30 Mar 2016

Lashings of tea, books and rain


As Bank Holiday Mondays go, this week's was fairly typical - lashing rain and lots of it.  Despite promises of a dry day, I woke up to the sound of wind whistling through the double glazing and rain being hurled against the window panes.  Just another stormy spring day in England.  Obviously the sensible course of action was to make a huge mug of tea, collect up my notebook and pencil, seed catalogues and gardening books and retire back to the sanctum of my bed to spend the morning in my pyjamas planning my seed order for this year.  Pretty much the perfect morning, actually.

For this pleasant interlude I pulled 'The Great Vegetable Plot', 'A Taste of the Unexpected' and 'Grow for Flavour' off the shelves and worked through them. I was particularly absorbed in reading The Great Veg Plot - a book I've had for many years but haven't read it for quite a while - shame on me because I found the author's reasoning for choosing what to grow quite illuminating. (Note: I would recommend this book for beginner growers; it's readable, inspirational and instructive.)

You'd think after growing food for quite a few years now that I'd pretty much have the seed list off pat, but I like to remain open to new possibilities.  I have limited space so it's essential to make sure that I'm using it well by growing the best tasting veg plus a few unusual new tastes. (And last year my tomatoes were a disaster so I'm grabbing the opportunity to try something different.)

By the end of my leisurely morning, I was well on the way to creating a (very long) list of seeds to buy. First, I considered the three categories of plants in The Great Veg Plot - Freshly Picked, Un-buyables and Desert Island picks. Interesting, huh?  The first two groups are surely the reason why anyone would want to grow their own, however small the available space. And the last group clarified my thinking quite effectively.

So what would you put into the freshly picked category?  I'd definitely put crunchy mange-tout, baby climbing beans, sun warmed tomatoes, salad leaves and young podded broad beans. These are all veg I love to snack on as I wander the garden in the summer.  Peas too when I remember to grow them. And Cape Gooseberries are so much nicer eaten straight from the bush - mine grows as a perennial.

With the storm still raging outside, I turned my thoughts to the 'Un-buyables'. What's interesting about these is that since the book's publication in 2005, a lot of the veg covered in this section are now available in selected supermarkets. So no longer un-buyable, but possibly hard to get. But shouldn't we also think about the days and miles between harvest and sale?  Veg such as globe artichokes, asparagus, edible flowers, pea tips and some of the more unusual squashes and beetroot are much nicer harvested at their freshest so perhaps these need moving to 'Better Grown than Bought' (I just made that up) rather than 'Un-Buyable'.

Karmazyn.
Un-buyables: Karmazyn beans sown earlier.
Superb flavour and seed readily available from Dobies, Chilterns, Suttons, Fothergills and More Veg
For my own un-buyables, my list would have to include rainbow chard, achocha, honeyberries (like blueberries), a rainbow of carrots, spaghetti squash, wild garlic and pink Karmazyn broad beans. (Incidentally, I came across a broad bean called 'Red Epicure' which stays red when steamed. Anyone tried these?)  I'm also growing Borlotti beans for the first time this year as my Cherokee Trail of Tears heritage beans of last summer were dismal. Each spring I hope for greater things!  I also checked into Mark Diacono's 'A Taste of the Unexpected' for inspiration here - and wished that my Chilean Guava of a couple of years ago had survived.

And lastly, Desert Island Plants - these are the must-haves, the plants that influence and enhance my cooking, that I take real pleasure in growing. Taking the name at face value, what would I absolutely have to have in my garden?  And if my choice was limited to just five plants, what would I choose?  Let's see - herbs, of course, such as parsley and thyme, raspberries, Cavolo kale and cape gooseberries. (That was hard - imagine life without chillies, pak choi, salad leaves and salad onions!)

But I still wasn't finished. Refreshing my mug of tea (and bringing a plate of toast back from the kitchen as well) I completed the indulgence by reading through my favourite seed catalogue, pen in hand, and circling all the seeds that appealed. Having noted these down in my book alongside the list of my perennial veg and the plan of the veg patch, I now have the onerous task of whittling down my list to fit the available space. Still, there's always pots and containers …

So, I'm intrigued - what would your top five Desert Island plants be - and do you grow any Un-Buyables that you'd recommend?  Tell all!  :o)



25 Mar 2016

A little chaos

March tulips

This year I'm being very relaxed about it all. Seed sowing, that is. Having successfully gambled on sowing sweet pea seeds into pots on my balcony in late November and a first flush of broad beans into trays in February, I've decided to mostly forego trays of seedlings on every windowsill in favour of sowing direct outdoors this year. Am I alone in becoming increasingly uncertain of when best to sow? One whiff of sunshine is enough to convince me that it would be okay to start a few seeds off, only to have my hopes dashed when that smidgeon of sun is replaced by days of bitingly cold winds - or worse, clear nights with frosty dawns.  For those who do succumb to a few trays of seeds on the windowsill, the jolly game of turn and turn again begins - unless you're fortunate in having light drenched living quarters or a greenhouse. (I don't.* see tip at end of post!)

It's hard to resist though, isn't it? All those seed catalogues seducing us with beautifully photographed packets of potential.  I restrain myself by knowing that there's never going to be enough space in the garden here for everything I want to grow so I'm making lists while biding my time before sowing. In previous years I've had windowsills stuffed with plants growing wildly etiolated weeks before the weather softened towards summer.  I've gone to the other extreme too and started my seed sowing as other bloggers wrote about how well their carefully nurtured plants were doing outside.  Undeniably, I have to acknowledge that spring is February to April; despite the appearance of daffodils and primroses, it's too cold at one end and possibly too wet and windy at the other - even with climate change.  A middle path is needed.

For me, that compromise has taken the form of sowing (yes, I succumbed) a few seeds indoors in early March to get slightly ahead of the game (tomatoes, chillies and a few grasses - all needing heat to get started) but for other spring sowings, I'm taking my cue from the tulips.  I know, bonkers. There is no scientific evidence to support this theory.  But while I've been raking, rebuilding and pruning, I've been keeping a close eye on what my bulbs and perennials are doing - and all the tulips have slowly produced buds with one or two ready to open. This is an early start for the tulips so I'm going to let nature lead the way. I've been in limbo since mid-March but once those bulbs are in bloom, that's my cue to start sowing, both outdoors and in.  The temperature could still drop but, I have to admit, this way holds more anticipation and excitement than checking the local weather forecast!

So, on this beautiful blue skies day (allegedly just the one for now), I'll be carrying on with a myriad of other garden jobs that need to be done - including transplanting self-sown seedlings and pondering how to prune the top of the pear trees which must be three times my height by now. There'll be time enough tomorrow (while it's raining) to go through my seed box and plan what to grow.

How's everyone else doing? Have you started off your annuals or will you, like me, wait a couple more weeks?

PS.  Frustrated gardeners might like to pay heed to the Higgledy Gardener in Cornwall who advises not to direct sow before mid-April, leaving a few mid-May sowings to extend the season even longer.  But even he will walk on the wild side occasionally - his commitment to provide borders in bloom at the Cornish Port Eliot festival at the end of July has necessitated an early sowing under cover (cloche, not greenhouse).


* In an attempt to even out the light source for my seedlings, I place a large sheet of white card between my windowsill seed trays and the darker room behind to reflect some of the window light back.  The lengths we go to, eh!


7 Mar 2016

Thrilling Times

… or should that be Telegraph?

I don't have an appropriate photo so here's a gratuitous image of
Erysimum 'Bowles' Mauve' about to flower in January


Thanks to the eagle eyes of Anna at Green Tapestry, I was alerted to a rather splendid bit of news yesterday. The Telegraph had published a piece called 'The gardening bloggers you should be following' and, to my amazement, the Urban Veg Patch got a mention!  Well, you could have knocked me over with a feather.

Of course, I was a bit player in a stellar cast - other blogs mentioned may be familiar: Rusty Duck blog written by Jessica, David Marsden aka The Anxious Gardener,  Jono Stevens writing at Real Men Sow and, to show we mere mortals are in excellent company, Tom Stuart-Smith, garden designer of renown.  I didn't know he even had a blog but will definitely be checking that out.  I met him last year and can tell you that he's a truly nice person.  And I mean that in the best possible sense of that rather overused adjective.

So.  I now find myself with new blogs to explore, including that of Compostwoman (what a great name!) and the Kitchen Garden blog of the article's author Francine Raymond.

Many thanks to Francine for her article and to everyone who has ever popped over to read my blog - your support is so much appreciated.  Cheers!

29 Feb 2016

Yellow flowers in a grey world



I've just been reading back through the comments left on my last post about my Dad and shedding a few more tears.  I was so moved by the shared experiences of others who had gone through the same thing and the messages of sympathy.  Thank you, everyone; your comments have touched my heart.

As expected, the funeral was very sad but a good many people came from all over the country to say last farewells. Despite the sombre occasion, it was good to catch up with old friends and family members who live far away - my father's cousin turned up with a treasure trove of past family history and old photos, a subject that I find fascinating especially as I've never managed to get further back than four generations. It's a sobering thought to know that I'll never be able to get either of my parents to tell stories about their lives again although I made frequent notes in the past - my mum loved to talk about her family and the tales she'd heard as a girl.

A week on and back in the garden I'm seeing lots of signs that spring has sprung - at least in my London microclimate. (The benefits of having nearby heated buildings!)  It's still cold but, my gosh, it's good to be spending the entire day outside again. As in, not getting rained on. Daffs are out, cowslips and primroses are out, snowdrops are still out and, yesterday, I spotted a tulip bud behind a lavender bush. Brave, but stupid. That flower might regret popping up so early if we have any more frosts; then again, I might be pleasantly surprised.



Leaves from last year's tulips are providing an overnight feast for snails and slugs (actually, the tulips are from the year before last - this is their third flowering!) Bog standard red pelargoniums are flowering now, after their third winter in the garden. (Yes, in the UK! Awesome.) When I picked them up for a couple of quid several years ago, I thought they'd be pot fillers for one summer. I'm guessing they're helped by being planted in the borders with a good root run rather than drying out in pots. That, and I deadhead regularly.

I'm trying to resist seed catalogues until I know how much space I've got.  That's a weird thing to say, given that the veg patch is now in it's seventh year but there's been changes afoot.  Half of my raised beds have rotted, allowing soil to seep onto the paths, so I've chucked them out. Rather than replacing them, I've created larger borders by edging the path with scaffolding planks.  I planned to grow lots of cut flowers this year alongside the veg and cleared a space for the purpose. But … we all know how nature abhors a vacuum and that area has quickly filled up with perennials and biennials that I've moved. I'm sure I could still squeeze in a few annuals though.

I dug up all the Autumn Bliss raspberries, an action that I'm not regretting in the slightest. (Tra-la-la!)  I've bought five more Polka canes which have been temporarily planted until I figure out the best place for them once I've finished the overhaul of the patch.  And the supermarket sweep has started already.  I'm such a sucker for a bargain.  I bought a blackberry cane for £2 last week and went back this week for a bush rose for the same price. (Next week: possibly 2 apple trees for £10! Woohoo!) It might seem weird adding a rose to the veg patch but my logic was twofold - one, I'll get beautiful scented long-stemmed deep pink roses for cutting (if the box is to be believed) and, two, the petals are edible and can be sugar frosted for cakes.  Roll on summer!

But there's more.  I've taken on another garden space, this time two floors down under my window.  This is going to be a major renovation project as there are hedges and shrubs to be brought under control, ivy to be cleared and ground to be dug and improved.  Thankfully it's not a huge space. So far I've only managed to prune a Kerria japonica. But I'm sure it will all be wonderful. Eventually.

This is where the project starts… the surrounding hedges are over 15 ft tall. 
Because I've embarked on this garden renovation project, I'm linking up with Helen's End of Month View over at her blog The Patient Gardener. With fair skies and a following wind, I should be able to chart the progress of the garden in the months to come.

16 Feb 2016

Coming up for air

Well, hello again. I stepped away from this blog unintentionally almost eight weeks ago and have found it blissfully easy to choose life over blogging in the interim.  It would be an easy habit to slip into.

Truth is, I find it easy to blog about the daily delights of the garden but when something of enormous significance is happening, my brain doesn't want to connect with my fingers. And that something is that my dad got ill just before Christmas Eve and died at the end of January.  He had to be hospitalised when his chest infection escalated into pneumonia and pleurisy but, in the last two weeks of his life, was reunited with my mum, the love of his life over six decades of blissful marriage.  As she has dementia, she hasn't fully understood that he's gone but I think that's a blessing, given the grief she would otherwise be experiencing.


Dad, Singapore, 1961

I've written in the past of my parents' dementia. My dad had a form of Alzheimer's which seemed to affect his co-ordination more than memory.  Although increasingly frail and unsteady, he remained welcoming and interested right up to mid December when he seemed to make up his mind that it was time to go. He was 84. He'd been moved into a care home in November as he could no longer look after himself; there, he was without my mum as she'd been taken into hospital. They'd been together for so long, propping each other up.  He'd accepted the move with his customary good grace but without her, what was the point? 

Dementia is a cruel disease, slowly stripping away the brain's essential functions.  My Dad recovered from lymphatic cancer at the turn of the millenium only to very slowly circle the edges of dementia, spiralling inwards until, in the last year, the illness steadily pulled him down into the vortex.  He was a loving father and husband to the end, always the polite gentleman.

The family has had a long time to watch the gradual living loss of our parents and, as such, the grieving process began months back.  I'm saddened by my dad's demise but not mourning; I still have my mum to think about.  My lovely dad had a wonderful life, full of love and laughter, travels and interests, family and friends and he found time for them all.  What more could anyone ask of our time on this earth?


Mum and Dad in happier times.


If you've read to the end of this post, thank you.  It not only explains my prolonged absence from blogging but has helped emotionally to be able to write about my dad's passing. His funeral is this Friday. Death comes to us all but life goes on and I'll be back soon with news of my winter gardening exploits and a new project that I'm involved in. They say gardening is the best therapy and I'd have to agree.

22 Dec 2015

The Reversal of the Sun


Last night, the skies cleared and, even here in well-lit urban London, there was a glorious bright moon and lots of glimmering stars to be seen.  It was an awesome portent of the solstice to come in the early hours of this morning.

Solstice translates as 'sun standing still' but it's a misnomer because the solstice defines the moment that the earth shifts so that the North Pole starts to tilt back towards the sun and our days lengthen in the Northern Hemisphere. For our Antipodean friends, the opposite is true - sorry, guys, your days are now getting shorter.  For any gardeners not bogged down in the more commercially oriented event of Christmas, there might be a frisson of excitement at the thought of our days slowly getting longer and lighter over the next few months. But I'm warned by my diary page for today ominously declaring: 'Winter Solstice. Winter begins.' Suddenly I have visions of Narnia's winter descending across the land. But without kindly Mr Tumnus.

The solstice was officially at 4.48 this morning although there would have been very little to see as sunrise wasn't (allegedly) until 8.05 a.m.  Although at Stonehenge in Wiltshire, it's the sunset that is more important in winter. Stonehenge, with standing stones reckoned to be over 5,000 years old, is a site sacred to neo-pagans who turn up to celebrate the solstice twice a year. Scientists believe that the site was originally a burial place for over 500 years before the stones were erected.  Whatever the truth, there's a powerful atmosphere there for a fanciful child.  I vividly recall walking among, and touching, the stones as a young child; my dad liked to take us kids off to see sites of cultural or historical interest (Dover Castle, Land's End, Magna Carta, the Round Table, etc).  Maybe I was a geeky kid (no response needed, thanks) but those visits have stayed with me and the stones, especially, wow, they exerted a powerful magic over my imagination.  At the time they weren't roped off.  Anyone could park up on the road and just walk around; you can't do that these days. I don't think we gave a lot of thought to the possibility of the stones toppling, despite evidence that some of them already had.

What is remarkable is that the solstice has been marked in many different cultures for hundreds of years. The winter solstice has always been an important event in the northern world; it was a day that marked the start of winter and a time for slaughtering cattle. In that way winter feed was saved and meat added to food stores over the coldest winter months. Our ancestors traditionally lit fires, told stories and generally hunkered down in the dark days of winter, cheered up by beer and wine brewed during the year that was then ready for drinking - a tradition carried on today by those (myself included) who prepare sloe gin or other festive treats from foraged, or home-grown, fruits.

I'm hoping that the solstice isn't going to be a harbinger of imminently plummeting temperatures.  Inevitably, they can't be far off but, for now, I'm revelling in milder conditions to get jobs done in the garden, usually just managing a couple of hours before darkness falls at 4 pm. We had lukewarm sunshine and temps of 60F on Sunday; if it had been February, we'd have been welcoming in an early spring.  Today was greyer, wetter and a lot windier but, waiting for a pause between gusts of wind, I managed to photograph a few of the plants still flowering to show how mild it is.  I have snowdrops in flower next to summer's bright red geraniums and calendula next to primulas. The echinacea is, admittedly, the last one for this year.






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