showers and sunshine
Monday 7 March
-
The first day for months and months that I didn’t have to wash the dogs’ feet off when they got home. We went around the back field, recently vacated by sheep, and in just a few dry days, the grass was mud free. It only lasted a day (it rained in the night), but it was utterly blissful.
Tuesday 8 March
-
As we come through the gate between the big fields on the other side of the valley, Hugo sniffs at what seems to be a scattering of pigeon feathers. On closer examination, it is the most exquisite pool of white violets. Every year I forget that they will appear here and so every year their rediscovery is a joy. A Parish Council meeting in the evening. We have not been able to secure any land for our community garden and, because I believe in the need for food sovereignty more now than ever, I accidentally volunteer to turn over half my flower field to a market garden.
Wednesday 9 March
-
The second-best thing about dry days is hoeing. In half an hour, the kitchen garden is transformed from a scrappy mess to something approaching ready for spring planting. The chard that has over-wintered will bolt soon, sending up a flower spike and setting seed, and be ruined for eating. I should hoe it out to make way for a fresh sowing, but I can’t quite bring myself to. Is anything more lovely than a row of glossy rainbow chard? I also leave the pencil thin leeks that didn’t quite get enough growth on last autumn before the cold weather set in. They have two options, they’ll either be big enough to eat as baby leeks by the end of April, or they will produce those wonderful pompom allium flowers.
Other jobs today:
Making willow supports for the pots of tulip bulbs
Harvesting moss to put on the bowls of Narcissus ‘Minnow’ on the kitchen table
Soaking peas to grow as pea-tops on the kitchen windowsill
(Photo below of the kitchen garden taken by Dean Hearne for Grow & Gather, although this one didn't make the final cut. I love it too much for it to never be seen by anyone ever, so I am sharing it with you.)
Thursday 10 March
-
Today was not only dry but warm. The first true warmth of the year. Only moments of it, flashes as the sun came through the cloud, but I felt it in the depth of my bones. Still cold enough for a big coat on the dog walk and a fire in the evenings, but there’s hope. And perfect timing, because Matt Austin came to film his bi-monthly seasonal film for Gather. There were blue skies and scattering blossom, and general uplifting loveliness.
Photo below from the shoot. Hugo was not meant to be photographed because he is half way through an amateur scissor clip, but you just can't get him away from a camera.
Friday 11 March
-
Back on the topic of growing food, today, another visit to Damson Farm to learn about edible gardens. Alison Jenkins made her name in absolutely exquisite kitchen gardens and it was a wonderful day. What did I learn? There’s no perfect material for paths, there are ways around the hungry gap if you are organised enough to plan ahead (or to plant asparagus), and unless you are lucky enough to own a farm, leave growing onions to someone else.
These teepees in Alison's garden at Damson Farm are for squash.
Saturday 12 March
-
The Big Seed Sow. The highlight of my life. Hours of blissful, meditative tray filling, seed sprinkling, water dunking. Because of The Mouse that has eaten half of my sweet peas and all of my Ambassador peas, everything is under lids, glass, or tucked into compost bags. The added benefit of this is it seals in the moisture and warmth, so I won’t have to water as often. As I now have what feels like a hundred trays, this is a considerable benefit.
Sunday 13 March
-
I find ledges and shelves, corners and pockets. More seeds, more pots, more trays. Dyeing plants today. Indigo seeds from Bailiwick Blue. Coreopsis tinctoria. I am halfway through a module tray of Anthemis tinctoria before I remember I have rows and rows of plants that are looking absolutely wonderful in the dyeing garden. Second sowings of sweet peas. I am a sowing blur and I look through the greenhouse glass at the empty beds and see in my mind’s eye, all the abundance and riotous beauty of late June. Seeds are truly magic.
