There’s a scene in the movie Crocodile Dundee when Paul Hogan is confronted by a mugger on a New York street. As his assailant threatens him with a knife, Hogan just laughs.
Spursy Bed clear of weeds in May
“That’s not a knife.”, he says, “THAT’S a knife”, and reveals his own impressive blade.
The line has been repeating in my head ever since I acquired my new favourite gardening tool – my Hori Hori. Described by its manufacturer, Niwaki, as a ‘weeding trowel’ it is, to all intents and purposes, a knife. It even has its own ‘Canvas Sheath’. But, whatever it is, it does a brilliant job weeding and even digging, particularly when the ground is as hard as it is.
It was on one of our “Cultural” Wednesdays that Mrs B and I visited the Niwaki HQ Showroom near Shaftesbury. A friend had forewarned me that on entering the hallowed citadel of Japanese handcrafted tempered steel, I might “lose my shit”. The advice was timely. More of an exhibition space than a showroom, the small unit was packed full of precision Japanese gardening ironmongery, as well as clothing, footwear and even shaving razors, laid out in cabinets and perfectly aligned shelves. It lacked only a sign telling visitors “Please do not touch the exhibits”.
Merely driving there, we were in such a state of arousal that we turned in at the first sign that said Niwaki, to discover that we had followed the sign for the warehouse, rather than the retail outlet. Once in the showroom / exhibition centre, it was only the limit on my credit card that prevented me buying the whole shop. Instead, I had to restrict myself to a Hori Hori, a pair of snippers, and some gloves. I had to leave the golden shovel and the insanely expensive shaving razor for another month.
Back home, I now refuse to use anything other than my snippers to cut my flowers. They are immensely pleasing to use, as are the gloves. But, I had travelled specifically to buy the Hori Hori, and it has not disappointed. The literal translation, according to the lovely lady in the showroom, is ‘dig dig’, so perhaps it is not welcome for the “No Dig” gardens. But I’m not so fussy. Who knew that a knife would prove to be the best trowel around? With this precision weeder, I have removed copious amounts of bindweed, with less collateral seedling casualties than ever before.
And, as for harvesting garlic and onions, the Hori Hori is the trowel you need.
The business buzz word amongst some of my self-employed friends at the moment is “pivot”, to describe a changing of direction in one’s business or lifestyle and some have suggested that we might be mid-‘pivot’ in the Midlife Garden. It is true that ever since the ‘Invitation To Leave’ from my previous employer (I see it as an ‘inflection point’ in my life), I have been searching for an income stream that could be rewarding financially as well as emotionally. Clearly, this blog is never going to cover both those bases, so I knew I would have to be a ‘change agent’, taking a look at what I enjoy (apart from scribbling random words) and find something truly ‘transformative’ to ‘add value’ to my life (and bank balance).
Regular readers (both of you) will know how I find enormous emotional rewards in gardening. But after the success of the cut flowers on show at the 2024 WOTY*, I’ve joined forces with a neighbour to explore ways to monetise our blooming commodities.
First we decided to ‘segment’ this down, to ensure we had flowers for the whole summer. We took a deep dive, drilled down and, thinking outside the MLG box, we invested in dahlias. Previously regarded as blousy, ostentatious dandies that evoked memories of dreary seventies mixed borders, these could yet prove to be a game changer, producing blooms throughout autumn.
To move the needle for early blooms, we took a punt on tulips. We were ‘down on all fours’ with this, looking at it from the client’s-eye view and decided on Luxury Tulips: stems to mark us out from the ten-for-a-fiver supermarket types in dull hues of red and purple. So, posh tulips became the ‘moat’. We ‘swept the sheds’ to make it happen, to ‘action this solve’ and November saw us raking compost on then off, then onto the front bed to get the 500 bulbs to the perfect depth. We waited for April with crossed fingers.
We chose a price point, to give the customers ‘snackable content’ hoping they will be back for more when spring turns to summer. Unfortunately, the first stems were snackable to the point of stunted, but, they eventually reached their full potential, proving popular, if unprofitable. But not all stems will have the same base costs as posh tulips, so our ‘runway’ is longer than it might appear. The tulips were a loss leader, but a striking one at that.
We will take a ‘kaizen’ approach to improve all that we do as we try to get this thing off the ground (after mulching and watering it first).
By the end of the summer, we might have an answer to the question: is this just a side hustle or could I be pivoting from Ed Biz to Flower Biz? Only time, ‘brand positioning’, ‘demand generation’, ‘revenue performance management’ and the power of ‘the flywheel’ will tell.
It is Pablo we must thank for the fact that we own a dachshund. When Josh slept over at his colleague’s house after a “Thursday is the New Friday” drinks session got a bit out of hand, it was Pablo who woke him, tunnelling down into Josh’s sleeping bag demonstrating a sausage dog’s obsession with warm dark spaces. If Josh had not been the unwitting bedfellow of his colleague’s dachshund, he would not have expressed his desire to own one, neither would we have promised him one when he was ill, and nor would my work colleagues have gifted us the funds to acquire one in Josh’s memory.
Why am I telling you this? Perhaps to provide some context to explain how I recently found myself sitting in the kitchen at 2 a.m, reading to Mr Long because he could not – or would not – sleep in his own bed.
It started when we agreed to look after my brother’s dog, Bruno (a Vizler/Pointer cross) for ten days. On the first night, Badger’s ‘cousin’ opted to sleep in Badger’s small bed instead of his own, which meant he had to:
Turf Badger off it
Drag it out from under a low shelf and
Curl up really tightly to fit on it
The first we knew of this low-level canine bullying was the whining of our little pet at the kitchen door. Bruno wasn’t relinquishing the bed, so we took pity on Badger and allowed him to sleep in ours. Badger was delighted and became quite accustomed to the arrangement over the following ten nights. When Bruno departed, Badger saw no reason why he should return to his old bed in the kitchen.
But, since we wanted our own bed for ourselves, we shut him in the kitchen anyway. Unimpressed by the return to his old dormitory, Mr Long whined; quietly at first, but then louder and with more urgency. And then he started to bark. Not incessantly, just occasionally, but regularly enough to awaken us as we were tipping off to sleep.
It was not as if Badger was angry. Just disappointed.
Eventually, I got up and tried bribing him with treats to stay in his bed. Which he did, until I switched the lights out. When I turned the lights back on after five seconds, to check he was still in bed, my dachshund was half way across the floor, frozen in mid-step.
I tried a couple more times, but Badger was beginning to enjoy his own version of Grandmother’s Footsteps. So I did what any exasperated parent would do and decided to bore him to sleep, by sitting with my book and reading, albeit not out loud. I am not that deluded (yet). Miraculously, it worked.
I only had to repeat the exercise a couple of times over the next few nights before Badger accepted his own bed instead of ours.
It was reminiscent of when we had to manage the kids’ sleeping patterns and is one of many similarities between bringing up toddlers and looking after a dachshund. It is no coincidence. Simply cuddling Badger seems to release a dose of oxytocin as if I am holding my child. Of course physically, Josh and Badger are at opposite ends of the scale: one, six feet four inches tall; the other with four feet but only six inches tall. And their respective characters are equally far apart: quiet, mild mannered and reasonable against angry, demanding and self-centred.
But the arrival of Badger is directly linked to the loss of Josh, so, we can be forgiven for treating him like our lost boy. Even our daughter ironically (or otherwise) refers to Badger as ‘the favourite child’ and there might be some truth in the observation.
Not that we ever spoil him or bow to his demands. Apart from the occasional bedtime story.
The February half term break feels like a significant moment in the horticultural year. Mrs B is fed up with the cold weather, but finally it seems the days are lengthening, and March is nearly upon us, which, nominally at least, is the start of spring. The growing season is imminent, but now I start waking in the night worrying that it is too late to sow annuals and veg seeds.
Last month Mrs B and I braved the winter chill to make the annual Potato Day pilgrimage to Caryford Hall, joining the line of fellow pilgrims earnestly shuffling past the colour-coded plastic tubs of first and second earlies or main crop chitters. Unusually, I went with little planning or forethought on what I wanted, or perhaps it signifies how I kinda know what I want these days, without having to overthink it. No plan was probably wise, as many of the spuds I would have grown in the past were not available, not even anything Arran based, so I randomly selected Jazzy, Pentland Javelin, and Caledonian Pearl. All of them are earlies, as these days I tend to agree with Mrs B’s view that main crop do not justify their space in the raised beds.
As we stood in line, I heard rumblings of discontent among the Potato Day punters.
“They’ve got no International Kidney and no Pink Fir Apple”, muttered one middle aged lady.
“Hmm. It’s a pretty crap year” was her husband’s considered reply, which I thought was little harsh, as the Pennard Plants staff always offered a couple of alternatives, but that just led to more earnest debates on their relative merits.
“What do you think love, Marvel, or Sunset?”
Apart from potatoes, I bought some chilli seeds and aubergine seeds, as they need an early start, and I am pleased to say they are already germinating. It is always exciting to see the first seedlings poking through. I never tire of this horticultural ‘miracle of birth’ which spurs me on to sow lots of annual flowers. The flowers seeds are germinating in the greenhouse, but I started the chillis and aubergines on the heated floor of the bathroom, which probably helped them, but created an element of jeopardy and mild peril for any nighttime trip to the toilet.
Just another reason why Mrs B cannot wait for the warmer weather arrive.
Serried ranks of garlicAubergines Chillis love a bit of heatTulips are comingLove that shiny clean barkCalendula always do well (to start)Broad BeansRhubarb looking good this year
It’s been a busy autumn and winter in the midlife garden. We started by distributing two tons of revive compost around beds and borders after which started to make some strategic changes with plants. The Christmas tree was dug from the garden and taken inside for the festive period, and replaced by a mariessii, which was otherwise likely to partially block the front path in the summer.
When we realised the Christmas tree might have survived the indoor festivities we decided to place it in the back garden: an exercise which included the removal and replanting of bamboo from the garden and a pot. All of which brings instantaneous results.
Less instantaneous, but hopefully equally pleasing results, are hoped to be gained from the bulbs that we planted in the autumn.
In the veg patch that meant garlic and onions. The garlic is our go-to plant for mid-winter positivity, the green shoots reminding us that there is life in the midlife garden yet and I noticed this week even the onions are starting to show.
Beyond the veg patch, there is a plan for early spring flowers. We sowed various coloured ranunculus in pots in the greenhouse, but they have suffered repeated assaults, with some failing to germinate, some succumbing to damping off, while others fell victim to mice. A few doughty plants remain, like survivors at Rorke’s Drift. The dachshund has busied himself trying to dig up the mice.
Out in the borders, we have sown a bunch of allium bulbs (Ping Pong and Azureum) in the Spursy bed to provide a little early blue and white colour. But, the brightest spring moments are planned for the fruit tree bed, where, in between storms and prior to frosts, we managed to insert 600 tulips for cutting in the spring.
So, lots to look forward to, with crossed fingers.
Prepping for tulips600 tulip bulbs?SowingMouse damage ranunculusOne survivorRemains of the mousehuntGarlicSplitting the bambooReplaced bamboo…With Christmas treeTall bamboo with the shorter stuff in the tub
Mrs B bought some Russet apples last week, which brought to mind a picture I have of my mother sorting russet apples on the lawn at the old place, around 1984. Crops of fruit were always impressive with my parents in charge and normally ended in vast quantities cooked, frozen or bottled.
I was thinking of those harvests as I sat down to review my own efforts in the garden this past summer. Fruit was not a great success, although we got a few apples, and enough raspberries to keep us going for a while with no danger of having to deal with any surplus.
Vegetables were not great, apart from the runners and French beans and some awesome aubergines in the greenhouse. The suggestion from Paddi and Richard to plant the aubergines in the partial shade of the tomatoes really seemed to work. Elsewhere squashes were poor and we only harvested two courgettes in total. An unwanted record, that one.
But there’s a good reason for the poor crop of veg, as the priority this year was flowers. These were an undoubted success, inasmuch as we got enough to bloom on the 13th July for THE WEDDING OF THE YEAR.
But looking ahead we need to get more flowers for longer through the season. So now comes the important planning bit, seeking out early bloomers, like tulips, ranunculus, and sweet Williams and other biennials. And then, perhaps, something that could still be flowering into October. Which brings us to dahlias, flowers I once regarded as too blowsy and flash, but which I now realise could create an absolute bonanza of cut flowers.
It will require some investment in seeds, corms and bulbs, but the rewards should be there from April through to October.
It is the planning for a new season and new plants that keeps me going through the shortening days, and If I can apply myself to cultivating blooms like my parents produced crops of fruit, this time next year I could be looking back on a summer of flower power in the Midlife Garden.
Still picking theseSomething for next year? (Saw these at Tyntesfield)Feels like a guilty pleasureHardy annuals for the new seasonRanunculus planted“And they were red and yellow and pink and….”This is what is possibleWouldn’t stand under that if I were you…
On Sunday we took an afternoon walk on Cadbury Castle, a place that stirs so many memories for us. Sunday was particularly evocative as it was the first time we had rambled up the iron age fort since our lovely labrador, Ella, passed away.
She had gone quickly and quietly two weeks ago. The previous weekend she had been chasing squirrels in Sefton Park in Liverpool, but only a few days later, she was gone. She never caused a fuss, never made a noise, and was uncomplaining to the end.
Amongst all the dogs that we have had in our family, either with our parents or ourselves, she is the undisputed G.O.A.T. No other canine companion could compare with Ella.
Her arrival eleven years ago was as a surprise birthday gift for Mrs B, after she herself had spotted the labrador x flat coat retriever puppies advertised in the local newspaper. Mrs B said she did not want a new dog (we already had Fudge the Wonder Dog) but the kids were persuasive in hatching a plan for a birthday surprise.
Helping with the gardening
“What have you done?” Mrs B asked, when she first set eyes on the bemused little bundle of bones and black fur in the box, and for a moment, I thought I had made a mistake. But over the succeeding years there has not been a moment when we have regretted welcoming Ella to the family.
She has been loyal and ridiculously well-behaved. The only bad thing we can remember her doing was once – randomly – peeing on the coat of one of Josh’s girlfriends. But even that, in retrospect appears to have been a statement of good taste by Ella, as, some years later, that relationship ended rather acrimoniously. So maybe our dog knew something we didn’t.
Perhaps Ella saw the GF as an intruder and this was her way of getting her to leave, because barking was not something Ella ever did. We can remember only one time that she barked at anyone at the door, mistakenly rushing at the window when some close friends appeared at the back gate. She never barked at post office staff, deliveries or milkmen. She was simply a friend to all.
Well, not all. She was not averse to a bit of hunting and gathering. As a young dog, her acute sense of smell made her a heat seeking missile when it came to hunting rabbits in The Old Man’s garden, with a few alstroemeria or irises as collateral damage. She occasionally managed to bring down pheasants if they were too slow to remember they had wings.
Who ordered the squirrel?
At heart, she was a retriever, and often, when she was younger, she would be there when we came in, with a sock or a slipper in her mouth as some form of gift, looking for approval. Even in her latter years she would sometimes look at Badger, her idiot companion, as he demanded us to play with his toys, and quietly go off to retrieve another of his toys from the box as if to remind us that she, too, deserved some attention.
Her relationship with Mr Long was complex. She was far too easy going to put up with his FOMO and his need to be constantly changing beds, to be with her. She simply got up and went elsewhere to be away from him. He didn’t seem to notice.
I love it when you get angry…
But she did interact with the Long Dog – most notably when the pair of them would play fight relentlessly, to the point that Badger would hurtle around the coffee table repeatedly throwing himself at the Big Dog.
And this was Ella: she was the kind of dog that never intentionally hurt anyone (unless you were a rabbit, or a squirrel) and was always there when you needed emotional support or simple company.
You would think that Badger would be missing such a wonderful canine companion. But you would be wrong. And that says far more about the Dachshund than it does about the Lab.
But we miss her, for her happy flagging tail out on walks, her insistence on paddling through every puddle and every stream (but NEVER out of her depth) and the way that she would just lean into you when you stroked her. She understood the importance of bodily contact to soothe and pacify. And she knew a bit about the importance of quietness. The world would be a whole lot better if it was all a bit more Ella in outlook (and perhaps a little less Mr Long).
If, in the words of the movie, all dogs really do go to heaven, then it will be a little quieter and more peaceful for her presence. And I know a few souls that will be welcoming her with open arms.
Early on, she would allow Fudge to dry herGrey from running in the morning fogWith her first housemate, FudgeTypically relaxedSometimes allowed Badger to shareCould sleep anywhereWinter in the city with the Anglican CathedralMore recently in Sefton ParkChecking out Anthony Gormley at Crosby BeachWith friends Glen Rosa, ArranThe Weekend Walk at homeDon’t Look NowHappy to jump onto a baleLess able to jump into the carInspecting the groundworks for the pond in 2020A retriever at heartPutting up with Mr LongFirst night
We are coming to the end of sweet peas in the garden. They are, to me, a bellwether flower. Every gardener seems to grow them and anyone who sees ours in the bookshop feels compelled to comment on them, before adding a self-assessment of their own sweet peas; as if the growing of sweet peas is an indicator of one’s horticultural credentials.
When I think of sweet peas, I think of my mother. Throughout the summer she would provide bunches to take away whenever we stayed and when, after she died, I started growing them myself it seemed apt that the first flower seemed always to appear on her birthday – 10th July.
Over time, we have managed to bring forward the sweet pea season, but when we were tasked with supplying flowers for “The Wedding of the Year”, on 13th July, I knew we would have to bring our A-game to make sure Verity was not walking up the aisle with just a single sweet pea in her bouquet.
Planning was essential, with seeds bought as early as August last year, and sown in November. Germination was good, but by January the ranks had been decimated by damping off. But, as we had sown enough to sink a Russian battleship, the remaining plants ensured we were still in with a fighting chance of producing enough flowers for the summer.
By March they were bursting out of their pots and storage containers and needed more room outside of the greenhouse. I used to think that Sweet Peas are not hardy, but they can survive anything down to -4C, so we took a low risk gamble and planted them out. Despite the wet weather, the first flower appeared on 5th May and by July they were in full bloom, so the job was a good ‘un.
They have continued to crop heavily until just a week ago. So heavily, in fact, that the rectangular frame of old gazebo poles and green netting collapsed under the weigh and now resembles the Wembley goalposts of 1977 after celebratory Scottish fans invaded the pitch.
The results were good, but after the planning and the doing, we are now in the reviewing stage and need to plan to ensure even better performance next summer. Sterilising plant pots could reduce the chance of damping off and continuing to nip out the shoots undoubtedly helped the crop.
As to which varieties to grow, it is clear that some are better suited for cutting than others. We tried 13 different varieties from two different suppliers (Higgledy Garden & Premier Seeds Direct):
Heaven Scent Mix
Mammoth Scarlet
Parfume Millennium
Parfume White Supreme
Winston Churchill
Beaujolais
Leamington
Painted Lady
Cupani
Starry Night
Perfume Delight
Mammoth
Swan Lake
It is not easy deciding which to buy again. Success is not marked by sweet scent alone so, for example, although Cupani has a lovely aroma, it has short thin stems, while the Parfume white has wonderful long, strong stems, but is less scented. Ah, but which to choose? Perhaps we should decide it in the style of Harry Hill:
“So, a silver for Britain there in the Dachshund re-capture race. I thought for a moment we had lost it in the second field there, but excellent rounding up by James, wearing good shoes, I am pleased to say, beating the Germans into 3rd place, who had mistakenly decided to wear Birkenstocks.
But the action is coming thick and fast, as we go straight over to the Jardin des Cabanons, where the second and concluding day of the Individual Combined Shed Painting has just ended. Remember, this event combines the three main painting disciplines of Shed, Fence and Static Garden Furniture. Going for team GB is ML Gardener…”
“Thank you, Hazel. Well, painting has finished and we are just waiting for the scores from the judges. Remember, this is the second day, with marks from both days being added together to decide the medals. Yesterday was not good for Team GB, with ML beginning his campaign painting the Static Garden Furniture using an old pot of paint, and it just did not have the coverage. It took an age to dry and resulted in paint on the dress of the main judge – on her birthday – for which he will have lost crucial marks. I guess many of you at home will be asking why he is using old paint? But sadly there is no Lottery Funding for this event, with competitors having to pay their own way, so nothing can go to waste.
But, despite trailing, it has been a far better day for Team GB. ML finished with his best element – The Shed. This has not been painted since Tokyo in 2021, but ML covered it in Olympic Record time which has seen him surge up the leaderboard. His technique across the shiplap was superb: broad brushstrokes, great coverage and little spillage.
It will be a tough ask to get amongst the medals, though, with the Dutch, who have painted their barn in Orange, currently in Bronze medal position. The US and China are out in front with their Red Sheds. Orange and red are higher tariff colours than GB’s black, and I fear that is going to count against us in the end.
And, there it is: the final leaderboard shows that GB has come an agonising 4th. Just outside the medals. We will hope to get a word with ML Gardener in a moment. He looks exhausted but should be pleased with his efforts today. I expect he will tell us that he has been on a journey, that there have been tough times but that he is proud of all that he has achieved and that Black really should be the new Ash Grey, or something like that.
But, of course, it’s not all over yet for the MLG family with Mrs B is still in the hunt for the Big G, after achieving a Personal Best, qualifiying in top spot for tomorrow’s final in the Double Gate Speed event.
Back to you in the studio while we put the cushions out, rearrange the Geraniums and get the Pizza Oven up to temperature.”
Poor coverage on those benchesUltimately looking goodShed of HeavenPizza Oven in placeProper Job, Mrs B.
May was a busy but nerve-wracking month in the Midlife Garden. After starting our cut flowers in storage boxes, they germinated quickly and copiously, but by April we face the challenge of what to do with all those healthy looking seedlings when they outgrew their boxes but looked a little too delicate to go outside.
We kept them protected in the greenhouse, with the lid off, but soon started getting leggy like a load of seedling Peter Crouches. So, on 16th April, we took a gamble and planted them out in the raised beds, weeks before any theoretical last frosts. They were not entirely unprotected, though, as we circled the little darlings with an array of glass to create a cold frame out of the raised bed. And we kept a supply of fleece in case of frosts and kept a watchful eye on the weather forecast.
Incredibly the plants survived, mainly due to the unpredictable frosts not arriving. Instead, it has been soaking wet, which has bought about the more predictable destruction at the hands (if that is the right term) of the invertebrates.
Every year I plant out wonderful, healthy seedlings, expecting an abundant crop, only to see them dismantled by slugs. It is the horticultural equivalent of insanity – doing the same thing over again, with the same catastrophic result. Normally, after the initial dismay and a couple of single malts, I am reasonably sanguine. But not this year. Oh no, not for the summer of 2024. We need flowers. And lots of them. And on the 13th July.
We started looking up every means of delaying, defeating or destroying the slimy assailants. We started with beer traps, which proved to be very popular, but when it rains the beer is diluted and, anyway, there still seemed to be quite a few teetotal slugs who avoided the alcoholic orgy to feast on the cosmos and sunflowers.
There are conscientious gardeners online who have pseudo-scientifically tested all the usual remedies with varying results. Eggshells, coffee grounds, gravel, sand, and talcum powder were partially or wholly ineffective – depending on the ground conditions. But one method I had not come across was the use of brambles to create a barrier. I have tried that on the sunflowers. It is the second planting of sunflowers – the first ones ended up as stumps, alongside jam jars full of beer sodden slugs who did not make it to the sunflower feast – but, for now, the brambles seem to be working.
Another way to rid your garden of slugs is nightly hunting expeditions down the garden. It is a dispiriting sight, seeing a load of slugs heading across the grass like a bunch of post-apocalyptic Mad Max crazies hell-bent on destroying your crops. The other night we came home late and found the Bells of Ireland covered in the slime balls. The Bells are the potential signature flower of the summer – it will be first time we have managed to grow them to maturity if we actually achieve it, so the attack on them was the final straw.
Now we have gone all medieval. By which I do not mean hot oil, burning fat, slings, arrows or just a pike or two. We have decided to use moats to keep them at bey since we do not think slugs and snails can swim. And, so far, it seems to be working.
