A bit chilly

The whole country has been stuck with sub-zero temperatures for a while now; no point in writing about that when so much has been written and said already (Google News returns over 5,500 articles on 'cold Britain') - the British obsession of talking about the weather knows no bounds when a couple of snowflakes arrive. I can stand the cold by wrapping up warm, and it can be a very pretty time of year, but it's the lack of daylight that really gets me.

As I haven't ventured out much lately, the kitchen scraps for the compost heap have been building  up at home, so I was forced to venture to the plot to empty the overflowing caddy. It was five degrees below zero on my car's thermometer so I didn't stop long.

Everything was covered in a thick frost except for the pile stable manure that the council have dumped near the entrance, which was gently steaming and adding to the mist. I did take a couple of barrows of the stuff but it is mainly straw and wood shavings - the latter I have been warned not to use as soil improver as they actually decrease the nutrients available to plants while they rot.

I took the opportunity to retreive some more parsnips. Being so large I have only used a couple of them so far this winter, leaving plenty left for Christmas dinner. I expected the ground to be frozen like concrete but was pleasantly surprised to find there was just a thin frozen crust. Underneath it was, well, just soil. I turned a couple of spades over so the local robin red breast could have a go at finding some worms, then made my way home to defrost with a cup of cocoa.

Plotting changes

I think it is fair to say I'm not the only person who is fed up with the snow. I've been itching to get out on the plot and do something, and have been using the cold snap to do some head-scratching, ably assisted by the commonsense-rich Mrs Moog Keeper.

I had a fairly poor season last year, with swede, radish, peas, potatoes and carrots all doing badly. Mrs Moog Keeper was the first to spot the obvious dividing line, with one half of the plot doing well and the other badly. I think there are two explanations, both equally plausible. These are: (a) it has never really been worked very much at all, the natural soil is poor and everyone who's used it in the past has given up; or (b) it has been over-worked, the soil is exhausted of nutrients and there is a build-up of pests and diseases. I think this second explanation is more likely, and it makes me feel better, because it means it's not my fault.

To combat this poor performance we've decided to have a bit of a shuffle around. The poorest beds will become, variously, a storage area, compost heap, and rough lawn; this will then free up some space on the other side of the plot which I haven't worked before. Time will tell if the soil under there is any good. It will also mean I concentrate my efforts on the more productive side of the plot, with the aim of improving both crop yields and morale in equal measures.

Moog thinks all this is an excellent idea, but then, as we know, Moogs can't think. He's probably a bit spaced out from eating raw potatoes, anyway.

Insert snow-based pun here.

Well there's nothing I can do outside this week, with Broken Britain in the grip of Arctic snows.
I popped down after the first dusting of white stuff on Monday to take some photos of plot 29, but it's not really very picturesque at Stacey Hill. I thought the old farm machinery in the museum yard next door looked quite forlorn, so I took pictures of that instead.