The season of beans and beams
It has felt like a busy few weeks. This week, I made it be different. Stiller. Slower. I cancelled a few things and accepted that I was probably going to spend at least some of the week washing dog towels now the rain has arrived. This week’s entries may therefore be a little more pedestrian, but I hope no less joyful for that.
Monday 18 October
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I wake to mist and murk. Thick, milky, soft mist, obscuring the hill and swirling around the trees in the orchard. The cobwebs between the dahlias are covered in droplets of water. The sun burns through as we watch.
Tuesday 19 October
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A day in the greenhouse. The clearing of old pots and the pricking out of new seedlings. After the failure of my outdoor beds of winter leaves (a rather lethal combination of sunbathing dogs and ravenous slugs) I am taking no chances. Pots on the staging in the greenhouse, inspected daily for signs of being nibbled. The sun is out and the sky is blue. Unseasonably hot.
Wednesday 19 October
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As if to tick all the weather boxes in a week, thunder and lightning as the day dawns. It passes quickly and I drive to Axminster, moving my seeds to Collate (Naomi is going to be responsible for posting out orders from now on. Given my actual direct retail experience is a sum total of playing shops when I was eight years old, this is a great relief and makes a lot of sense.) I celebrate with a long walk in the balmy evening. The heavens open halfway around and we are all utterly drenched.
L: Stacking my boxes of seeds in the Collate storeroom.
R: Wonderful things in the Collate shop.
Thursday 21 October
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Erin of Floret is a bad influence. I do not need any more dahlias at all, I really don’t, but she has led me down the path of seed collecting. My absolute favourite of this year, Bryn Terfel, a mad twirly dinnerplate, has set seed and I collect them very carefully indeed. Full instructions over on Gather on the blog this morning.
Saturday 23 October
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In a week of stillness, a day of activity. The joists for the kitchen have been removed, rebuilt and are now being put back in. Absolutely everyone who saw it said we should have a double height kitchen with shelves of jars and bottles all the way up the under the thatch and ladder like a library of Pinterest. We aren’t; we don’t have enough rooms to sacrifice a whole one, even for a really good photo.
Sunday 24 October
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The great bean harvest of 2021. The sun fed these beans and now these beans will feed me. These are Bridgwater, a local form of the borlotti, and every single one is as beautiful as a speckled egg. Six plants have given 817g of dried beans and take me the best part of the afternoon to pod. The same number of plants of bonne bouche give 630g. (Bonne bouche is a tall French bean, but I left it for podding.) I calculate that all of my harvest would have cost about £2.10 in Waitrose. I either have to upscale and become self-sufficient in pulses or devote the bean patch to a crop with a slightly more efficient turnover. More chard. I grow (and eat) a lot of chard.
An aside: I took this photo using some of the hints and tips from Eva Nemeth on her course last week. I love it, but it clashes with all my other images so I might have to work up to it. (You may have been quick enough to see it on instagram before I took it down) What do you think? Too dramatic…? Is there such a thing?
