Slow Gardening

In these times I am grateful for our garden and as long as the sunshine lasts I shall be out there practising slow gardening.  I noticed as we went on our exercise walk yesterday that people had mowed their front lawns, as my husband has out back.  Once you have cut the grass - what next?

On Monday I got out our seed box and we worked out what needed to wait until the weather warmed up.  On our windowsill under a cover we have broad beans.  These we sowed last week and they are germinating.  Every morning we look to see if another little green bump is preceding an emerging shoot.

I thought I would do salad in our salad crib.  D our neighbour very kindly passed over some more surplus plastic from his conservatory roof before this emergency started.  So under this cover have gone radish, garlic chives, lettuce Little Gem and our own rocket.  I found that I had slowed down and was taking more care.  I wore gloves.  (This is unusual for me because formerly I loved to get my hands in the soil.) I read the instructions and scattered more thinly than before (Usually I am quite quick and maybe a little over-generous with amounts.)  Then my husband watered and I covered with D's plastic.  

Into the shed to sow some old seed we were given (Aquilegia) from 2016.  This grows in our borders anyway but worth a try.  I shall not be putting it in the freezer first as our shed gets cold when the sun goes down.  

And that is it for today's tasks.  Tomorrow  I shall feed all our fruit bushes and our apple trees, again following the instructions to the letter.  And when this is over D will have the rhubarb I promised him last year, over the fence.

Fallen Trees

This first week in March has been cold and sunny without the heavy, incessant rain we have suffered for a long time.  So time to pull on the trainers and go for a walk.  Two walks of an hour's duration in different places led me to reflect on fallen trees.

Rain has loosened the roots of many trees along the hillsides and footpaths of our neighbourhood and it was instructive to see how they fell.  In managed woodland, such as this afternoon's ramble, trees are hauled off the paths and laid neatly down, or piled up in bug havens.  Pink spots indicated trees deemed a risk in need of felling.  Moss takes hold on fallen trunks making them look like green pillars.   Fungus flourishes, one such a bright red that I mistook it for a discarded crisp packet. 

Before the winter storms began the volunteers had shored up the banks of the stream with stout timbers and replaced all the bridges, of which there are quite a few.  Part of the charm of this walk is following the bends and criss-crossing the little bridges.  At times it felt like some former landscaped estate, though without the omnipresent rhododendrons.  

Our first walk this week provided the contrast.  We passed under an 'echoey' railway bridge, the kind we loved as children, decorated with several graffiti, one with eyes, warning us to 'look behind you'.  Behind us was the managed area where volunteers 'balsam bash', hold communal picnics by the football pitches and fund raise.  In front was an area under local authority inspection but friendless.  

We passed at a distance, three persons in hi-vis jackets, one with a clipboard taking notes.  All three of the bridges that led across to the old golf course were beginning to rot and had been boarded up on both sides. The watercourse, a gentle stream at most times of the year was eroding the banks and had taken the sandy soil leaving little coves where tree roots dangled - another storm and no doubt they will succumb.  Some trees had already fallen across the water and right at the end of the walk before we retraced our steps the largest one we encountered was across the path and we ducked to get under. 

On the way back I noticed how many of the crowns of the mature trees were beginning to die.