Hailstorms and slow starts
Monday 4 April
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I spent the weekend layering my compost heap. Some old compost, chippings of last year’s sweet pea hazel, lawn mowings and more trugfuls of weeds than I care to think about. I added the biodynamic inoculations and sprinkled with valerian, and topped with sheep’s wool insulation from Piper’s Farm deliveries. According to the guru that is Sue from Nant y Bedd, the maxim to hold in mind is ‘keep the heat in, and the rain out’. It seems to work, because this morning, the temperature is the top of the red. I cannot tell you how satisfying this is. A cold compost heap is the horticultural equivalent of a sunken Victoria sponge; it reflects well on no-one.
Wednesday 6 April
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Rainy day blues. I bake bread and put clean sheets on the bed. There is little that is not improved, even if only a tiny bit, by the prospect of clean sheets. Extra points if you have flowers in the bedroom. I do. The very first bluebells.
(My front garden is colonised by Spanish bluebells. Please don’t pick the rare ones.)
Thursday 7 April
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Blue skies and blustery winds. I take a cup of tea out and bring it in again. The only sheltered place is the greenhouse, and I delight in the sort of warmth that only glass can give you. A box of Ronaldo tulips has exploded into life and I bring it inside.
Friday 8 April
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I will confess to having suffered a little from imposter syndrome this season. I set out boldly, I followed all of the tips and tricks in my own guide, and things were slow. I was starting to doubt myself and to wonder quite what had gone wrong, when a few things happened. Firstly, I sowed some cosmos. Cosmos bursts into life, practically in hours, and there is nothing more reassuring in one hundred percent germination on cosmos after forty-eight hours. Similarly, some chestnut brown hollyhocks appeared in days, abundant and robust. Secondly, time passed. I was far more ambitious with my seed sowing this year in terms of the trickiness of the seed. Perennials mostly. Unusual ones. The notoriously fickle aquilegias. Obscure varieties of campanula. I did my first big sow on March 12th and even by the end of the month, I didn’t have a huge amount to show for it. But somehow this week, even with the chiller weather, resolutely blank seeds trays have been slowly but surely popping into life. We shall have rows of tweedia, and Kurdistani aquilegia, and Campanula poscharskyana 'Nana Alba' after all. I make no promises for indigo. Still no sign.
Hail this evening. Chilly.
Saturday 9 April
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Both weekend days are unfavourable for sowing which is a blessing, as there are plenty of seed trays to prick out. I have done some direct sowing in the kitchen garden but I won’t risk my precious flowers in the elements just yet. Although it is less likely that the elements will finish them off, than the slugs. I haven’t seen many this year, but the number of holes in the narcissi heads are a dead giveaway. (Tip. If you have a greenhouse, make a habit of lifting up all your seed trays and pots and having a look underneath at least once a week. It only takes one slug to wreak untold havoc at this stage of things.)
A field tour for Gather members. I am disproportionately proud of my hand-made fences.
Sunday 10 April
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Truly a day of rest, albeit slightly unintentionally. A lunch. A walk. Cutting the last of the narcissi. I move no compost today.
