Migrant Hostile

Snootler

It seems every garden needs a dog these days.  It is a trend led by Monty Don, who took it to another level this year by creating a garden for the Chelsea Flower Show that was designed for, and by, his dog Nell.  Badger, our own canine horticultural expert, watches Monty Don on Gardener’s World and barks angrily whenever he sees Nell.  I suspect Badger shares our view that basing your garden design on the random wanderings of your dog is taking the whole thing a little far.   

The Midlife Garden has not been designed by a dog, but Badger’s influence on it is clear.  He spends long hours patrolling the beds and borders, on the lookout for frogs, rodents and, on one particularly disturbing evening, Elephant Hawk Moth caterpillars.  Thankfully he rarely, if ever, catches anything but his regular rootling through shrubs has created well-worn paths under the Peonies and Persicaria.  So, in some sense, I have designed my planting around his habits.  In our own scaled down version of Elephant Walk, I realise that planting anything on his path is ill-advised, as evidenced by the crushed Nicotiana and broken Bells of Ireland.

The hunt continues

But Badger doesn’t confine himself to the dense jungles of the borders.  He roams the lawns and paths in his efforts to evict other interlopers, of which the worst offenders are pigeons.  Mrs B wonders if Badger picks up on her own annoyance at the half-arsed efforts of pigeons building nests in the pyracanthas or apple tree.  They lay three twigs on top of one another and call it home, but they make such a flapping fuss about it.  If Badger really does feed off Mrs B’s anger, he takes that anger, distils it, pressurises it and vents in a concentrated stream of apoplectic rage every time a pigeon lands anywhere near the garden, let alone actually in it.  To Badger, pigeons are unwanted migrants, treating our trees like hotels, and like a Tory councillor, he wants them out of our Back Yard.

He does not spend ALL his time barking and getting angry.  He is generally a calm dog, but not everyone would share this view. Certainly not the middle-aged woman we met the other day with her long-legged terrier cross.  Badger and I were nearing the end of a relaxing walk when we came upon them.  Badger was off the lead, and for a moment I thought he would maintain his relaxed demeanour with the other dog which was being tightly restrained by its tense owner.

Badger did his now customary nose to nose meet and greet, swiftly followed by a mouthful of snarled invective as he leapt at the larger dog.  The owner pulled it away and I grabbed the now simmering Badger.   She questioned why my dog was not on a lead, which was a fair point, and I apologised, sounding like a woolly-headed liberal parent making excuses for his “boisterous” child (for which you can read “spoilt”).  But she was not in a mood for apologies or placations.

“Drives me up the FACKIN’ wall”, was her response as she strutted away.

I drew two of conclusions from the interchange.  One:  she is not from round here. And two:  my dog is a foulmouthed little tyrant.

Like the master of quick wit and ready repartee that I am, I had the ideal response to the potty-mouthed newcomer. 

“If dogs are like their owners, we appear to have got our dogs mixed up”, as I offered her my foul-mouthed dachshund.   

But, like the comedian who thinks of the ultimate putdown to an annoying heckler, but only when he is on the bus on the way home, I came up with my witty rejoinder when I was back in the Midlife Garden, talking to my flowers, while Badger licked frogs and shouted at pigeons. 

Never found out what was cornered behind the herb trough

Grow, Grow, Grow

I was as excited as any other birdwatcher when I read about the Bearded Vulture that has been spotted in the Peak District and Yorkshire. Also known as a Lammergeier, this is only the second time such a bird has been spotted in Britain this century. Which makes it almost as rare as a Cabinet Minister telling the truth. Or a Special Advisor admitting an error. It is thought that this is a juvenile Lammergeier that has simply got a bit blown off course – admittedly by a few thousand miles. The bird obviously thinks that we still live in a Europe of open borders and no distrust of foreign immigrants. Oh, the naivety of youth.

When I was a naive youth, the Lammergeier was top of my must-see list of birds on the occasions when our family French camping holidays took us to the Pyrenees. We saw lots of other eagles and vultures, but never a Lammergeier. It would be amazing to spot one, but I will not be making the trip to Yorkshire to try and see it. Even without the lockdown restrictions having been lifted (for those of us who abided by them in the first place) I will not be leaving the garden for any of length of time at the moment. Because this is the time of the year when the hard graft finally pays off. It is the time of the year when my parents would say that there was no way they could go on holiday, because the peas will need picking, then the beans, the courgettes and all the other veg that they grew on an industrial scale.

And I now understand their sentiments. The scale of my veg and flower patch is nothing to compare with theirs. Mrs B and I are not interested in the long hours of blanching and bagging veg which my parents engaged in, to enable them to freeze enough greens to see them through the winter. But we currently have more peas, sugar snaps, courgettes, kale, carrots and runner beans and french beans than we could shake a big Tory Lie at. Not to mention salad leaves, cucumbers and, this week, the first tomatoes in the greenhouse.

The sighting of a rare vulture in Britain is a relief from the other depressing news (although it also brought into focus the illegal persecution of birds of prey such as the hen harrier on nearby grouse moors). Being in the garden has also provided solace for me and Mrs B. The flowers are looking particularly fine at the moment and Josh’s Spursy Border is performing far better than I had any right to expect in its first season.

All this has happened not because we made any spurious promises or deadlines, or pretended we had seeds in stock when, in fact we had not. We did not double count plants or make up random straplines like “We will get digging done” or “pick, pick, pick”. No: we just got on with it.

And now, like the Lammergeier in Yorkshire, who must have been a bit tired after its long journey over half of Europe, we will take stock and enjoy the fruits of our labour.

Pre-season training

Basil?!

We are into March. The days are lengthening.  The February seeds have germinated and are looking sprightly: the race to produce those early tomatoes has started and the chillis are up too.  We need to make sure they are in good shape for the summer ahead.

The change of month means that I can now allow myself to open those packets of veg and flowers seeds that advised sowing from March onwards.   Having a greenhouse is a boon at this time of the year, but before the seedlings graduate to this I have been starting some in the warmth of the spare bedroom before putting them in the conservatory which is no more than a giant leaky cold frame at this time of the year, but still marginally warmer than the greenhouse at night.

It’s not all seeds in trays, though:  I’ve sown a couple of rows of peas and sugar snaps in the raised beds.  The peas will once again be Hurst Greenshaft – The Old Man’s favourite.  I keep a picture on my desk of him proudly standing alongside the Greatest Peas Of All Time.  It is something to which I can aspire.  The key might be the soil – which was a friable fecund tilth at the old place: the result of decades of cultivation.  My one year old raised beds are composed of a thin layer of compost overlaying the claggy clay topsoil I bought last spring.  I have put some well-rotted manure in with the peas but I fear it will take many more years’ work before it gets anywhere near as fertile as the last place.

We’ll wait to see if their early form is good enough to ensure good performance this season, whatever the ground..

New Term

160407 (11)And so here’s the summer, and what have we done? Another Easter over and a new term begun…

Easter is an exciting time of year, with the greenhouse beginning to burst at the seams with seed trays which themselves start to creak under the weight of rapidly shooting plants. The earth is beginning to warm under the longer days of a more powerful sun.

Not that the Old Man thinks that we should be thinking about planting anything out right now – way too cold. And my age is showing as I was in a mind to agree with him.  But Mrs B went on a day course to learn about preparing flowers for weddings (not one in our family I hasten do add) with Georgie Newberry at Common Farm Flowers (author of several books on flower farming – available, as always at Bailey Hill bookshop). Georgie was firmly of the opinion that down here in Somerset we are able to start planting seeds outside as we are not likely to get anything like a major frost. So what do I and the Old Man know about it?

So I will shortly be planting all sorts of exciting things in the garden, but in the meantime I have, over my luxuriatingly long school holiday, managed to plant and germinate a whole host of stuff:

160407 (7)Courgettes (two types), Chillis (three types), Purple sprouting, Brokali, Peas, Sugar snaps and mangetout, Broad Beans, Runner Beans, French climbing beans, Squash (three types), Aubergines, Sweet peppers, Brussels Sprouts, Cabbages, Leeks, Basil, rocket, lettuce and tomatoes.  In addition there are some random seeds that came as a surprise package from the seed company such as celery and melons.  I have also planted numerous flowers to stock our cut flower patch:  zinnias, Rudbeckia, Nicotiona, Cape Daisy, and some marigolds which are being grown to be a companion plants.

We did plant stuff in the great outdoors over Easter getting the potatoes in on time and also onions and shallots.  And this weekend we broke out from the greenhouse by planting the broad beans and sweet peas.  Fingers crossed we don’t get that late April cold snap the old gardeners like to warn us of..

 

Spring Clean

Seen Better Days
Seen Better Days

In the past two weeks we have had a major eclipse, the term has finished at school and Parliament has been dissolved to make way for the General Election.  All worthy or exciting events, but frankly not as exciting for this midlife green fingered gopher as the opportunity to get out in the garden and actually get some stuff done.  So while the leaders debate who has failed whom, gongs are given out at school for adding up really quickly or colouring between the lines and the moon tries to blot out the sun, it is good to address  important issues like cleaning the greenhouse which, as always at this time of year, lives up to its billing as – literally – a green house, such is the mould on the glass.  But a quick dose of Jeyes fluid and a spray with the hose pipe and an afternoon’s work has seen off twelve months advancing algae.

Birdcatcher
Birdcatcher

While Mrs B and I were working on ridding one airborne invader from the garden the faithful Lab-Retriever was working a little riddance of her own for another airborne invader.  Ella just does not get the fact that as a Retriever (or Labrador – whatever half of her genetic makeup is taking precedence at the time) she really ought to wait till a bird is shot before bringing it back.  She managed to flush out a pheasant that had taken up temporary residence in the garden and took up the challenge of downing the bird.  I guess, for a dog that is obsessed with squirrels and is constantly trying to work out ways of retrieving them from the branches, the chance to snatch a bird is a rare opportunity for hope to triumph over commonsense expectation.  So despite our demands to the contrary, Ella rampaged through shrub and border in her quest and triumphantly brought the bird back to us.  A rare victory for canine over avian, though pheasants barely qualify as flying birds  (certainly not as part of  Noel Gallagher’s band), but that is why we do not have cats, as we value the bird life around here too much.

Higgledy Sweet Peas
Higgledy Sweet Peas

The past couple of weeks have been spent planting a few seeds and planning our flower growing – at which point a big “shout out” for my new BGF (best gardening friend) at Higgledy Garden.  I have just discovered this fab website which can cater for all our flower seed needs as well as entertaining us with regular blog and Facebook posts.  I bought an excellent value selection of sweet peas from Ben and he threw in a packet of nicotiana for good measure.  The sweet peas are in and doing well in the sparkling greenhouse and I will no doubt be picking out nicotiana soon.  The scent around the garden come July should be intoxicating.

 

The Summer in one day

 

Sunshine and showers

With the summer continuing changeable, one is almost taken aback by a bit of warm sunshine.  Wednesday provided the whole of this season in one day, with light rain followed by torrential rain, which cleared to warm sunshine, during which, with masterful timing I took the dog for a walk.  A good walk only spoiled by Fudge going ballistic at a slightly startled elderly rambler; though Fudge had good cause to complain: the lady was wearing full rambling gear, carrying maps, back packs and hiking stick all accessorized badly with what looked like a yellow bin liner by way of waterproofing.  Enough to freak the most laid back canine.

By the time we returned, the blue skies were being invaded by scudding clouds as the wind got up and blew away any thoughts of a leisurely afternoon sunning myself in the garden.

Instead I prepared the ground for, and planted, lines of swede and chard as well as hedging my bets by planting a couple of seed trays of the same in the greenhouse as well as some small pots of cauliflowers.

At the other end of the reap and sow spectrum, I picked more runner and french beans as well as a courgette (zucchini to our north american brethren) which magically went from the size of a small pencil to torpedo in hours flat.  In between times I had trimmed the tomato plants to stop them taking over the whole greenhouse.

Elsewhere around the garden the are plenty of flowers blooming at long last, with cornflowers for cutting looking good – though how on earth you get them to grow straight I have no idea.  At the Olympic Park they have thousands of the beggars standing straight and tall in vast beds.  Fantastic – but how do they do that?!

Blousy? Moi?

The Love in the Mist are finally blooming joining the Nicotiana in the corner bed.  The scent of Nicotiana is so lovely on a warm evening as we go to shut the chickens in.  And lovely set off with the Love in the Mist and the Cosmos.  Elsewhere there are numerous splashes of colour including the infamously blousy Dahlias (The Old Man is very pleased with them – but they stand out in the flower beds like rambler wrapped in flapping yellow plastic).  I don’t know the names of flowers – I am don’t have the brain for it – but they look kinda nice and next year we will hopefully plan and develop the colour schemes a little more.

So yesterday had all the summer in one: sun, rain, wind, cloud, preparing, planting harvesting and just some good old seasonal flowering.

Nicotiana – great performers