Plans for the New Year

Winter Walk
Winter Walk

Since November I have not posted.  There are a number of drafts still on hold, but the idea of posting every day during November rapidly became an end in its own right: like a dog’s incessant barking, publishing a blog post every day was just so much pointless twitter.  Combine that with the end of term and the appearance of Christmas on the horizon and gardening and writing took a back seat.

So a quick update on the garden sees more of the same, really.  Ella has twice managed to get into the chicken run, and on each occasion has brought down a hen, catching a bird then trying to gum it to death in her soft retriever’s mouth.  The hens have been vocal in their outrage and called the emergency services (me) to save them from the Black Death Eater.  Verity, Josh and I spent some time translating just what it was they were saying:  “f-king HURTS!” was our best guess, though we thought they were simply having a laugh at Ella’s inability to deliver the coup de gras.  The second time I arrived to find three chickens in the hen-house, and the other two standing with their heads in the ivy, looking like the world’s worst exponents of hide and seek.  Ella had one of the Sussex Stars in her mouth but was good enough to let it go when I told her.

The Hen Run - Dog Proofed
The Hen Run – Dog Proofed

Just as with the previous time, the bird was, to all intents and purposes, playing dead.  But with a nudge from my foot she got up and got on with life.  Ella received a severe reprimand, but I do not think that will have much effect on her.  So on Christmas day I worked off lunch making the fences dog proof once again.

Elsewhere in the garden I tidied up after the storms that we have had.  A couple of panes of glass were blown out of the top greenhouse, though fortunately neither was broken.  The cracked bits in the end of the greenhouse also fell out, but I managed to mend all without any assistance from the Old Man.  Proper grown up, me.

Winter Oak
Winter Oak

And down the end of the garden today I bundled up all the stakes and other bits and bobs of netting etc that had blown over under the oak tree.  One thing leads to another and I came to the realisation that storing stuff around the oak rather detracted from what is a really lovely tree.  I mean, how many people are lucky enough to have a good sized oak tree in one corner of their garden?  It looks a lot better now.  I was thinking of planting some bulbs around it but it’s probably a little late now – plus, the chances are my idiot black puppy will in all likelihood dig them all up, as she was hard at work digging there as I was trying to clear the posts.

One thing I will have to do later than last year is plant the garlic, which will now have to be a spring planting.  We have been cooking with our own garlic all autumn – and only recently starting buying onions. It has been interesting to see the difference in flavours of each type, though I cannot remember which is which as the labels I wrote whited before I harvested them.  The Elephant garlic was great.   That one is not too difficult to spot, on account of its size, and though not strictly speaking a garlic, it has a lovely mild flavour.  But as to the others, who knows.  I will have to make a cunning plan for the spring.

 

Fudge, Yeah!

Knitwear advert - without the knitwear
Knitwear advert – without the knitwear

It feels like the gardening year is at a bit of a hiatus with little to do, so rather like the lead singer of a band in the middle of a particularly dull riff as the “guitarist goes off on one” as Claire would put it, I would like to take time to introduce an important member of my band: Fudge.

As Bill Murray said in Ghostbusters “so….she’s a dog”, but yeah she really is.  She is my constant companion who loves nothing more than to come down the garden hunting out rabbits – or even rats.  Which she rarely, if ever, catches.  And then just buggers off for a couple of hours digging at the rabbit holes up the top of the field.  So perhaps not quite such a constant companion after all, let alone constant gardener.

"I do not like the cone of shame"
“I do not like the cone of shame”

Mind you, she is a lot less of a liability than her sister (Truffle) with whom she was acquired after being abandoned outside a Dublin supermarket.  They were the subject of a benign Extraordinary Rendition to bring them to the UK.  We offered to give Fudge a good home while Truffle took up residence with mum and dad next door.  Truffle ultimately proved too much of a handful: she had her own individual programme when it came to exercise and when out on walks would simply make a bee-line for the horizon which left her owner taking a solitary trudge back home to await her re-appearance at whatever time of day or night suited her.

A pile of puppies...
A pile of puppies…

Truffle was a source of comfort for my mother in her terminal illness, but after mum’s passing, Truffle was never going to get enough exercise with my more sedentary father and she has been re-homed.  If her new owners want to feel they are spending time with their new pet in the great outdoors, I hope that they live on a saltpan somewhere and own some very powerful binoculars (or the world’s longest lead).

KONICA MINOLTA DIGITAL CAMERAFudge has a lot of energy to burn too, and although we are not sure of her lineage, we suspect some sort of terrier crossed with a boxer.  Basically a scatter-brained dog who has bags of energy, and lists digging and jumping as two of her main hobbies.  A gun dog she is not:  she quakes at potential thunder (she can sense the build up of Cumulo Nimbus on the other side of the country) and will suddenly walk to the tightest “heel” if there is any sudden sound – be it gun, bird scarer, or clattering pans.

But she is the best, most patient dog to have in the house,  and at least she does not dig up any of the garden: unlike my parents’ previous canine companion – Sambar – who had a penchant for carrots, which she harvested herself, therefore requiring the carrots to be fenced in on all sides, and top.

Gardening is just so tough....
Gardening is just so tough….

When Fudge came to us she had been named – along with her four siblings – after the Nolan sisters (I hope there were no males in the rescued litter).  We decided to change to something of our own choosing as she didn’t seem to be a Bernadette. Naming dogs is even more random than naming children as there are no limits to what you can call a dog.  There again, these days the range of children’s names has expanded to include pets’ names too, if some celeb choices are anything to go by, but we happened upon the name Fudge as it was sweet and light brown – (like her?)…  And my parents followed suit with her sister, calling her Truffle.

KONICA MINOLTA DIGITAL CAMERANot that we always use their given names.  Truffle was generally known by the kids as “special needs” (she would have kept educational psychologists in work for years if she were human) or on the day that they ripped up their bean bags, leaving drifts of polystyrene balls across the kitchen, “fuckwits” was the first name that came to my mind.

On top of Goat Fell, Arran
On top of Goat Fell, Arran

But now we are down to one f-wit, and if she does not have any other pressing engagements at the top of the field, she will keep me company in the garden and – as I said – occasionally catch a rat or rabbit.   In fact she managed to tag a rabbit yesterday, but for the most part she takes up the role of Grommit to my Wallis, as we try to fulfil our respective roles in the garden.

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Thinking of going somewhere?

Dreaming of a Wet Christmas

DSC_0148So after the past six years spending Christmas at home doing our duty with in-laws and parents (s) we finally made the break and got away for the festive celebrations.  I have been hankering for a quiet Christmas without the usual stresses of combining disparate ends of the family in an event that reminds us why we only do it once a year.  So courtesy of my eldest brother Nick, we got away from it all in his holiday property on the Scottish Island of Arran.

121224 (10)Arran has been described as the best of Scotland in miniature: there are mountains and glens in the north and rolling lowland to the south.  There are seven golf courses on an island 10 miles by 20, and everything else you need for a decent Christmas: a brewery, a distillery and some decent shops for both gifts and more mundane essentials.  Claire’s main concerns about going to Arran revolved around whether we would even be able to get there as the chances of cancelled ferries loomed large in her mind in the weeks prior to the 8 1/2 hour journey up north.  My blind faith that it would all be fine on the night was severely tested as our four day stay was bookended by high winds and gales, prompting Calmac Ferries to run “disruption” banners across their website.  One cancellation simply meant a longer-than-planned-for shopping run at Asda in Ardrossan while we awaited the next crossing.

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If you go down to the woods today

Once there, a quick perusal of the local information service – The Arran Banner – told us that on Boxing day we should attend the “dook”: the local “let’s jump in the sea” equivalent of the Serpentine swimming club in London.  Unlike the Serpentine club this was not a race, just a relaxed, informal affair in which participants strolled (or ran) down the slipway at Lamlash before swimming to the end of the jetty, getting out and diving / jumping / falling into the icy waters below before returning to the slipway for a refreshing hot soup.  Fancy dress was optional, but prizes were awarded, so there were plenty of splashing santas to amuse the spectators as we sipped on our mulled wine.  All donations went to the RNLI so the risk of hypothermia seemed a fair one for the enthusiastic ‘dookers’.

121226a (24)Before we left Somerset for Scotland I had bumped into a former coaching colleague who now works in Scotland and was in the West country for Christmas.  He was incredulous that I was travelling up there for the festive period.  I can see his point:  the days are short (sunrise 9am and setting by 4pm) and the weather potentially vile.  But it proved to be the most peaceful and relaxing christmas in memory.  After all, what more do you want from Christmas other than to be able to eat, drink and slob out in front of the telly, with only the briefest blast of fresh air to revive you for the next instalment of festive gluttony?

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Stunning scenery and excellent golf (course)

Josh and I did, however, manage to get one round of golf at the local course.  Shiskine Golf and Tennis Club is a rarity in golfing terms as it is a 12 hole course.  Which is a perfect length for two hours of excellent golf.  It can never be described as a good walk spoiled as the course is on well-drained links with views across the Kilbrannan Sound to the Mull of Kintyre which are able to lift the soul after even the worst drive into the gorse and bracken.  The scores are secondary to the experience of playing on such a great course, though I did manage to keep my 20-year-old son in his place by about 7 shots….

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Greens and red cabbage – and home reared pork sausages

And in order to maintain some sort of gardening theme, I am pleased to say that we managed to cut some veg from the Arran garden for at least one meal.  Curly Kale is something I have not seen in a long time, but Nick (or rather his neighbour) has been maintaining some herbs, greens and red cabbages that are looking good.  And we also took our own brussels sprouts from our own garden – the few the mice had left us.

A truly peaceful christmas with close family, home cooking and room to breathe as you take walks along the beach with only the oystercatchers, cormorants and other gulls to keep you company.  And although not strictly speaking white, there was always snow visible on the highlands.

Almost perfect.

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Sunset over Mull of Kintyre

The Turn of the Year

KONICA MINOLTA DIGITAL CAMERAIt’s New Year’s Eve – a time to look forward to the clean slate of a fresh 12 months of hope, promises and ambitions.  But it is also a time to reflect and it is in that mood that I am spending this year-end.

2012 was a year in which we as a family put paid to the shadow of major illness, so far as Claire is concerned, with  her final course of chemotherapy and stem cell transplant to guard against recurrence of AITL non-Hodgkins Lymphoma.  And it was not long after the completion of her treatment and while she was in recovery that I started this blog.

KONICA MINOLTA DIGITAL CAMERAI have said before that I feel closer to the memories of my mother when I am gardening and to some extent I suppose there is an element of the Keatsian search for the eternal.  I have a heightened sense of the turning of the year and of the natural world about me.  I am but a small part in the great scheme of things and it all helps to keep my sense of perspective in other aspects of life.

KONICA MINOLTA DIGITAL CAMERAKeats looked for eternity in the song of the nightingale and the repetition of the seasons.  The trees in the garden or field have a air of permanence about them, but that is coloured by the brooding menace of ash dieback on the horizon.

For Keats perhaps eternity culd be found in the bold robin getting under foot as I dig; the bright crisp morning when we get up to let the chickens out; or, more pertinently today, the drenching rain that puts paid to any serious work outside and leaves the hens lurking in the undergrowth like refugees.

The rain seems to have been falling for an eternity, though we were lucky with our Christmas break in Arran – of which more in a subsequent post, hopefully – but when the rain stops I will be out there to get stuff going.  It won’t be long before spring will be with us and I will want to be ready for it all – with good planting plans and a well prepared garden.  Even now, there are shoots coming up in the tubs by the door, and with the crap weather at least I have my seed catalogues to divert me with thoughts of the long hot summer to come, and no worries about droughts…

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