Tag Archives: Garden

Slugs and Snails and Puppy Dogs’ Tails

Is that a carrot I see before me?

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.

Box Fresh

February has been so mild; it feels like spring.  Which it almost is, isn’t it?  But we are not fooled in the Midlife Garden, despite the daffodils coming up weeks ago, wallflowers currently adding splashes of gold in the front border and even the Viburnum Mariessii about to come into flower.  It is still not spring.  OK? 

But we are keen to get our annual flowers established in plenty of time for July and the Big Fat Somerset Wedding.  Over the years of the MLG, the trend is for me to be getting flowers to bloom earlier and earlier.  Whether this is due to my burgeoning horticultural expertise or the result of global warming, is a moot point.  When I started in the Old Man’s Garden in 2012, I was chuffed when the first sweet pea came out on 10th July – my mother’s birthday (mum was a dab hand with sweet peas, so it felt right).  A few years later I was getting sweet peas in June and even May.  So I should be cautiously optimistic about prospects for July, but it is a constant ongoing work of Plan, Do Review. As the someone once ironically said to me: “Better Never Stops”.

So, I have worked through my 2023 ‘Annual’ Review to address any potential problems for 2024.  Germination of seeds is not generally an issue: a warm windowsill (or spare bed) gets most seeds started, after which pots and trays migrate to the greenhouse to continue their early life.  It is here that we encounter challenges, be it from the threat of hard frosts or the voracious appetite of slugs and snails. 

As my internal corporate life coach tells me, challenges are opportunities for growth, so that is how I approach the issue in the MLG. I guess I could bring the seedlings inside if frost is forecast, or every night if I want to avoid the slugs. But this is time-consuming and requires a level of commitment and foresight that is often beyond me. So, this year I am going for a double insulation solution that might – just might – cover all bases.

It is an idea I found from my long-term seed supplier at Higgledy Garden.  Young Ben does not have a greenhouse, but instead uses storage boxes, which provide all the warmth the seedlings need.  With the lid on, he can guard against pests too, and if there is a truly severe frost (which is admittedly less likely in his sub-tropical Cornish wonderland), he can stack the boxes up indoors for the night.  It seems too good to be true, so I am testing his idea by popping all my seeds into 3 cm square pots, inside storage boxes and I am planning to put them in the greenhouse for that added security.  It should be seedling heaven.

I am fully aware that that even if I manage to get the boxes, get the seeds sown and they do actually germinate, I will be a long way from being out of the seedling woods, as evidenced by my sweet peas in December and January having lost 50% of the little guys (and counting) through damping off.  To try and guard against that particular threat I have, for the first time, washed all my pots to eradicate all the nasty viruses and grollies that might be lurking there from last year. 

So, come on seeds, what more do you need to work your magic?  Let’s get growing.

New Beginnings

January offers promise, after the bittersweet New Year when we tend to look back at everything we omitted to do in the previous 12 months.  When looking for promise in the depths of a wet winter, the garden is a good place to start.  We might be only just past the solstice, but it would be wrong to think of the garden as dormant. In the veg patch I am pleased to see the sharp darts of garlic offering the bold promise of spring in a few months. And there are flowers too, with hellebores providing splashes of colour as well as winter jasmine and an anonymous climber which has produced pretty white flowers for what seems the first time.

This year, more of the garden is being committed to flowers, with the Big Fat Somerset Wedding to plan for in July.  I started early and sowed a few rows of hardy annuals in October, but the results have been poor.  In contrast, the sweet peas that I sowed in November germinated well, but they have now been hit with damping off and I fear we are going to lose a lot of good seedlings out there.

So, it’s back to square one and I will sow all my annuals with spring in mind and ensure that they have the best possible of chance of hitting their straps by the time July looms.  To this end, I spent the last few days of the school holidays prepping the beds, taking out last year’s dead plants, spreading some fine horse manure and covering them with cardboard to keep the weeds down. 

Now, I just need to take another look at those seed catalogues…. 

Autumn / Winter Collection

The Weekend Walk

Autumn has turned to winter in the blink of a Long Dog’s eye.  A fortnight ago I was harvesting chillis for jam and last weekend I walked the dogs over crisp frosted fields, under coppered leaves glinting in the sun as they somersaulted from the trees. 

But now it is cold, wet and dark; the trees are skeletons under the sky’s grey shroud.

It is the end of the calendar year, but also the start of the horticultural one.  I have sown sweet peas ready for summer and now the first tips peek from the duvet of their compost in the cool greenhouse, like tiny benevolent Grinches.

The frost has knocked back the last of the summer blooms, but the sweet peas are safe for now, in their glazed home, readying themselves to take centre stage (or table) in July.

Chillis on the plant…
…on the kitchen table…
…and in the jam pan.
Frozen Pesicaria
Two batches, jam with sweet pepper and tomato, and (original) pure chilli Jam (bit solid with too much pectin)
Yellow Rose of Texas in frost
Alstroemeria
Achillea
Delphinium
Freshly sown pots of Sweet Peas
Shooting up
Happy Grinches

Late news from late summer

Sunrise on a wet field

It was a wet end to the summer and I never really got the garden under the level of control I might in other years have demanded.  I wrote this piece back in October, before a lot of other stuff happened so I will simply post this and update my loyal readership (both of you) about some of the goings on in my life in the next few posts. Here’s what I had to say in October:

I have continued to reap whatever I have sown, so we are, despite a certain lack of motivation, still harvesting a fine range of autumnal produce.

Some of the squashes are looking good, although I should probably have pruned them a little more:  they have produced an abundance of green foliage drawing on the rich soil in the pig pen, but there have not been a great many fruit.  The butternuts all failed to ripen properly, and I am seriously thinking about never growing them again.  The Uchiki Kuri have been pretty good (the ones that have survived the mice, that is) and the Crown Prince have produced some excellent candidates.  The plants grew up and over the fence and lelandii hedge and I discovered a couple of fruit on top of it this morning.

But looking ahead, I am increasingly like The Old Man:  just grow the reliable Crown Prince – stick to what you know.  They produce large, well ripened fruit that store well and so far as I am concerned, taste just as good as butternut.

It is a constant surprise to me that I can go into a pretty tangled mess of a plot and still come back with a trug full of vegetable joy.  Parsnips, beans, beetroot, tomatoes, green peppers (best ever) all complement the stored items such as potatoes, onions, garlic and shallots.  Our food bills are minimal at the moment.

I have taken steps to use what we have.  I plan to dry some chillis, but have this year actually made some green tomato chutney.  But will it be as good Mrs Chippington’s green tomato chutney which my flatmate would bring back at the beginning of each term at university?  I doubt it – Mrs Chips’s chutney was legendary.

 

Chicken Run II

Where is that drill bit?
Where is that drill bit?

The major event this Easter has been the return of Chickens to the estate.  After a few site meetings Jim had delivered the posts and wire and between us we had dug three-quarters of the way around the area to be able to dig the fence in.  The gate was a slight issue as we needed to make one, so Jim and I suggested to the OM that he might like to dust off his old woodworking skills and throw one together.  He demurred although he did have what Jim and I both agreed was a good idea to hang the non-existent door from the end of the cow stall instead of securing a square post.  TOM decided to advise me on the size of drill bits, wood and other practical matters to aid me in my task.  “They are in the top shed” he told me.  Such instructions of little use.  He might as well have said they were on Mars.  I would have had more chance of locating them in outer space than in the heaps of old tools, wood and machinery in his shed.

“Do you think you can find them for me?” I asked.  He decided he could – and duly did – thus saving me a frustrating search and giving him another thirty yards of exercise.  A win-win, by my reckoning.

So by the Friday afternoon we had a wall plate and three trenches dug when Jim arrived for the main construction session.  Jim and I work well together.  He has the experience and the right  sanguine attitude towards the OM who pays him for his labour, and I am happy to agree with whatever Jim says and to offer what muscle I can muster.

Posts in
Posts in

It started reasonably well with the acquisition of tools:  metal spike and sledgehammer to the fore.  The OM was keen to tell us that the sledgehammer had been acquired from Yeovilton Air Base in 1962/3 when he was clearing the runway of ice (my first winter was a hard one I am told).  A legendary piece of equipment which promptly broke as we hammered in the first post.  We resumed 10 minutes later with Jim’s tools and cracked on with the job in hand.  Incredibly we managed to get posts and netting up and a strand of supporting wire too.   With only two lengths of wire to go, Jim left me to sort it the next morning but with a warning that it would be a two person job as the wire could get “twisted as fuck” if you did not feed it out carefully.  I took this as a serious piece of advice.  Jim does not often use strong language in my experience.

Gate - constructed by the author - not his father
Gate – constructed by the author – not his father

It only took an hour or two with Verity the next morning to make the run secure.  Which was just as well, as I had arranged to collect the hens that afternoon.  This is the third time that we have sourced chickens from Dorset Hens and they never fail to deliver.  They have a great range of hybrids of various hues, and although after a busy Easter there was not a great choice, we took an eclectic foursome of a Mottled Leghorn, an Amber Star, a Bova Nera and a Colombian Blacktail.   They were in a crate waiting for us when we arrived and the owner grabbed them two at a time to put them in the back of our car (in the dog crate).  As she took the Leghorn she muttered a warning under her breath that this was “a little bastard”.  Or at least that was what I thought I heard.  She actually said “this is the fastest”.  Ok – got ya.

VB and I returned with our clucking cargo and started to unload them. When the OM came up the yard I assumed it was to take a look at the new arrivals, but it turned out the more pressing matter for him was to print off a boarding pass for his impending flight to Newcastle – in three weeks’ time.  I politely suggested I would take a look later.  For the moment I wanted to get my hens settled in….

And so the hens are in.  And they have not hung about, with one already laying (three in total so far) and we have also managed to discourage either dog from getting too interested in the chickens too.  If Ella gets the wrong side of the fence, it will be carnage.  The last time we had hens she was only a puppy but managed to get into the old run, to which I was alerted when I heard one hen shouting “f-koff!, f-koff!”  Ella had the bird in her mouth, but fortunately did not deliver the coup de gras on that occasion.  I don’t think she would be quite so gentle now…

March is not the cruelest month

Wisteria trim
Wisteria trim

I’m getting all poetic this week as we have dumped the waste land of January and February and are now into the expectation of March, and with it some spring-like weather and more to do in the garden.

But the other weekend was free from school duties so we decided to visit Josh and Esther in their new flat in Walsall, unaware that elder bro Hugh had offered to come to lunch with TOM and undertake large tasks in the garden.  This offer of doing working in the garden is evocative of our youth when the ‘rents would always have “a job for (insert child’s name here)”.  I am not sure if Hugh had any jobs in mind for himself, but TOM was ever ready to allocate him one – after due consultation with me – and we gave him the wisteria to prune.

On the previous day Mrs B and I had spent a long day in the garden clearing the Silver Wedding bed.  Claire had thought she would clear the old dead wood from the perennials and I, with a number of gardening job options available to me, ranging from planting seeds to felling trees, decided it would be advisable to work alongside Mrs B, digging weeds and clearing the areas that we want to plant.  The memories are still too raw of me potting up in the greenhouse, watching Claire throwing stakes in frustration in the veg patch.  I’m pleased to say that working side by side prevented such histrionics and a good day’s work produced large piles of weeds and detritus which we left to collect on the Sunday.

The author digging the beds
The author digging the beds

But we were preempted by Hugh who upon arriving for his job allocation was aghast at the state of the place.  So his first job – before he could even get on with the job in hand – was to clear several barrow loads of garden rubbish.  I couldn’t have planned it better if I had tried:  preying on Hugh’s need for tidiness and order (not to mention a wheelbarrow that needed to be emptied of all the remains of my weeding) was a stroke of genius.  So while Hugh did an excellent job cutting the wisteria back to a trimness not seen since the turn of the century, I reckon the largest part of his day’s work would have been cleaning up after the residents.

In the meantime on that sunny Saturday, Claire and I discovered that the urban cityscape of Walsall is not how we  imagined as we walked through the crocus-carpeted Arboretum, then on through larger park land with ponds and trees galore – and no sign of Macniece’s “Chromium dogs”, “triplex windscreens” and “proud glass”.  It made me come over all poetic.  Again.

 

 

Stonemouth

140501 (1)
A survivor

With new life in the spring air, death is on the agenda once again in the garden.  We lost four of our hens the other day as a fox (or foxes) took three away and left one fatally injured.  The wounded hen was hiding under a tree with her head jammed under some ivy, totally in shock.  Josh and I only spotted her hours later.  I put her in the hen house and let her out the next day.  She had laid two eggs in the night (one a softy).  I guess it was no surprise she died later that day – she had a massive bite mark in her back where the feathers had been ripped out.

So we are left with one rather bemused looking hen who continues to roost warily in the blue cedar each night, sitting as if on board the bow of a ship.

20140504_100919
On the trail

Elsewhere the canine assault on the rabbit population has resulted in more casualties.  The Black Lab is showing a good turn of speed and a pretty effective killing technique.  For a supposed “soft mouthed” retriever she thankfully dispatches baby rabbits swiftly.  This was particularly useful the other morning when, after being let out early, both dogs bombed back in through the front door within thirty seconds – as normal – to get their breakfast.  As Ella sped through the door and into the kitchen I noticed she had a toy in her mouth.

20140509_140845
Toys out of the pram?

“But she has no toys in the garden” was my immediate thought, which segued to me shouting “hey!” at my startled dog, who spat the baby rabbit out by the fridge.  I surveyed the poor creature for a moment or two to check it was dead.  Which it was, thankfully.  The thought of a rabbit loose in the kitchen being pursued by my over-excited dogs was not something I wanted to experience.  We’ve only just put it back together after re-decorating – it does not need to be rearranged by two idiot dogs in pursuit of a petrified rabbit.

I was just gob-smacked (indeed I guess Ella was, literally) by how quickly she had run into the garden, collected the live rabbit in her mouth and returned for breakfast with said bunny.  Being a Labrador she naturally suffers from CRS (Compulsive Retrieval Syndrome).  But this was taking things a little far.

20140509_140636
A hard mouth of stone

Later the same day Ella saw more success.  She has developed a tactic similar to a sheep dog in which she pelts up the right side of the garden in an out-run before sweeping around the top of the middle border or coming down the centre of either that border or the Silver Wedding bed.  I am not sure that the shrubs are going to survive the constant pounding but Ella did snare another rabbit, emerging out of the flower bed with broken Hosta leaves flying like anti-aircraft chaff, bunny in mouth.

She readjusted it a couple of times to complete the job, like a heron aligning the orientation of a fish before swallowing.  Thankfully this did not occur, although I would not have been surprised to see her try to swallow it whole – with her gullet she eats first and vomits later, as I am all too aware.  She dropped the corpse for me to dispose of effectively.  Which I duly did – taking it to Jim for his ferrets (or hawks).

So fewer and fewer rabbits and hens.  But probably less and less border shrubs.

Easter Rising

The glorious few days of Amellanchier blossom
The glorious few days of Amellanchier blossom

The Easter break has been kind for DIY and gardening.  With the weather poor in the first week of the holidays, it was no chore to be inside, though painting the kitchen was.  But with indoor work done, gardening has been a pleasure in the warm spring sunshine.  This time last year it was bitterly cold and there is a hint of that with the fresh breeze and clear skies sending temperatures to hover above freezing at night.  But everyone and everything in the garden has been enjoying decent day time temperatures.

Another stunning morning to enjoy the view of Cadbury
Another stunning morning to enjoy the view of Cadbury

So we have been able to get a lot done and I reckon I have pretty much planted all the seeds I need to at the moment.  Some are a little later than previously, others might be a little early.  I have noticed that it is about this time of year that one starts to check out what your friends and neighbours are doing with their plots or greenhouses.  Denise was offering me spare tomato plants before I had even planted seeds, which put me on edge a little, trying to remember if I had planted seeds earlier last year.  I recall planting sweet peas early, indoors, but these were very “leggy”and were quickly caught up and even overtaken by those planted in the greenhouse later.  So I am, with the dread of heredity, coming around to the same view as The Old Man who always says it really is not worth the bother to force start them indoors.

French Beans (I think - better check the label)
French Beans (I think – better check the label)

Conversely, Denise frowned when she saw I had planted my runner bean seeds.  “Much too early” was her confident assertion.  This was on the obligatory “tour of the garden”, which is a social requirement of all good neighbours who should at least feign polite interest in the others’ vegetables and herbaceaous borders (whilst making frantic mental notes on how yours compare).   When Denise had gone, I rifled through my seed packets to check when it said to plant runners.  Thankfully it says April.  Relief – and renewal of confidence in my own work.  Mind you, when it comes to gardening I am still of the Ronseal school of instruction – I do exactly what it says on the tin (or packet).

The tour of the garden is one overt way of checking on the neigbours.  Alternatively you just lean over the fence to see what is happening over there.  Walking around the village can give you glimpses into others’ back yards.  Paddi’s greenhouse is right next to the footpath and Claire was able to report back that it is not showing any greater advancement in green shoots than ours.  So I feel more comfortable about my own meagre showing of shooting stars, as Paddi regularly produces healthy young plants far earlier than me.

Talking of neighbours I liked the report from the RHS, as reported on the BBC which showed that 22% of gardeners admitted to just throwing snails over the fence into their neighbours’ gardens.  I think the most shocking part of this was how FEW admitted to doing this….  I am in the happy position of not having neighbours too close so snails and other pests (such as dead rabbits) can be slung into the field or hedgerows.  Not that there are too many snails and slugs at the mo – but with the summer term about to start, I expect rain will be forecast so we’ll see plenty more then.  The report did not exactly raise any eyebrows with its findings – with facts such as 70% of men planned to cut the grass at Easter, compared with 57% of women.  Good to see there is still some basis in fact to sexual stereotyping.

So, all-in-all the place is looking good and showing real signs of optimism for the summer, which suddenly feels like it’s just around the corner.  I planted the potatoes on 14th April – which was four days later than the Old Man would have said – so can’t be bad, and the garlic and onions, despite relatively late plantings, compared with last year, are looking perky.  The Amelanchier has been and gone in a trice – showing its stunning blossom for a few days before dropping its confetti on the former heather bed.

So now we await the greenshoots of spring to turn into a the lush green summer.

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.