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.

Not Green Any More

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A Very Green House

Half term has arrived for me with the amazing coincidence of fine weather too.  So we decided to clean the greenhouse.

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Is there anybody in there?

This time last year, Claire was in hospital undergoing her final chemotherapy and stem cell transplant, so even going out and scrubbing down a load of glass seems like a treat – particularly as only six months ago she might not have had the energy to contemplate it.   Last year Lynn very kindly washed the greenhouse, so this was my first attempt at an early spring clean in the garden.  It was no big deal, but only when you get up close and personal to it to do you see why Greenhouse is not a misnomer for a shed made of glass:  Fungus the Bogeyman would not have felt out of place in this moldy residence.  So I did the outside, Claire wiped the inside and the results speak for themselves.

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The Crystal Palace!

As usual, I did it all with the sound of the OM’s voice in my head, advising me on how to do it, but unlike this time last year it really is just in my head:  I knew he would not be wandering down the garden today to dig leeks or check what I was up to.  It seems a shame that he does not come down the garden, but I guess he might be keeping out of my way (unlikely) or more probably he just does not have the motivation these days.

A good Forking effort
A good Forking effort

Mind you, despite my cynicism of the “I wouldn’t do it that way if I were you” kind of comment from on high, I gave more thought to the advice I had been given as I dumped a load of manure into the beds in the now crystal-clear greenhouse (glasshouse is now a recognisable description).  As I dug with the spade then broke it up and spread it with my fork, it occurred to me that perhaps all those years digging and muck-spreading in the garden must count for something.  My views are skewed by memories of  having to share the experience of him taking an hour to methodically change a fuse (which probably required the shutting down of half the village’s electrical supply to ensure safety) but maybe, just maybe, his way really is the best and most efficient.  So fork it was – and it all worked nicely.

Thanks Dad.

The Love Rose (thanks Tony and Juleit).  Happy as a pig in...
The Love Rose
(thanks Tony and Juliet)
Happy as a pig in muck

And I even managed to save a little manure to put around our Silver Wedding Rose (now safely ensconced in the “Silver Wedding Bed” –  a rose from our Silver wedding in the bed created for my parents’ in 1982).  This is based another story from my childhood of my paternal grandfather following horses down the street to collect their detritus for his roses.  I never knew either of my grandfathers:  my mother’s father was born in 1868, so I was never likely to have known him.  The other died before my father reached his teens – but we will have to explore all the Freudian overtones of that another day.  For now, let’s just celebrate a clean, un-green greenhouse and some roses that are looking just fine and dandy.

And much of that is down to the use of knowledge and stories passed on across the generations.

Final job was to put together the Wicker Salad Planter (Christmas present from one of my brothers).  This did not require generations of knowledge to assemble.  And I don’t think I will be passing on either the planter or the assembly technique to my own children…

Shoot Em Up

Today I managed to take another leaf out of my father’s book, to follow in his footsteps, be the unwitting victim of the power of fate and to once more be filled with the horror (the horror) of the dread of heredity.

The final day of the Premier League football season proved to be possibly the most crazed and nail-biting that any one can remember, with twists and turns of fortune throughout the afternoon.  I, as a classic Man U fan (never been to a home fixture etc etc – you know the sort) was offered the chance to watch the excitement on TV, but I instead opted for an afternoon in the garden with the radio to give me the pictures.

Sarpo Mira

I could not help noticing the similarity with 1966 when, on the day that Enlgand had a chance to lift the world cup, my father could not stand the tension of the moment and instead spent the afternoon digging in the allotment.  I have never been able to understand how he missed the greatest moment in England’s footballing history.  And yet, as I planted cosmos and nasturtiums this afternoon while Man City did their best to refuse to accept the title from united, the parallels were too close ignore.

In my defence, it was about the best day of the year so far, and the simple matter of being outside instead of in was overwhelmingly attractive.  So an afternoon spent planting flowers – nasturtiums, cosmos, cornflowers and Nigella – into the borders to brighten them up later in the summer.  And I will forever look upon the lavender beds next to the sundial with mixed emotions as it was there that I was weeding when City scored twice in the dying moments to clinch an amazing victory.

Elsewhere, the potatoes are really shooting up, with the parsley also actually arriving at the party, after weeks of sitting miserably in the wet cold soil.  I am beginning to get some idea of the variations in germination for plants.  All pretty basic stuff, but I did not realise how long the parsley – which has seeds like large bits of grit – would take to sprout compared with, say, the radishes next to it.  But it has finally done so.

Belle De Fontenay

Meanwhile in the greenhouse, extra ruby chard I planted has just sprung up, compared with pin points of ruby in the beds, while the brussels and purple sprouting are jumping out of the soil in their seed trays.  I might have to do something similar with the parsnips which I sowed, as per the packet instructions, one per 30 cms in rows outside, only to be solemnly informed by my “gardening conscience” (the old man) that parsnips have  notoriously poor germination rates.  So I am thinking that I might have to wait months only to discover that I have one parsnip to last me a year!

Never mind, I think I will plant some in

Arran Victory

seed trays, in newspaper cones (I am advised on Saturday night by Piers and Hazel), so I can transplant easily.  Might do the YouTube video “how to grow parsnips in paper” or some such title.  Or maybe I will just sit outside avoiding telly, watching the garden grow – and all those different potatoes.