hedge the hips and haws abound.
My husband has taken the soil and compost from the tomato containers and enriched our depleted border, where the bulbs lie dormant ready for another spring.
Thursday 26 July 2018
Cabbage White Caterpillars and Control
Since my last post I have been doing some web research and found that Cabbage White caterpillars are a pest from Oregon - where they are called cabbage worms and attack broccoli in particular - to Hobart, Australia (home of one branch of my husband's family). I found a variety of biological control suggestions on the Australian site wwwglobalnetacademy.edu.au and from the Americans. British sites such as www.growveg.co.uk were also helpful.
I also realised that I may have inadvertently destroyed the cocoons of parasitic wasps that feed on the caterpillars, mistaking them for caterpillar pupae. I will not do this again.
All these methods from spraying bacteria to dusting baking soda mixed with flour looked to have some merit, although I regret that our house sparrows have not taken the hint and started to catch caterpillars.
All this is small-scale, very appropriate to our veg. patch and ecologically friendly gardening, but it leaves me wondering what is happening on our farms. Consumers expect perfect broccolli free of frass (caterpillar droppings) so how is this achieved commercially and what impact are preventative methods having on the environment?
Finally, in the words of a television programme of my youth 'Don't try this at home, boys and girls'. Please take this post as a personal reflection only, and take responsibility for your own gardening actions. Thank you.
PS My husband is, even now, assembling the frames for the netting.
I also realised that I may have inadvertently destroyed the cocoons of parasitic wasps that feed on the caterpillars, mistaking them for caterpillar pupae. I will not do this again.
All these methods from spraying bacteria to dusting baking soda mixed with flour looked to have some merit, although I regret that our house sparrows have not taken the hint and started to catch caterpillars.
All this is small-scale, very appropriate to our veg. patch and ecologically friendly gardening, but it leaves me wondering what is happening on our farms. Consumers expect perfect broccolli free of frass (caterpillar droppings) so how is this achieved commercially and what impact are preventative methods having on the environment?
Finally, in the words of a television programme of my youth 'Don't try this at home, boys and girls'. Please take this post as a personal reflection only, and take responsibility for your own gardening actions. Thank you.
PS My husband is, even now, assembling the frames for the netting.
Wednesday 25 July 2018
Brassicas and Butterflies
Leafing through the pages of our newly arrived August RHS magazine, I came upon an article on RHS Garden Harlow Carr, Harrogate. (It's at some distance from here though I have visited when in that North Yorkshire town for a conference.) What struck me was a reference to the kitchen garden - Nearby a fine black mesh protects the brassicas from pigeons and cabbage butterflies while also helping to keep them cool in hot weather.
The mesh method is the only ecologically-friendly way to keep cabbage white butterflies at bay. Rushing out flapping a damp tea towel does not work. Brandishing a fly swat in the shape of a plastic orange hand - now lacking several fingers - is futile. Rubbing out newly laid eggs is not fail-safe. Killing butterflies, an expedient of last resort by trapping them between a dustpan and brush only results in a fresh pair gaily performing a courtship dance above our remaining summer cabbage.
Once hatched the caterpillars are not content to stay on the tougher outer leaves of the plant. They make their way to the tender hearts and start the process of destruction. I am reduced to soaking what cabbage I can salvage in salty water.
This will not happen again. Fine black mesh, rather than a stock of seeds, will appear on the next birthday present list. We already have the plastic hoops to fit it over.
On the potting shed bench is a fine collection of kale seedlings, waiting to go out into a bed that has been duly rotated. Kale is a member of the brassica family. Caterpillars love it. I too love most insects - but kale, along with beet spinach, will comprise our winter greens. Food will come first.
The mesh method is the only ecologically-friendly way to keep cabbage white butterflies at bay. Rushing out flapping a damp tea towel does not work. Brandishing a fly swat in the shape of a plastic orange hand - now lacking several fingers - is futile. Rubbing out newly laid eggs is not fail-safe. Killing butterflies, an expedient of last resort by trapping them between a dustpan and brush only results in a fresh pair gaily performing a courtship dance above our remaining summer cabbage.
Once hatched the caterpillars are not content to stay on the tougher outer leaves of the plant. They make their way to the tender hearts and start the process of destruction. I am reduced to soaking what cabbage I can salvage in salty water.
This will not happen again. Fine black mesh, rather than a stock of seeds, will appear on the next birthday present list. We already have the plastic hoops to fit it over.
On the potting shed bench is a fine collection of kale seedlings, waiting to go out into a bed that has been duly rotated. Kale is a member of the brassica family. Caterpillars love it. I too love most insects - but kale, along with beet spinach, will comprise our winter greens. Food will come first.
Friday 29 June 2018
Houseplants
People sometimes express surprise when I inform them that I am not a houseplant person. Our houseplants, examples given below, fall into the 'hard to kill' category. Dr Hessian, author of The House Plant Expert advises, 'If all else fails grow Sansevieria.' We have two plants on either side of the fireplace which my husband acquired on a teaching assignment in north east London. Apparently these can flower in ideal conditions - not the case in our household.
A recent addition is Strelitzia (whose common name is Bird of Paradise) which Dr Hessian notes is 'surprisingly easy to grow'. This was the result of a repotting exercise for my family which resulted in one plant each. I am pleased to say it is now putting out a new furled leaf. I may have to wait some time - four to six years - before it blooms.
My third is a Christmas cactus which I have just learned from the book should be placed in a shady spot outdoors to allow the stems to harden during the summer. I am popping outside to do this very thing as soon as I finish this post. Thankfully keeping this plant cool in our flat roofed extension later in the autumn will not be difficult. This plant has also grown well since it arrived with a friend who propagated it for us.
I do not cherish houseplants. I leave them for weeks on end. But when they do put out new leaves like the first rosy tips of the Christmas cactus I am happy. Now all that remains to be seen is whether it will live up to its description as a 'shy bloomer' or thrive in restful summer shade on the side of our pantry.
A recent addition is Strelitzia (whose common name is Bird of Paradise) which Dr Hessian notes is 'surprisingly easy to grow'. This was the result of a repotting exercise for my family which resulted in one plant each. I am pleased to say it is now putting out a new furled leaf. I may have to wait some time - four to six years - before it blooms.
My third is a Christmas cactus which I have just learned from the book should be placed in a shady spot outdoors to allow the stems to harden during the summer. I am popping outside to do this very thing as soon as I finish this post. Thankfully keeping this plant cool in our flat roofed extension later in the autumn will not be difficult. This plant has also grown well since it arrived with a friend who propagated it for us.
I do not cherish houseplants. I leave them for weeks on end. But when they do put out new leaves like the first rosy tips of the Christmas cactus I am happy. Now all that remains to be seen is whether it will live up to its description as a 'shy bloomer' or thrive in restful summer shade on the side of our pantry.
Thursday 28 June 2018
A Perfect Lawn?
An article in the July 2018 issue of the RHS magazine "The Garden" entitled 'Let your lawn go wild' lies behind the inspiration for this post, with the proviso that all views expressed in the post are my own and not to be attributed to any other person or body.
Lawn treatments are still in favour in our suburb if the local free magazine is to be believed. Before and after advertisements show a scrubby variegated lawn replaced after five doses with a healthy, uniformly green one. Vans visit our street on the same mission; transforming and then maintaining lawns. Whence did this fashion for a weed-free lawn arise? Was it from emulation of the rich and famous with their acres of greensward; the visits to pristine greens where many took their recreation in bowls; or did suburban householders of our previous century turn their attention to one of the few external matters they could control, their turf rolled and striped to geometric perfection? Could the human desire for seventy years of unbroken good health have extended to the transient grass, to which human flesh is so often compared?
At any rate, our lawn care is somewhere in the middle of the spectrum of views, roughly equivalent to the position we take on the use of plastics and the ecosystem, i.e. we cannot do without them completely, but endeavour to reduce our use whenever possible. Hence we, by which I mean my husband of course, still mow our lawn with an electric mower passed on to us by my family. But he does not mow as often in the summer and he sets the blades higher than was the fashion when we were growing up. This means that our lawn is chequered with clovers, daisies, buttercups and bugle. We use no weedkillers and no fertilisers and every so often remove plantains and such like by hand. Thus our lawn with its wild flowers is a like a little patch of the pre-World War Two pastures of lowland Lancashire.
The choice of lawn care is an individual one, as is the use of every back garden in this, our democratic society. All I can do is to urge you, if you are concerned about wildlife and your lawn, to adopt the well known slogan: 'think globally, act locally'. As you see the bumblebees and birds, once so common, descend on you, I believe you will consider yourself rewarded.
Lawn treatments are still in favour in our suburb if the local free magazine is to be believed. Before and after advertisements show a scrubby variegated lawn replaced after five doses with a healthy, uniformly green one. Vans visit our street on the same mission; transforming and then maintaining lawns. Whence did this fashion for a weed-free lawn arise? Was it from emulation of the rich and famous with their acres of greensward; the visits to pristine greens where many took their recreation in bowls; or did suburban householders of our previous century turn their attention to one of the few external matters they could control, their turf rolled and striped to geometric perfection? Could the human desire for seventy years of unbroken good health have extended to the transient grass, to which human flesh is so often compared?
At any rate, our lawn care is somewhere in the middle of the spectrum of views, roughly equivalent to the position we take on the use of plastics and the ecosystem, i.e. we cannot do without them completely, but endeavour to reduce our use whenever possible. Hence we, by which I mean my husband of course, still mow our lawn with an electric mower passed on to us by my family. But he does not mow as often in the summer and he sets the blades higher than was the fashion when we were growing up. This means that our lawn is chequered with clovers, daisies, buttercups and bugle. We use no weedkillers and no fertilisers and every so often remove plantains and such like by hand. Thus our lawn with its wild flowers is a like a little patch of the pre-World War Two pastures of lowland Lancashire.
The choice of lawn care is an individual one, as is the use of every back garden in this, our democratic society. All I can do is to urge you, if you are concerned about wildlife and your lawn, to adopt the well known slogan: 'think globally, act locally'. As you see the bumblebees and birds, once so common, descend on you, I believe you will consider yourself rewarded.
Wednesday 27 June 2018
Rocket running to seed
Running to seed in mortals has an unfortunate negative connotation and (unfairly) used to be applied mainly to athletic and manly men whose middle years led them to sad decline and debauchery; grubby ties and spreading paunches.
Our rocket is running to seed. I have culled a good harvest of salad leaves and it is now time to allow it to flower and set seed. The flowers are a pale yellow with darker veins, four petals arranged in a cross formation, showing its relation to mustard, faintly scented and ready for visiting hoverflies to land and gather nectar. I'm still watering it in this hot weather, but later will let it dry out completely and the seed pods will turn from green to brown. Then it will be time to store them in a paper bag ready to sow for next year's crop.
It is the same with our coriander, showing a mass of flowerets like cow parsley, also pollinated by delicate hoverflies of all sizes. Inside on the kitchen windowsill my husband keeps successionally sowing more coriander and basil as the summer progresses.
In two flowerpots I have sown red kale (last year's packet) in the hope that when the time comes to take up the rocket I will have a dozen or so young plants for the winter season. So our cycle of sowing and harvesting continues.
Our rocket is running to seed. I have culled a good harvest of salad leaves and it is now time to allow it to flower and set seed. The flowers are a pale yellow with darker veins, four petals arranged in a cross formation, showing its relation to mustard, faintly scented and ready for visiting hoverflies to land and gather nectar. I'm still watering it in this hot weather, but later will let it dry out completely and the seed pods will turn from green to brown. Then it will be time to store them in a paper bag ready to sow for next year's crop.
It is the same with our coriander, showing a mass of flowerets like cow parsley, also pollinated by delicate hoverflies of all sizes. Inside on the kitchen windowsill my husband keeps successionally sowing more coriander and basil as the summer progresses.
In two flowerpots I have sown red kale (last year's packet) in the hope that when the time comes to take up the rocket I will have a dozen or so young plants for the winter season. So our cycle of sowing and harvesting continues.
Monday 25 June 2018
Five Culinary Herbs
We were invited out to supper last week and along with a soft drink I took a bunch of our flowers, some home-grown salad leaves and a selection of our culinary herbs The flowers were well received; the scent of the Sweet Williams was lovely. (The soft drink, unopened, came home with us).
I asked myself afterwards if our herbs would have won any prizes at the horticultural society where we used to exhibit. Here are my notes.
Golden Oregano - yes, probably second prize. A profuse herb grown in full sun. Not flowering yet. We offered a flowering herb one year and the Secretary took the flowers off (this is the rule).
Sage - No. Originally grown in full sun but now partially shaded by a large broom tree from my family. Suffered in the cold and snowfall of this winter but now recovering.
Rosemary - I did not offer this. A 'rescue plant' also growing in the shade of the broom tree.
Fennel - sown in the wrong place. When will I ever learn that to infill herbs in a bed of veg. such as Broad Beans just does not work?
Basil - grown from seed by my husband very successfully. I cut the tops off so would not have been able to exhibit it in this condition.
Parsley - another success for the seed mat method. Strong and green.
Variegated Mint - came up again. Another survivor of the heavy snow. Now growing happily in a circular bed with fertile soil.
So on balance, I think we would have scraped a third prize. However given my knowledge of the keen entrants of shows past; we might have barely achieved a 'commended'.
I'm glad I don't compete any more
I asked myself afterwards if our herbs would have won any prizes at the horticultural society where we used to exhibit. Here are my notes.
Golden Oregano - yes, probably second prize. A profuse herb grown in full sun. Not flowering yet. We offered a flowering herb one year and the Secretary took the flowers off (this is the rule).
Sage - No. Originally grown in full sun but now partially shaded by a large broom tree from my family. Suffered in the cold and snowfall of this winter but now recovering.
Rosemary - I did not offer this. A 'rescue plant' also growing in the shade of the broom tree.
Fennel - sown in the wrong place. When will I ever learn that to infill herbs in a bed of veg. such as Broad Beans just does not work?
Basil - grown from seed by my husband very successfully. I cut the tops off so would not have been able to exhibit it in this condition.
Parsley - another success for the seed mat method. Strong and green.
Variegated Mint - came up again. Another survivor of the heavy snow. Now growing happily in a circular bed with fertile soil.
So on balance, I think we would have scraped a third prize. However given my knowledge of the keen entrants of shows past; we might have barely achieved a 'commended'.
I'm glad I don't compete any more
Thursday 21 June 2018
Allotment at Home
I am beginning to hope that in our fourth summer in the north west that we have at last achieved the 'allotment at home' that was our dream as we instigated our move in summer 2014. In this morning's midsummer sun my husband finished netting the ripening blackcurrants against our tame and friendly blackbird family. He has already netted the strawberries against our not-so-tame or pampered pigeons. My loose leaf cabbages are doing well in a raised bed, better than I recollect on our allotment and so far there is limited snail damage and no caterpillars.
Our rocket is flowering as we get ready to save seed for next season. Meanwhile cut flowers for the house bloom as our home-grown Sweet Williams and potted up 'rescue' pinks scent the air. The broad beans, now propped up with twigs have recovered from the gales and are swelling their pods and the runners after a second start with fresh seed are beginning to twine up their twigs.
It is my great privilege to open the back door and pick my own 'living salad' from the salad crib and the raised bed where the spring onions have reached salad proportions. They are topped up with the occasional local lettuce or cucumber from our store most times bearing a 'grown in Lancashire sticker'.
I am fortunate that we have the time, health and resources for all this. My as yet un-realised dream would be to demonstrate to others that with faith, family and finance (for the essentials), home-grown food is delightful, do-able and delicious.
Our rocket is flowering as we get ready to save seed for next season. Meanwhile cut flowers for the house bloom as our home-grown Sweet Williams and potted up 'rescue' pinks scent the air. The broad beans, now propped up with twigs have recovered from the gales and are swelling their pods and the runners after a second start with fresh seed are beginning to twine up their twigs.
It is my great privilege to open the back door and pick my own 'living salad' from the salad crib and the raised bed where the spring onions have reached salad proportions. They are topped up with the occasional local lettuce or cucumber from our store most times bearing a 'grown in Lancashire sticker'.
I am fortunate that we have the time, health and resources for all this. My as yet un-realised dream would be to demonstrate to others that with faith, family and finance (for the essentials), home-grown food is delightful, do-able and delicious.
Friday 27 April 2018
Pigeon with a purpose
Our pigeon has a purpose - nest-building amid the Leyland cypress. But sticking to a tight schedule is a human construct, a means of handling time. Pigeons appear to be more laid-back.
As soon as weather conditions permit, pigeons indulge themselves in short bursts of courtship activity on our fence. A pigeon lands, starts to coo, a second pigeon, summoned, lands alongside and a short ritual commences with neck dipping and preening, accelerating to a period of mutual bill pecking and culminating, a little clumsily, as you might imagine. Both pigeons then nestle up to each other for a few moments before flying off.
A single pigeon, presumed female, has another pattern. Fly across garden, land on fence with twig or piece of dried grass in beak. Then fly up to the thickest part of the hedge, push into the interior, still holding twig. Add twig to nest, I presume, (I cannot see into the interior of the hedge). Coo upon completing task. Emerge from hedge and fly away.
However, nest building appears to be a sporadic activity, either that or I am not observing the pigeon for long enough or consistently enough. At any rate there are periods of time when the pigeon does not appear bearing twigs, but participates in the courtship ritual (if that is indeed the same pair of pigeons) waddles across our lawn looking for small insects and seed heads, or appears hopefully on our patio to scan for crumbs. Pigeons do not operate under pressure.
PS Since writing this our pigeon's laid-back attitude became its liability as our nesting female blackbird sneaked in and took over the nest, raising two chicks. The disgruntled pigeons after several skirmishes built again higher up the 'wildlife hedge'. Unlike the blackbirds, they have decided that our back lawn is not the venue to introduce their new chick.
As soon as weather conditions permit, pigeons indulge themselves in short bursts of courtship activity on our fence. A pigeon lands, starts to coo, a second pigeon, summoned, lands alongside and a short ritual commences with neck dipping and preening, accelerating to a period of mutual bill pecking and culminating, a little clumsily, as you might imagine. Both pigeons then nestle up to each other for a few moments before flying off.
A single pigeon, presumed female, has another pattern. Fly across garden, land on fence with twig or piece of dried grass in beak. Then fly up to the thickest part of the hedge, push into the interior, still holding twig. Add twig to nest, I presume, (I cannot see into the interior of the hedge). Coo upon completing task. Emerge from hedge and fly away.
However, nest building appears to be a sporadic activity, either that or I am not observing the pigeon for long enough or consistently enough. At any rate there are periods of time when the pigeon does not appear bearing twigs, but participates in the courtship ritual (if that is indeed the same pair of pigeons) waddles across our lawn looking for small insects and seed heads, or appears hopefully on our patio to scan for crumbs. Pigeons do not operate under pressure.
PS Since writing this our pigeon's laid-back attitude became its liability as our nesting female blackbird sneaked in and took over the nest, raising two chicks. The disgruntled pigeons after several skirmishes built again higher up the 'wildlife hedge'. Unlike the blackbirds, they have decided that our back lawn is not the venue to introduce their new chick.
Thursday 19 April 2018
Work Clothes
This week, for the first time in ages, I put on the work clothes I used to wear for paid gardening. Immediately I was reminded of those afternoons when we used to tend the back gardens of older persons, pensioners. We would arrive, work hard for an hour, stop for a coffee break with biscuits pressed on my husband, work hard for another hour or more, be paid, re-book and leave with our little green car sometimes loaded high with springy gardening rubbish to be taken to the local tip. Arriving home I would record the day's takings and start the evening meal.
Nowadays I don't have to travel to work. I step out of the back door into our garden. Sometimes, although I shouldn't, I don't change my jeans or wear my gardening trainers. I snip at and prune stray and untidy twigs in that precise way which formerly irritated me as I heard older persons drawing my husband's attention to some plant he had overlooked. I take longer over tasks and at intervals look down the perspective lines of borders. noticing small improvements. I spot weeds early. I rake over our raised beds until the soil is the 'fine tilth' recommended by gardening books, and crumble clods with my hands.
Tidying up is simple. The car stays in the drive, a fistful of cuttings land in the brown bin and I come in to my own cup of tea.
Nowadays I don't have to travel to work. I step out of the back door into our garden. Sometimes, although I shouldn't, I don't change my jeans or wear my gardening trainers. I snip at and prune stray and untidy twigs in that precise way which formerly irritated me as I heard older persons drawing my husband's attention to some plant he had overlooked. I take longer over tasks and at intervals look down the perspective lines of borders. noticing small improvements. I spot weeds early. I rake over our raised beds until the soil is the 'fine tilth' recommended by gardening books, and crumble clods with my hands.
Tidying up is simple. The car stays in the drive, a fistful of cuttings land in the brown bin and I come in to my own cup of tea.
Wednesday 21 March 2018
Brushwood Cutting
It has taken me several weeks to gain the composure to compose this post. Let me explain:
In the snowy weather with winds from the east and frozen ground our local powers that be sent out the hedge cutting machine to flail the boundaries of our park. Such was the power of this mechanical beast that chips of wood landed on our back lawn or bounced against our patio windows. My husband went out to look, sympathizing with the operative who had been given this task. I stayed inside.
A couple of days later in a slight thaw I went out to inspect the damage. The person who operated the hedge cutting machine was driven by the need to complete the job. In turn, pressure was transmitted to them from a supervisor with a tasks list, and to the supervisor, I surmise, by some person in a warm office with cuts to enforce and budgets to prune.
After my first 'recce' I decided to go back and drag all the broken off branches down to ground level, but not on to the public footpath, beloved of dog walkers, in case I landed myself in trouble. I managed the length of the park from the entrance to our back 'wildlife area' a matter of some yards. I then invited my husband to help.
At that point I had the crazy idea of taking the secateurs and loppers to cleanly prune all the poor shrubs whose branches had been shredded along one side of the whole park. My husband quickly dissuaded me pointing out that this was not my responsibility and that the people operating the bark chipping machine would shortly deal with the broken branches. We compromised on the area behind our back garden only.
Now all the branches are on the ground, including those that had been cut through only partially where my husband had to use a saw. The bark chippers have not arrived.
In times past peasant farmers would coppice hazel for their tall straight poles; this renewable resource was part of their livelihood. Now we just permit big machines to flail clumsily and inaccurately at them from a distance.
I was angry but now I am resigned. The tangle of elder and hazel branches I chopped and dragged is no longer blocking my view of the park. It will eventually rot back into the ground. There is still enough space in our hedge for the birds. I am sad this is all we can do.
In the snowy weather with winds from the east and frozen ground our local powers that be sent out the hedge cutting machine to flail the boundaries of our park. Such was the power of this mechanical beast that chips of wood landed on our back lawn or bounced against our patio windows. My husband went out to look, sympathizing with the operative who had been given this task. I stayed inside.
A couple of days later in a slight thaw I went out to inspect the damage. The person who operated the hedge cutting machine was driven by the need to complete the job. In turn, pressure was transmitted to them from a supervisor with a tasks list, and to the supervisor, I surmise, by some person in a warm office with cuts to enforce and budgets to prune.
After my first 'recce' I decided to go back and drag all the broken off branches down to ground level, but not on to the public footpath, beloved of dog walkers, in case I landed myself in trouble. I managed the length of the park from the entrance to our back 'wildlife area' a matter of some yards. I then invited my husband to help.
At that point I had the crazy idea of taking the secateurs and loppers to cleanly prune all the poor shrubs whose branches had been shredded along one side of the whole park. My husband quickly dissuaded me pointing out that this was not my responsibility and that the people operating the bark chipping machine would shortly deal with the broken branches. We compromised on the area behind our back garden only.
Now all the branches are on the ground, including those that had been cut through only partially where my husband had to use a saw. The bark chippers have not arrived.
In times past peasant farmers would coppice hazel for their tall straight poles; this renewable resource was part of their livelihood. Now we just permit big machines to flail clumsily and inaccurately at them from a distance.
I was angry but now I am resigned. The tangle of elder and hazel branches I chopped and dragged is no longer blocking my view of the park. It will eventually rot back into the ground. There is still enough space in our hedge for the birds. I am sad this is all we can do.
Wednesday 14 March 2018
Plastic Propagation Stations
Definition:a semi-humorous description. An environmentally responsible place to sow seed under shelter, which is what we have been doing this week. In a line under our patio windows is a row of cleaned 1 Kg (that is what it says) yogurt pots. One pot sits inside the other and the bottom pot has a layer of pebbles. The upper pot is filled with seed compost and my birthday present of windowsill herbs on seed mats (I think that is probably a trademarked description). Each circular paper mat has been covered with a sifting of compost and watered. We are now waiting for them to germinate.
In our greenhouse we have sown broad beans in plastic pots recycled from earlier seasons and my husband has covered them with the remainder of a rigid plastic sheet from our neighbours' conservatory roof replacement.
The point of all this sowing and covering is to bring a little extra warmth to germinating seeds and salads. British Summer Time is approaching towards the end of March. I could do with a little extra heat myself.
In our greenhouse we have sown broad beans in plastic pots recycled from earlier seasons and my husband has covered them with the remainder of a rigid plastic sheet from our neighbours' conservatory roof replacement.
The point of all this sowing and covering is to bring a little extra warmth to germinating seeds and salads. British Summer Time is approaching towards the end of March. I could do with a little extra heat myself.
Thursday 1 March 2018
March breathing like lion's snowy breath
Today almost all the birds are sheltering from the strong north-easterly winds. At noon, when the sun shone in intermissions between snow flurries and the temperature rose to freezing point, a solitary pigeon positioned itself on the fence and a few seagulls soared above the playing fields. Blackbirds, sparrows and wrens were hidden. The only movement, fleetingly mistaken, was from fallen leaves. The garden birds may not have noticed the newly-filled feeder, or the strong winds hinder flight. The only one who came earlier to feed, but not to drink was a small brown and green bird dipping in and out of the hedge. It could have been either a marsh tit, or possibly a migratory goldcrest.
We are not going out if we can avoid it and are grateful for central heating, cups of tea and double glazing. Through the back patio windows we watch the daylight hours pass. If I were a painter or photographer I would take the sun from its rising through the birch trees to its setting in the west with the full moon glimpsed through the branches. I would make a print from the tracks of the blackbird in the snow, a figure of eight loop delicate as decoration on fine cloth or china. Being deficient in these crafts, I vow to add knitting to contemplation and fill my basket with useful squares.
We are not going out if we can avoid it and are grateful for central heating, cups of tea and double glazing. Through the back patio windows we watch the daylight hours pass. If I were a painter or photographer I would take the sun from its rising through the birch trees to its setting in the west with the full moon glimpsed through the branches. I would make a print from the tracks of the blackbird in the snow, a figure of eight loop delicate as decoration on fine cloth or china. Being deficient in these crafts, I vow to add knitting to contemplation and fill my basket with useful squares.
Tuesday 20 February 2018
Spider in the Shed
As the daylight hours are lengthening activity levels rise and so at the weekend my husband decided to tidy the shed so that in sunny periods he could sit there once more. I walked in to admire his efforts and caught sight of one of the biggest native spiders I have ever seen scuttling for shelter from whence it had been displaced.
I experienced two instantaneous reactions and I was surprised to find that I was ashamed of the first - a visceral response to spiders. It was not the manner in which were were brought up.
We were taught to overcome an innate repulsion for 'creepy crawlies'. We were encouraged to pick up worms and feel their bristly movements across our palms. We cupped spiders in our hands. Looping caterpillars dropped on threads from hawthorn twigs and we watched them gyrate towards us. Locusts once came home from the school biology lab to our greenhouse for the summer holidays, stick insects in large sweet jars ate our privet, excreted and reproduced. Twilight moths were captured in Woodbank Park.
This was our heritage, an invertebrate and entomological childhood. When I next come across a spider I may start with fear and curiosity. May curiosity prevail.
I experienced two instantaneous reactions and I was surprised to find that I was ashamed of the first - a visceral response to spiders. It was not the manner in which were were brought up.
We were taught to overcome an innate repulsion for 'creepy crawlies'. We were encouraged to pick up worms and feel their bristly movements across our palms. We cupped spiders in our hands. Looping caterpillars dropped on threads from hawthorn twigs and we watched them gyrate towards us. Locusts once came home from the school biology lab to our greenhouse for the summer holidays, stick insects in large sweet jars ate our privet, excreted and reproduced. Twilight moths were captured in Woodbank Park.
This was our heritage, an invertebrate and entomological childhood. When I next come across a spider I may start with fear and curiosity. May curiosity prevail.
Saturday 17 February 2018
Overwintering
Overwintering: the process, according to the dictionary, whereby animals, insects and plants live through the winter. Or not, as the case may be.
This was the week we checked on the geraniums in our unheated greenhouse. After the first spell of bad weather my husband cut them right back. This week he decided to put them into a home-made structure, something like a cold frame, to shield them from further exposure to low temperatures. Unfortunately only two plants out of our summer display have survived. The jasmine however, a native of the Azores, is still with us.
As are the daffodils in our pots at the front. We planted them in the long front bed and were disappointed in the spring of 2017 to see that less than a third were blooming. We dug up the unproductive ones, dried them out and stored them in the garage until the autumn. Now I am very gratified to see that at least three out of the four bulbs in each pot have flower buds. Truth to tell, they were the cheapest economy sack in the superstore, itself going through rather heavy weather at present. It takes more than one season for some things to come good.
Other bulbs and spring flowering plants are doing well. The iris that were new home presents and birthday presents, the snowdrops, the naturalised hyacinths surplus to requirements from my family, our new tulips secured by squirrel-proof netting, the white heather from the aforementioned unlucky superstore are all doing well. The only other casualties of the prolonged wet and cold have been the cyclamen and a variegated mint that I culled beyond recovery.
We may have snow in the offing, but our period of overwintering is slowly coming to an end.
This was the week we checked on the geraniums in our unheated greenhouse. After the first spell of bad weather my husband cut them right back. This week he decided to put them into a home-made structure, something like a cold frame, to shield them from further exposure to low temperatures. Unfortunately only two plants out of our summer display have survived. The jasmine however, a native of the Azores, is still with us.
As are the daffodils in our pots at the front. We planted them in the long front bed and were disappointed in the spring of 2017 to see that less than a third were blooming. We dug up the unproductive ones, dried them out and stored them in the garage until the autumn. Now I am very gratified to see that at least three out of the four bulbs in each pot have flower buds. Truth to tell, they were the cheapest economy sack in the superstore, itself going through rather heavy weather at present. It takes more than one season for some things to come good.
Other bulbs and spring flowering plants are doing well. The iris that were new home presents and birthday presents, the snowdrops, the naturalised hyacinths surplus to requirements from my family, our new tulips secured by squirrel-proof netting, the white heather from the aforementioned unlucky superstore are all doing well. The only other casualties of the prolonged wet and cold have been the cyclamen and a variegated mint that I culled beyond recovery.
We may have snow in the offing, but our period of overwintering is slowly coming to an end.
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