Finally time to write!

Finding time to write has been difficult recently, but work continues apace down at the allotments. I am motivated to write having just finished making a batch of fresh leek and potato soup, made from two crops that have fared very differently this year.

First of all, I am pleased to report that the leeks have been very successful, in size at least, they are a bit rusty again but that doesn't really affect the eating quality. Last year's were like pencils, these are proper leeks. The variety was 'Porvite' and they have come up nicely. Still not quite as good as I'd hoped, but I blame the long dry spell in August and September this year for stressing out my crops. I have tried a tip, which was to coat the tiny spots of rust with vaseline when they first appear, this stops the fungal spores from spreading. I can confirm that this doesn't work at all. I remember being impressed when I saw my neighbour harvesting his leeks when I first started, now I've got some to match. The smell, in particular, is amazing.

Potatoes have been terrible this year. I grew three varieties and had really small crops from all three. I mean, really small - only two or three potatoes under each plant, when I would expect a good bag full. I tried a 'heritage' variety, with dark blue skin and creamy white flesh, called Mr Little's Yetholm Gypsy. They plants grew well but the potatoes were small and knobbly, meaning that by the time you've peeled them and cut out all the bad bits, you've not got much left. Now I know why people stopped growing heritage varieties. I have still had some success with Sarpo Mira, thankfully enough to make my soup.

New pictures

Time for some pictures from the plot which have been lacking whilst I worked out how to use my new phone. Here is my beautifully painted shed, along with the Moog looking wistfully at nothing in particular, and my new Summer Ball courgettes which are more exciting than the usual green variety.

Weeds for Sale

Some wild flowers and plants are very beautiful, but I'd draw the line at deliberately introducing the invasive ones into a cultivated plot or garden. Not so for everyone, it seems.

My eye was drawn to a very overgrown looking area in my local garden centre the other day. 'That looks like weeds,' I thought. On taking a closer look, not only were they weeds, but they were for sale! I nearly dialled 999, Mrs Moog Keeper had to drag me away. They were in packs of six for £10, including teasel, creeping buttercup and other nasties. What were they thinking of, I wondered. "Wild Meadow Flowers" was the answer on the label! Ha! Weeds! I wasn't surprised to see they didn't seem to be selling very quickly.

Well, please do not rush out and buy a pack, I can offer FREE OF CHARGE any weed you like, fresh and organically grown direct from my plot! Please do come down and you can pick your own, if you want to. Then you too can be over-run forevermore with the damn things.

Beans, lots of beans, lots of beans...

I thought I would take a few moments to extol the virtues of growing your own broad beans.

Like me, you may have a pathalogical distrust of broad beans, no doubt suffering from the same post-traumatic stress disorder after being fed those horrible, grey, leather-coated blobs of yuk from the freezer compartment. However, last autumn, still high on the excitement of the summer harvest, I took the plunge and planted a packet of "Aquadulce" overwintering broad beans. Overwintering means exactly what it says, they survive the winter to give you an early crop. Behind a chicken wire fence they were safe from marauding bunnies and they shrugged off the worst snowfall for 20 years, to give a little cheer in the dark winter months.

You get several crops for your money; pinch out the tips of the plants when they reach a decent size, have them in salads; stir fry the immature pods; then, before long, we have beans, lots of beans, lots of beans lots of beans, just like the cow who was disappeared by Magical Trevor:
www.weebls-stuff.com/toons/magical+trevor/

This is the best bit: They taste nice! Steamed for a couple of minutes they taste sweet and fresh, in fact a bit like peas, rather than the grey powdery things of my youth. Finally, because they are legumes, they will fix lots of nitrogen into the soil, via the little white nodules on their roots, so they help the next plants along as well.

So, with this sort of four-way payout from the humble broad bean, it would be hard not to be converted. Moog doesn't really like them, he just gives me his forlorn "hey, this isn't food" face; I don't know, it's hard to tell what he's thinking these days, especially as he's gone stone deaf since this time last year.

Whooosh... brum brumm.

Oops. Whoosh, there goes April. And most of May. Time flies...

The grass and weeds are growing like crazy, and I spent far too much of my time last year mowing grass. So I decided to procure mechanical assistance. Item 1, petrol strimmer. After a few false starts this proved to be a lot better than my old battery powered one, no surprises there. Grateful thanks to Wise Mike for the gift. I have to say it is the noisiest thing I have heard for a long time, and have to wear ear defenders just to look at it. Brumm, brum! Or, WAAAAAAAAAAAGH more like.

Item 2, petrol lawnmower (oops, whooosh, there goes my carbon footprint). This came from someone else called Mike, and I haven't tried it yet. It is the sort that goes along by itself so I can't help being a bit worried about careering over all my crops by mistake. We'll see what happens. Long grass beware! Here I come! Poop! Poop!*

*(that's a Mr Toad reference in case you didn't get it)

No mention of April should go by without mentioning my wonderful wife, who as a birthday gift painted my whole shed, and provided me with all sorts of domestic items to keep in it, like cups, washing up liquid etc. and a box to keep it all in. A merry little scarecrow is also now standing outside. I was particularly impressed yesterday to find a jar of instant hot chocolate, so I had a cup whilst waiting for a long rainstorm to pass.

Time is an illusion

Over the weekend I was accused by a friend of being old before my time. Judging by my screaming back muscles after an afternoon of digging the plot on Sunday, I wondered if he wasn’t far off the mark.

But what does old, or indeed time, actually mean? I’m reminded of a Douglas Adams quote: Time is an illusion; lunchtime, doubly so.”

For example, time is dilated for the young. My five-year old niece was bitterly disappointed that the seeds she had chosen in the garden centre didn’t germinate overnight. Then, a week later, when called in to see the magical little seedlings starting to sprout, she was still disappointed, if not completely indifferent to them. I suppose from her perspective, she’s got a point. After all, seedlings look nothing like the picture on the packet, and nothing like the ranks of perfect nursery-grown plants on sale, either. With only tales of the magic beanstalk to base her knowledge of seeds on, she can’t be expected to think long-term.

There was a time when I lived for the moment, too. I still do in some ways, preferring not to let words like ‘pension’ or ‘savings’ tarnish an otherwise good day, but in other ways my age is showing. I used to drink to get drunk, and hang the consequences. Now, I’m ever so careful not to get a hangover. I just can’t stand losing a whole day.

So, I wondered what had caused the change, and if gardening really had made me old before my time. I certainly can’t take things one day at a time any more. How could I? If I didn’t prepare things last autumn, I’d have no garlic this summer. If I didn’t order my potatoes in time, I wouldn’t get to choose the varieties I grow. If I didn’t take the time to dry my onions… the list goes on. In fact, as my hard-working wife will attest, I spend more time wandering up and down the plot, with a crumpled plan waving in the breeze, than I ever spend weeding or digging.

But I’ve decided I’m not old, and gardening is not to blame, because it’s all about the anticipation. From the first moment of putting those seeds in the ground, I’m like a five-year old again, willing them to grow overnight, and wondering what they’re going to look like in the morning.

“Youth is wasted on the young.” – George Bernard Shaw

Now, where’s my flat cap?

Even more free stuff, and wee.

Arriving just too late for my Free Stuff post were about 12 paving slabs, gratefully received from another colleague at work, which will be used as a patio for The Moog to sun himself on. I say 'about 12' because they were so heavy I have lost the power to count over 10.

Next was some free compost activator. Well, wee actually. Sorry, I have to mention this, as Mrs Moog Keeper was horrified that, not to go into too much detail, I had decided to produce my own nitrogen-rich fertiliser. To prove I didn't make it up, here is a quote from The Allotment Keeper's Handbook (not to be confused with the Moog-keeper) p.170:

"...include some human urine to boost nitrogen levels. Yes, you did read that last sentence correctly. Your pee is a high-nutrient treat for your heap, virtually sterile and not in short supply."

Perrone, J. (2007) The Allotment Keeper's Handbook, London, Atlantic Books.

I told you it was true.