Prologue to 2020

January 2020 marks five years since I celebrated my birthday with old friends and family and new neighbours.  It is fifteen years since we travelled down to London with our much loved allotments in store for us at the foot of the Mount.

Looking back, it is twenty years since, as mature students at the University of Essex, we were aware of speculation that the 'Millennium Bug' would disrupt connections world wide. Thankfully the computer 'melt-down' that many feared was avoided and we remained connected, via the internet and face to face.

Connections make a great difference to my active retirement as I now await the State Pension.  Where once I was part of a diverse group of growers , I am currently more likely to be found at the library with its host of community activities.  I have started knitting, facilitate a book club, am about to join a poetry appreciation group, found myself on committee (not a major role, but it all helps), sing in harmony with my husband for an older persons group, play duets, am revising my Latin (thanks to the University of the Third Age), not to mention many and various duties at church.  

Some of my best moments are still out in the fresh air gardening alongside my husband.  But with a reputable store and other shops nearby, the need has diminished. I no longer feel that we quite literally have to 'eat the fruit of the labour of our hands'. Having said that, our small freezer is packed with last summer's raspberries, blackcurrants, blackberry and apple puree and runner beans.

I once hoped that we could do some voluntary work on a sustainable lifestyle based around 'growing your own', and also walking or cycling where possible, caring for our wildlife, reducing our use of plastic and all the other laudable small actions that remain to us in this rapidly changing world.  Perhaps it is better to post about this.  So that is what I shall continue to do alongside and including my observations on all the enjoyable activities that make up our life in the County Palatine.

May I wish you all a happy and healthy 2020.

Bank Holiday Scenes at Bretherton and Brockholes

We spent a convivial afternoon with family on Sunday exploring gardens open to the public under the NGS.  We paid £5.00 each for entrance and additionally for refreshments knowing that, although the tea came in a rather miserly amounts, the proceeds were all going to charity.  

Most of the visitors were a decade or so older than us and still active and knowledgeable.  We saw ponds, water features, veggie plots, shade gardens and sunny spots.  We finished the tour at the former smallholding that gets our vote for the best garden.  Here a field at the rear was being replanted as native woodland.  We sat down beside a damson tree and looked through a gap in the boundary to sheep grazing and Winter Hill in the distance.  The wind moved among the willow trees.  

After stopping for the aforementioned refreshments, it was a warm walk back to the car and a drive of ten miles either way to our respective homes.

Monday's weather was initially cloudy and cool, so we got out our bikes and set off for Brockholes, a local nature reserve built around excavations close to the river and to the motorway.  Entrance is free for bikes and £5.00 for cars.  This charge is assigned to the upkeep of many acres of wetlands and woodlands.  I wore a helmet for the first time, as promised, and rode a mountain bike that had belonged to my niece.  The route was largely on dedicated cycle paths and our city's cyclists were out in numbers.

We arrived at Brockholes' 'floating village' by lunch time and ate our sandwiches and cake.  The majority of the visitors were a generation or more younger than us, except for those frailer ones being escorted by their families.  Small children were drawn to the ducks and the ducks were drawn to the visitors in the hope of a snack, although, as the notices reminded us, bread is a most unsuitable food for wild fowl.

I drank my home-made 'energy drink', we shared our coffee from the flask and although tempted by the ice-cream remounted our bikes for the trip home.

The steep sides of the wood were as challenging on the ascent as the descent and I had to slow my steps considerably in order to gain the top.  Then we circled back via a former railway line, a linear park by a brook and the boundary of the golf course to reach our starting point on the Guild Wheel.  The sun came out and it was extremely warm under the helmet.   We had made a circuit of approximately ten miles.  

The sad postscript comes from this morning when we noticed a hearse and funeral car proceeding down our avenue. This is not uncommon here.  These vehicles stopped out of our sight but when we saw them on their return to the junction we noticed that a whole phalanx of cyclists, in their club colours, were acting as escorts for this final journey on earth.

Carrots under covers

We celebrated part one of my husband's birthday with a local trip out.  In years gone by we would have ventured north - Arnside is a particular favourite - but this August the weather has been so wet and indeterminate, autumnal and blustery, that we went south as recommended to the Ribble estuary and true to my usual navigational habits described a circuit from Tarleton to Banks returning via the Shore Road to Hesketh Bank.  We will do the four mile heritage walk at a later time and perhaps I will post the history of the now disused railway, the brickworks and the harbour on the Douglas.

As we drove on raised narrow causeways above the former marshlands there was some evidence of the heavy and unseasonable rainfall bearing out what we had heard on local radio that farmers were having problems harvesting their salad crops and also re-sowing. We know a family who farm at Hesketh Bank and it has been a difficult year for them.  

Fortunately it is not a matter of economic life or death for us that our runner beans, for example, are approximately a month late but the experience of adverse weather connects us to those whose lives are bound up with the soil both at home and abroad.

In the meantime we have sown carrots.  Carrot Autumn King was on sale at the local bargain store for 10p along with Little Gem lettuce.  A bargain too good to miss.  My husband has covered the raised bed with a cut down roofing panel that our neighbours donated a couple of years ago. Warm under this the inundated carrot seed, intersown with last year's Spring Onions is at last beginning to germinate.  With a fair September we may hope for an autumn harvest.

New Cuttings

We have just made some new friends from south of the river.  As soon as we found their home we could see they were keen gardeners.  Our friendship is blossoming with the exchange of fresh cuttings.  So far we have presented a primrose/cowslip (from the supermarket, but it really was a good and healthy specimen) and one of the pinks my husband has propagated with a lovely scent ('Memories').  They in return have provided some tomatoes further ahead than our own, chives, a small hydrangea and two plants I forgot to identify which are now establishing themselves in pots by our porch.  We also both enjoy cut flowers and came back last night with sweet peas to complement our first summer red rose.

Cuttings are delicate at this early stage.  One of the ways to establish a  friendship is to know how to offer, receive and decline.  They already have plenty of golden thyme and golden oregano and have said so. 

Cuttings and competition do not mix.  We cannot match a plant every time we meet.  So as long as we give what we can and receive with gratitude we shall do well.

Am I developing the habits of an older gardener?

At the weekend I found myself down on my knees pulling up clumps of forget-me-nots.  And I remembered we had a customer who liked us to do this before they had quite finished flowering.  So am I developing the habits of an older gardener?  Here is some evidence for and against.

• The forget-me-nots came out.  But so did a yellow flowered weed that would fill the borders if left unchecked.  The saddest thing I have observed in a very elderly customer was a desire to convert her borders into lawn.  I remember us removing all her day lilies.  I pray that will never happen to us.
• The raspberries now occupy one of our raised bed sections along with three new raspberries from my family.  We tried to reconfigure the arrangements but it was not possible.  I concluded that after this year we do not have the space to grow broad beans.  However, the raspberries will not be permitted to spread any further.
• We have netted the kale and summer cabbage properly (I mean, of course, my husband has done this), after planting them to the correct space apart and thinning out weaker plants.  I no longer crowd plants into beds or have sympathy for 'borderline' seedlings.
• My husband has not mowed the lawn for some time.  This is the sign of an environmentally-friendly gardener not necessarily an older one.
• Likewise our hedge has grown taller but will be trimmed regularly once the nesting season is over. 

In conclusion I would say that priorities are changing from growing in bulk - our allotment experience - to growing selectively, growing well and, as always, growing with wildlife in mind.

PS  Since posting this I have decided not to allow the raspberries to spread into the raised bed.  Space is too precious.  So, reluctantly, out they all came to be replaced by a sowing of beet spinach.

PPS Netting the cabbage worked.  However, this season they failed to heart up properly so have been harvested for 'spring greens'.

Bumble Bees Under the Eaves

I have often blogged of my affection for bumble bees and the need to ensure their survival in a world of changing climate, insecticides and vanishing habitats.  We have never created a 'bee hotel' but now find ourselves hosting a 'bee hostel' as bumble bees have decided to nest this year outside our front door under the eaves of the porch.  Now they are in residence, buzzing in and out of what we presume is a gap in the woodwork.

Of course we can't get rid of them or remove them to another location.  They do not sting.  It is handy to have them close by to pollinate our fruit and vegetables; they appear to have gone for this option rather than the opening of the kitchen extractor fan, which is a relief; and they stay several feet above our heads circling and entering their nest and not causing annoyance to postmen or visitors.  

We are hoping for the best as regards this entry crevice, but will not be investigating further until they have all gone over the winter.  Then I think it will be appropriate to get the old bird box out of the shed and fix it somewhere enticing.  Our birds nest in the hedge.  Our bees are welcome close to the house, but not actually in it.  

Japanese Maples

Some local friends have given us two Japanese Maples, or Acers as they are now more commonly known.  These were not the cute little yellow offerings in pots in the foyer of the local superstore (although they started that way).  One had been dug up by our friend's husband and the other was dug out and greatly cut back by my husband who root pruned it in order to make it fit into a large container on our front patio.

For some weeks I felt it was touch and go.  The root pruned bushier one with delicate leaves was the first to recover and now is beginning to form buds on its solid branches which in time will fill and spread.  The second one, about three to four feet high, eventually responded and is now in leaf.  

Watching these new trees outside our front window made me much more aware of the surrounding sycamores in the road leading to ours.  These also have been hacked back, this time by the council, and yet here also the bright leaves are fanning out in the hedge, day by day.  

We would not normally take such drastic action on our acers but it seems that we have saved two out of three of the originals and although they will have to remain in pots they will retain something of their natural form and grace.

Clematis Broughton Star

I tackled the clematis last week in response to a comment from my family.  I hasten to add that the following is not set down for advice or emulation, but as an illustration of remodelling here at 'the avenue'.  

When we arrived in autumn 2014 the clematis was sprawling over half the fence and had tangled itself among the hawthorn in our wildlife hedge.  We cut it back quite drastically but it was still smothering a rather fragrant red rose and a small holly bush that also seemed to be propping it up.  Last week I finally managed to cut away the dead bits and release the rose which my husband is now training against the fence.  

This was a job best done when awake and alert.  As I got tired I got careless and a couple of live stems suffered as I failed to trace opening buds back to what appeared to be woody and dead offshoots.  I felt guilty and have fed the climber with a sprinkle of general purpose fertiliser in recompense.  Please do not copy me, I am fairly sure that the gardening books will inform you that this was the not the best way to be going about things.  However, cutting the dead bits back revealed that our clematis had not layered itself into the ground but came from an original site (close to the holly bush) and that on close inspection it was putting out buds from the thick and fibrous original stems.  

Our greatest gaffe with climbers was some ten years ago when visiting friends in Cardiff.  We volunteered to give a hand in the garden.  Happily clipping away at some tendrils we managed to sever their phone line.  Fortunately our friendship and the line were soon mended.

PS Since posting this I have read the May edition of the RHS magazine The Garden on pruning clematis montana the group to which Clematis Broughton Star belongs.  The time to do this is after it has flowered.  Its pink flowers are just beginning to open, so after that it will be time for a quick and minimal tidy and cutting back.

Lesser Celandine

Last week I saw my first celandine in the lane and I am scanning the wet woods and banks for more.  Celandines used to invade the damp lawns of our southern customers and for that reason were called a weed but for me they are a sure sign of warmer days.  This humble flower was a feature of our childhood walks where we were encouraged recognise and appreciate the flora and fauna (with optional Latin names).  

My favourite childhood early spring flower was the coltsfoot (Tussilago farfara - I confess I had to check that in Wildflowers in Colour, 1958); my mother's was the celandine.  She played on the banks of the River Bollin when the runways of Manchester Airport were still farmland and I imagine that the Cheshire ditches were full of them.

Wordsworth also celebrated the small celandine in a poem of 1803.  The verse is somewhat jog-trot but the sentiments are those of heartfelt relief at the promise of sunnier weather that the bright yellow celandine presages: 

Telling tales about the sun,
When we've little warmth, or none.

Wordsworth concludes his first stanza in a couplet that my mother used to quote and in affectionate memory of all her subsequent botanizing I finish with these lines:

There's a flower that shall be mine, 
'Tis the little Celandine."

How far can a carrot fly fly?

Spring is on the way and it is time to prepare for the next season.  So today I removed the remaining, rather woody, carrots from the planter and my husband tipped all the sandy soil it contained on to our raised beds.  I took the bundle of carrots indoors to prepare them for a bean casserole.  

A quick quality check gave me about 800 grams of usable 'seconds' carrots for the fridge and 450 grams for immediate use.  However, by the time I had cleaned and peeled these 'thirds' I had discarded about 150 grams thanks to the burrowing activities of carrot fly.  

This set me pondering on one local question and one international topic. The first is how far can a carrot fly fly?  We live behind a playing field that was formerly pasture land as our oldest neighbour remembers.  This is not a good area for carrots - far too much clay.  Our nearest allotments are a good thirty minutes walk away.  The sand for the planter came from my family.  Their garden is constructed on top of sand left behind when the coastal marshes expanded and the shoreline retreated.  Carrots thrive in these conditions, but their garden is primarily ornamental. 

My husband has a theory that the carrot flies did not commute from the coast.  They were living locally on some wild relation of the carrot and moved to our garden, despite my companion planting, when they scented a better option. 

The big international topic is the drastic global insect decline reported earlier this week.  That needs much more space that I can offer here.   The supermarket 'seconds' vegetables look more regular than mine and the organic carrots seem blemish free.  How have the farmers achieved this and how much pesticide have they expended?  What are the long-term effects on insect populations?  Somehow a balance needs to be struck.

Light on Salford Quays

Yesterday I had the good fortune to be invited to join a trip to the L S Lowry complex.  The five of us arrived in good time and entered the gallery just in time for the midday guided tour.  After lunch we went down to the waterside, to observe Salford's post-industrial architecture and people.  T, at my request, captured a shot with a seagull behind me over the Quays. The sun shone in a clear blue sky which could have been Mediterranean were it not for the cold wind.  We got home resolving to make this the first of many trips.  

This afternoon it is snowing out of what used to be called a leaden sky.  L S Lowry's sky, I learned, is a dull white to highlight his hurrying and lonely figures, which I also saw for the first time have no shadows.  Most of his landscapes are a composite of his industrial surroundings and have been described as dreamlike, bounded by a wall or feature in the foreground to separate them from the viewer.

The landscapes we drove through on the journey south were familiar and beloved.  There was Winter Hill with the television transmission masts and Lord Leverhulme's dovecote.  Bolton Wanderers football stadium came into view (Lowry painted the old one at Burnden), then the hills towards Ramsbottom with another monument and as we turned left for Salford before the descent to the Quays there were the hills of my childhood along the border with the Peak District.  On the return journey as the ground rose, there to our right were Longridge, Pendle beyond, and the fells of the Forest of Bowland to the north.  Y's satnav marked each twist and turn and gave us the diagrammatic view - over there, though invisible to us was Leeds.

When I sleep I dream of these hills - symbolic places that I do not always know how to interpret.  When I am awake I am glad of light, landscape, and companions on the road.

Garden and Garage Gym

Some weeks before the New Year my family introduced the topic of exercising for a healthy heart.  Challenged, I managed 50 skips in the dining room with a borrowed rope.  I stopped because I was out of breath.  We used to love skipping as children, I was reminded.  I also loved stilts, roller skating and reaching 100 on a pogo stick even though this latter activity gave me blisters on the palms of my hands.  

And now I have turned 64.  I came home with the skipping rope on loan and chose two places to skip.  The first is the patio where I face the blackcurrant bushes by the wall and the snowdrops that are emerging at their bases.  Every day that I skip I can see that the snowdrops have grown by small amounts.  And every day I aim to add five or more to each set.  I started with three sets of 50 interspersed with some simple stretching exercises and this seems to be progressing well.  

On cold and rainy days I skip in the garage in a space kindly cleared by my husband.  This does not afford quite as inspiring a view as the patio.  In the foreground to the right are four bins -glass and tins, paper and cardboard, non-recyclables and garden waste and to my left various garden ladders, old painting garments and some of the stuff that finds a resting place in the garage on the way to the council tip.

As I count I focus my attention down the garden along the line of fruit bushes, or look in detail at a fallen leaf on our garage floor and keep the rope turning.  I have never wanted to jog, a long-legged cousin took me and once was enough, but as I keep skipping I wonder if this is what runners sense challenging the reluctant muscles, feeling the slow improvement, observing the ever changing view. 

Bird Feeder Observations

Last week I was scattering crumbs for the blackbirds from the kitchen steps and my husband was whistling to call them closer.  This week after I saw frost covering the lawn and ice hardening the flowerbeds there is a newly reinstated bird feeder.  The blackbirds soon began to fly up and perch, flapped to balance, pecked at the contents to dislodge fat and seeds. They have remembered this strategy from last year, but are still optimistic whenever I open the back door and they eye me, head tipped to one side, from the fence. 

The next birds at the feeder were the robins.  This surprised me as I would have expected them to be in first.  Third in line were the sparrows, popping out of the hedge one or two at a time.  No problems with balance there.  The woodpigeon watched from the shed roof but was unable to land on it so contented itself with waddling on the grass picking up bits.  One starling appeared, but the rest of the flock were right over the field whistling in the poplars and so far they have not come to investigate.  The squirrel bobbed past, but responding to gesticulations from my husband disappeared into the park.  The doves were shy, but will return.  The bluetits, coaltits and long-tailed tits are keeping themselves high in the birch trees, but may come down in time.  The wren is hidden in the shrubs, the magpies and jackdaws cackle from the chimney pots, and as seagulls circle over the turf,  the predatory kestrel is a distant memory.

Four seasons in one vase

Following my Christmas post I start the New Year with a decoration that has outlasted the festive season.  Last year we did a small gardening task at church.  The rose hips we also took for free were bright globes of orange.  I had seen hips used like this in a craft fair we visited.  I had an almost identical glazed jug rescued from a collection of pots and pans put out for takers back on our old avenue. (Not a custom I have observed on this one.)  I added eucalyptus, with holly and ivy to represent autumn and winter.  Our Golden Showers rose was still blooming up to Christmas so a bud went in for summer.  Lastly I noted that the shrubs and trees on one of our January walks had received their usual 'haircut' from the flailing machine.  So I salvaged hazel catkins and willow buds which are just showing a touch of white in readiness for the spring which seems to arrive earlier each year.

My best moment was when our rosebud opened and a token of summer fragrance to come entered the place where we sit.