Tag Archives: seedlings

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.

New Life

Amellanchier blossom

Spring might finally be coming to the Midlife Garden.  Despite the continuing cold, wet, windy weather, there are signs of new life. The seedlings are bursting out of the storage boxes in the greenhouse so I will have to hold them back in case of frost, and in the borders, the plum trees and Amelanchier are in blossom and the apple is just coming on too. The sound of chiffchaffs and blackcaps has joined the symphony of birdsong.  It is a time of renewal and is a reminder of how the garden literally keeps me grounded and in step with the natural order.

Last week Mrs B and I attended the memorial service for Roy, one of our teachers at school. He was 94 and was, in the parlance of present-day pupils, a “legend”, having taught at the school for nearly three decades.  He was a PE teacher and I remember him as a wily basketball coach, turning us into the best in the county; but he also taught maths. Even now, whenever I (frequently) cover a maths lesson I will think of Roy, of how he helped me understand and succeed in the subject, and whether I am explaining quadratic equations, surds, or simple multiplication, I can hear his voice saying “hence, thus and therefore…” before supplying the answer.

The memorial service was the celebration of a life well-lived, selfessly and often in the service of others, although it was tinged with sadness as Roy had latterly been the victim of Alzheimer’s. The church was packed with men and women of a certain age (somewhere in the 50s – 70s bracket) and there were awkward sideways glances and embarrassed smiles as we tried to second guess if we were looking into the ageing eyes of a former school chum. We should have worn name badges like a proper school reunion, but that would have missed the point of why we were there.

These days I view death as part of life. When someone passes, we grow our life around our grief, and learn to negotiate a new relationship with the deceased. The garden reminds us to get on with life and to accommodate death, even if we do not entirely accept it. Spring, with its blossom, new seedlings, and warming sunshine is the time to celebrate new life, building on, and remembering, the past lives that got us here.

Cornus

Amellanchier
Brunnera
Cornus

Brunnera

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.

Spring is Sprung the Grass is Riz…

I wonder where dem boidies iz…

Mrs B’s Cut Flower patch starts to take shape

While the debate continues about how long lockdown needs to be in place and we continue our social distancing, one positive thing that is clear around here is that the seasonal timing of this could not have been more convenient.  When one is legally obliged to remain on one’s property for hours – and days – on end, domestic tasks are the unavoidable priority. 

The Midlife Garden has never looked so trim and tidy.  The grass is trim and the edges are sharp.  Borders have been weeded and the seedlings are all in the greenhouse or potted on and hardening off.  Green shoots are everywhere which give some feeling of hope in otherwise desperate times.

Also noticeable in the air is the sound of birdsong.  Someone said that birds are singing more loudly, but that is not it.  Ambient noise from planes, trains and automobiles, has reduced dramatically while birds continue to sing at the same levels.  We can all just hear them more clearly now.  I am not sure how much of a difference this makes in a small village, but we have been sleeping with a window open and have woken to the sound of birdsong every morning these past few weeks.  Sometimes it is the cawing of a crow that has disturbed our slumber, but thankfully it has more often been a blackbird, blue tit or chiffchaff, or, for the last two weeks it has been the lilting song of the blackcap.  The blackcap’s is my favourite birdsong at the moment, which makes me sound a bit geeky.  But hey, I’ve said it now.

The sound of the blackcap is not only enjoyable, it is also a sure sign that spring is in full swing.  I finally saw a couple of swallows, too, near the Old Place on Monday, and in the back garden we have a pair of blackbirds sitting on eggs.  It has meant plans to trim the honeysuckle have been put on hold.  Likewise, any thoughts of stripping the dead leaves off the Cabbage Palm were cancelled as we watched a pair of wrens building their nest there instead.  The decibell levels have risen dramatically in the garden with the wrens, by turns, singing to each other and chitting their alarm at our presence.

It was an alarm call that stopped Mrs B and me the other morning while on the regulation dog walk.  We attempted to locate the orgin of the noise and saw a pair of wrens.  Suddenly, there was the flapping of larger wings and out of the hedge tumbled a sparrowhawk which sat on the grass, looking a little dazed, with its wings outstretched, peering over its shoulder at us.  The bird fixed us with its beady yellow eye before realising social distancing measures were being contravened and flew off.  The wrens survived the assault.

It was enjoyable to witness, but we don’t need to leave our home to be able to appreciate the vigour of the spring birds whether they are on their little wings or not.

Greenhouse starting to fill with seedlings