Caught off guard
Monday 5 April
Having sat on the moment of bursting for longer than is seemly, the Amelanchier is in full flower. Just a stick pulled out of the edible hedge collection many years ago, it is now a beautiful multi-stemmed specimen in the middle of one of the box beds. The ground around it needs weeding but it is full of the rich, wine-red foliage of ravenswing, a black form of our native cow parsley. I adore it and I want to harvest the seeds and move them around the field, so I have to live with the weeds that intermingle and keep my boots on the path. One blossom that is not out yet is the hawthorn. I know I keep banging on about it but even though the leaves are lush and green, but the flowers are still in tight bud. It means that you cannot reliably consider Spring to have sprung. There is more chill to come. If you are in the north of the country, you do not need me to tell you this.
Tuesday 6 April
I run out of seed trays. I run out of module trays. I start to tip compost bags upside down like a disappointed child with an empty bag of sweets. There are seedlings absolutely everywhere. I could not be happier. My success rate this year seems to be better than ever and everything is shooting up. I am still wavering between scoffing scepticism and wide-eyed wonder about the whole biodynamic approach, but if lunar planting and Fertile Fibre compost is going to work like this every year, I am sold. One of the most beautiful seedlings is the Hopi sunflower. The germinate fatly, strongly, with intricate coloured streaks along the back of the cotyledons. I pot each one on tenderly and with joy. These seeds were given to me by Christine Lewis to form part of the dyeing garden last year. They have traditionally been used by the Hopi people as a source of food, for medicine, for baskets, as a face paint, and for dyeing cloth. Boiling the seeds adding a touch of a modifier gives a black colour, a rare shade in natural dyeing.
Thursday 8 April
I watch the asparagus carefully. We have four varieties that crop successionally so the first spears come up at the south end of the bed, and they move along, ripple-like, as the spring months go on. They are tempting but still sparse. Enough for shaving over a salad maybe, but not enough for a meal. Coming out of the greenhouse, I find Hugo, contentedly and bovinely grazing on it. One fat purple spear has been reduced to a pale, luscious stump.
Friday 9 April
The other benefit of the biodynamic calendar is that is gives me what I need the most. Deadlines. If you work with me, you know this. This morning, I get up for work and know that it is a biodynamic flower day, but only until 3pm, and then that’s it until next week. If I want to get my last sweet peas in at the most favourable time, then I have to do it before my 9am start in the office. With such a pressing schedule, I rise early and have sown another twenty varieties while the dew is still on the grass. Unheard of.
Saturday 10 April
Another Saturday, another warm-up fire in the pizza oven. It seems to have hit the season running but we just can’t take the chance that the damp and cold will get to it, so it gets lit every weekend, whether it likes it or not. Which, as I am sure you can imagine, means a lot of pizza. The second picture is just a plain sourdough base with oak smoked garlic butter on it. It makes the best garlic pizza in the world. In case you think this has tipped over into lifestyle smugness, I have to tell you that I put a massive tray of butterbeans, fennel and sausages in the falling oven, and we went indoors to watch Gardener’s World. Even with frequent checking, I missed the magic moment and all that was left was a heap of charcoal.
Sunday 11 April
Sick with nerves, I go and fetch the paper. I read the Guardian more than I read anything else and the fact that I was featured was a big deal. (Also for my husband, who built the studio, which was actually being featured, as opposed to me.) The photographer, who was absolutely lovely, spent hours in my garden taking pictures of me, me and the dogs, me and the girls, me and Hugo with the door open, me sitting on the wonky picnic bench at a jaunty angle holding Morag, etc etc. It was absolutely freezing and when she finally said she had finished, I dashed inside and put on two woolly jumpers and my tatty cape. Turns out that she took a picture of me tidying up without me realising it, and this was the photo that was printed. My five minutes of fame. What a fickle beast she is. You can read the whole article here.
