All the mistakes I have ever made: The Spring Edition
Yesterday was the first day for a long time that I spent all day under the big sky. It has been a long winter, a long year, and a busy one. Whilst I weeded and hoed and propped and cleared, I listened to podcasts about biodynamics. I learned about soil, the elegance and the exquisite beauty of a perfectly balanced system, the nutrition and the nourishment that can only come from well grown for and flowers. In a somewhat classical capitalist trick, it engendered not a little dissatisfaction. Comparison. Envy. (Many of the podcasts were from Heckfield Place. Have you seen it? Jeepers creepers...) As a result, this journal entry may read as a little hopeless. It isn't meant to be. I believe knowledge is power. I believe that growth is my reason for being. I believe that a lesson identified is a lesson learned. And if we can both learn from my mistakes, then all the very better.
The wrong sort of growth
I am not one for howling at screens. I tend not to talk back to the radio or tsk'ing out loud at TV programmes. However, Charles Dowding's YouTube video can reduce me to moans within minutes. He stands, hoe in hand, in an immaculate canvas of perfectly clean compost and tells me that I really must keep on top of the weeding. To weed before the weeds are showing. I know that, I shout. I know that. But there are only so many hours in the day, I am doing my best, and something had to slip, and that was the nettles and the buttercups that have slowly crept across the beds. Most of yesterday was spent trying to remedy this, engaged in the Sisyphean task of returning my beds to something that I could actually plant into. There are some weeds that I find really satisfying to get out; I could dig out nettles all day. But it's the little ones that have root networks that come out with big clumps of soil. Tufts of grass that leave dents and make for heavy weeding buckets. All of this is make more complicated by the fact that my husband has now become the gatekeeper for what is allowed on the compost heap and I am not allowed to put any more weeds in the current heap until he's generated some more grass clippings. And so what is the solution? Right now, I just have to keep going. To not succumb to the despair and also, to be ruthless. One of the things that I find so hard about no dig and weeding generally is that my ground contains three things. Established plants that I intended to be there and I want to be there. Self sown plants that I know will be good and strong and earlier than my intentionally sown ones. Weeds. I can't just mypex or put five inches of compost over everything because I have lots of things in there that I want to keep. There is nothing for it but to get in there and do it by hand. (I don't howl at Monty Don and his raised bed plank to stop him stepping on the soil, but I do silently roll my eyes. If you are getting in there and weeding big areas, I defy anyone to do it without stepping on the soil.)
So how am I going to do it?
Break it down into manageable chunks.
Right now, there is work as far as the eye can see. Milli and I talked about this in our chat; breaking a big area down into manageable areas means that not only is it easier to get going, but you can have a point where you stop and you’ve actually achieved something. This morning, I am going to finish the Dyer’s garden. It does have a perfect row of self sown ammi in it. Not sure whether I should dare to move that… Oh god. You see? So difficult.
Think about the pre- and post-.
It is more satisfying if you are weeding when you know how you are going to get rid of the weeds. A council green bin, a trip to the tip booked, a compost heap ready to be filled. Make sure you have your favourite tools to hand. Make sure you have a solid breakfast. Weeding is a process and the physical act of getting the plants out of the ground is only part of it.
Make it fit you.
I find that I get distracted. I am weeding and thinking. I am thinking and planning. I am weeding and I suddenly remember that I haven’t sent that email, put in that loaf of bread, sown that seed. It’ll take two seconds, I’ll just go and do that. And half an hour later I am still doing that something else, bucket, gloves and daisy grubber abandoned. I need to be focused. Podcasts tend to work for me, but anything that makes the process give you what you need. Need a bit of peace and quiet? Leave your phone indoors and step into the space the repetitive act gives you. Need a lift? Find a Spotify playlist that gives you cheer. If you have kept on top of things, then you might be able to do a bit of little-and-often, but at this time of year, I do need chunks of time in the field to get any sort of toehold. Commit. Take a cup of tea with you.
Sowing seeds without a plan.
I have done this every year for as long as I can remember. I have a seed box. I have flowers I grow every year. I have sown them. (Almost everything I have sown so far this year has been lost to mice, but that is another story.) Right now, I am not entirely sure where I am going to put everything. I have ideas about what effect I want in different areas of the garden and field, but I am not sure whether what I have popping up in the seed trays and what I need to get the plantscapes I want are the same thing at all. An hour spent with a pencil and paper at this stage is worth a lot. This thought preoccupies me whilst I am weeding…