Looking Down and Looking Forward

Oh dear.

My veggie container garden has been neglected along with the allotment, this blog and to some extent the school gardening club.

First it was apathy, inertia and just being downright fed up and then it was the Vile Vomiting Bug that had six out of seven of us laid low.

The Cloud of Gloom is still hovering above my head (can you see it? Can you?). Nothing is growing. Well, that's a lie, green things are obviously growing because they're not dead but as for copious "look at the kilos of veggies I've harvested" posts - forget it.

I can't pretend I'm not green with envy at others; well, I could but really, what's the point? And I shan't, as a stand against some of the (non-gardening) blogs I read, pretend life is wonderful and I never get fed up. Life is quite often hard and I am very fed up.

If I start waffling about why then this won't be a gardening blog, so I'll just contain my ire for my Albatross of an Allotment (told you I wasn't happy). I just can't seem to get to grips with it. The weeds are under control, in that they are there but small and easily remedied with two hours work, probably every day.

There are great big patches of dirt where voluptuous veggies should be and I don't know why I haven't filled them. Then there are the veggies that have decided to put in an appearance. Honestly, I don't know why they bothered. It was hardly worth the effort.

But enough! As I cling to the edges in my Pit of Despair, trying to get a toehold so I can haul myself into the fresh air and sun of normal life, I've decided to reach for the rope labelled Looking Forward.

At the end of this is the box marked Seeds I Can Plant Soon For Next Year, thanks to Sarah Raven's website which I was browsing for a friend's birthday present. I've often wondered why she can't make do with Suttons seeds but she is into the pretty pretty version of country living (think Cath Kidston, Emma Bridgwater) so click away I did.

I read a couple of articles and discovered seeds you can sow in August for next year and - oops - accidentally put two packets of ammi majus Bishops Flower into my basket, y'know, one each. Apparently they make a lovely cut flower although I haven't a clue where they'll go in my garden. I'll worry about that later. I also bought some sweepeas to sow next month and a couple of other things for my friend.

It was a bit of a relief, frankly, to find these articles. I had thought that, in my usual way, my interest in gardening and this blog has run it's course and they were just another entry on the long list of Things I Never Stick At.

But it is nice to have a goal, even if it is to see how hopeless I shall be in growing these flowers. Hopefully my potting shed, built by Hubby, will be up by then and that will help. Oh yes, ever the optimist me.

My Happy Accident

To say that I'm clumsy is probably something of an understatement. This becomes too glaringly obvious when I'm gardening.

In my own garden I'm mostly fine. It's when I have to go to the allotment or the school garden. My biggest trouble is trying to do Too Much and Rushing, oh and Having Eyes Bigger Than My Arms.

Matters are not helped because I never seem to get everything planted. Either because I'm slow or time-poor. Or a combination of both. So mostly I'm scurrying about with plants perched precariously on buggies or trugs or, worse, in my arms.

Unfortunately I don't really have storage in either place. Nor a greenhouse. So, because I'm not rich, I grow a lot from seed and transport them. And this is where my problem lies. Usually on the floor, in a compost-and-seeds-all-mixed-up-mess. Or a crushed-seedling-mess.

Ages ago, on one of my too infrequent visits to the allotment, I dropped half a tray of purple sprouting broccoli. Rushing because it was getting dark and I'm a scaredy cat, I cursed and scooped the lot up before running to my car.

At my "potting table" at home I hurriedly filled some pots and planted, none too carefully, the seedlings I could salvage. And there they've sat for about six weeks.

And how wonderful and healthy they now look! All that benign neglect has worked wonders. I'm actually putting off planting them at the allotment because of those pesky slugs. I need to read up on how other people protect theirs because y'know how the ones I did manage to plant are faring don't you? Yep, they're a lovely row of chomped-to-the-stump of nothingness.

Just Rewards

I find the longer I leave between visits to the allotment, the harder it is to visit. The weeds take on mammoth proportions, everything has been eaten down to a one inch stump, nothing is growing; all these thoughts whirl round my head.

But visit I must. The other night I didn't want to but I had (more) runners to put in, the first lot are not doing too well, and the weeds were growing well.

Now, here's the thing. It is always, always, always worth it. I weeded. Watered. Planted my runners. Weeded some more. Tied in my sweetpeas. Oohed and ahhed over my three carrots. And mulched as if my life depended on it.

I admit to needing, usually by about Wednesday, some child-free space and time. Last week I went to quite an effort to get it but this week, as I watched a cock pheasant strutting around the veggie patches, I wondered why I don't automatically make this my go-to place.

And as I wondered around my tiny domain, planning and plotting, I picked my first harvest. I found some strawberries the slugs hadn't and the birds had kindly left me some raspberries.

I'd like to say I shared them with everyone the next morning. I'd also like to say I didn't polish them off with cream left over from birthday cake making.
I'd like to but I can't........

At Last.....

Yesterday I finally felt that spring was here. Lately it's been a bit tricky remembering which season we're in, what with the snow, rain, cold, rain, hailstones and rain. But yesterday, ah - warmth and sunshine. I sat in my garden, typing this, surrounded by the sounds of chatty birds, lawnmowers and the odd drone of a bumblebee. I watched (I can touch type) a butterfly sunning itself on our slide and next door's frothy blossom gently doing a little dance in the breeze. Bliss.

So what's a girl to do with time, and a toddler, on her hands? No, no prizes for guessing. I remembered to take everything I needed, which in itself is a minor miracle, and packed a bribe (or as I described it, a picnic) for the little one and we headed to our patch.


I can't say I wasn't feeling a little concerned that it would be one Stress Fess from Hell as I haven't been up to the allotment with anyone under the age of three on my own for a looooong time.

But I needn't have worried. The toddler was absolutely fine, actually better than fine. He stuck next to me, didn't take the opportunity to wander when I wasn't looking, kept off others' plots and dug away on various bits of earth.



I'll just gloss over the time he walked over my newly emerging carrots and just-planted peas. Or how he plonked himself down in the patch that I'd just dug over for my broad beans. Nope, he was a star.

We stayed for nearly two hours and I managed to sow three more rows of carrots. I had meant to do it last time but didn't. Tiny little shoots are now poking their head out of the soft bed of compost I made for the first lot I sowed, so I felt encouraged to sow some more.

My carrots are never prolific growers so last year I decided to sow them in rows filled with compost and then covered them with it before giving them a water. But still, not much grew. I think it got warmer and the wet compost baked a nice, hard crust so this year I did the same without the watering.

Today I ran out of compost so I sowed one row directly into the soil. I'm sure it won't be successful but it'll be interesting to find out if my cossetting way does make a difference. I also managed to sow a double row of sugar snap and another of broad beans. I'm not holding out much hope for these - I'm sure a mouse is sharing our plot.

There is still much to do, but I'm feeling happier and ever so slightly green-fingered, if only a delicate shade of a hint-of-apple. Then again, it could, of course, just be because sun was at last shining!

Not A Happy Digger

How keen are we? Gardening by moonlight...

It takes a huge effort to go up to the allotment when Hubby comes home. It's the wrong end of the day and it's quite fresh with a cold wind. I'm in two minds, although it's nice to get away from clingy toddlers who, at this hour, could do with a visit from Supernanny and a spell on the Naughty Step.

So I make myself, knowing that I will feel better for it and there are jobs that need doing. My seven-year-old under gardener leaps at the chance to come too.

But tonight it's not been so wonderful and we return home a bit flat. Well, I do. Under gardener is concerned with her scratches but once assured that she's getting "gardener's hands" she seems satisfied. She is turning into a real help, wheeling away weeds, giving a discourse on the relative merits of the wheelbarrows she's trying out and happily going off to pee behind a tree on her own. This is progress I'm thankful for.

I feel a bit peed off because my new spade has gone missing. Other tools from the shared, minuscule shed with the door that doesn't shut properly, are all there including my (matching) new fork. Working on 'benefit of the doubt' principles I decide to write a polite but firm note requesting it's return. I'm hoping one of my neighbours has taken it by accident.

I plan to tell Mr Grumpy, the bloke in charge of the allotments. He has built himself a lovely, large shed complete, I notice tonight, with padlock. If I broach the subject of us having our own shed and he says no, I can't plead innocence when he inevitably complains. The shed three of us share is obviously not secure and quite frankly it's a pain not having one of our own. An allotment without a shed is like hot chocolate without squirty cream - tolerable but not quite right.

My mood doesn't improve when I notice that someone has been picking my tulips. It's happened before with my daffs but the person, a fellow allotmenteer, confessed with an apology. I guess he thought I wasn't going to pick them and they were going to waste. I wasn't exactly pleased but the deed was done.

This second c**p discovery cements my Eyeore-ish mood. It's not as if I have a stunning display of tulips and won't notice. There are now, thanks to the thief, five flowers. I was leaving them for a bit longer because they didn't seem ready but have now picked the only one that does. It might look a bit...um...lonley in the vase on the kitchen table but at least we get to enjoy it.

I Guess I'd Better Introduce My Plot....

I love looking at pictures of other people's allotments. I just think they look so interesting and in the height of summer, so beautiful.

I love the higgledy-piggledyness of them, the recycling of materials like carpets, plastic bottles and CD's. I'm not so into the completely neat and full of obviously bought-for-the-job kind of plots but give me even those over a flowery garden any time.

So here is my plot:

Unfortunately I only have a half-sized one. I am hoping (I whisper so Hubby doesn't hear) that I might be able to graduate to a full size plot in a few years. There are nine plots, some of them divided like mine, on our village site.

When motivation is lacking, usually all of the time, I should remember how lovely it is up there. Peaceful, full of wildlife, backed by woods and with it's own microclimate. No matter how grumpy I am when I set off I always come back in a better mood.

Mine is the only plot which is totally made up of raised beds. When we took it over five years ago (I think) the Hubby thought that would be the best and easiest way forward for me. I have to admit to being slightly reluctant, the plot just seemed smaller somehow, but it is definitely easier.

Just out of shot is my full width cutting garden bed. I have to admit this has been sorely neglected and while the daffs loyally appear every spring, the tulips have largely deserted me in a huff. I also need to grow some cut-and-come-again flowers. I have an idea to halve it, create a small walkway onto the plot framed with a home-made wooden arch smothered, of course, in sweet peas.

I rotate the crops in all the beds except one, which is divided into three for the oldest children. At the back is our monster rhubarb, next to which is the digging pit created by the oldest but now especially left for the younger two children.

Next to the rhubarb is my strawberry patch, again rather neglected and in need of an overhaul. Behind that bed, at the end are my raspberry canes and redcurrant bush. I need to rethink this area too, so that this year we might enjoy the fruit instead of the birds.

I am sure I am the worst type of allotment gardener; the plot was sorely neglected last year and we have had other fallow years thanks to pregnancy and babies. My youngest always screamed when he was tiny in the pram at the allotment (hopefully not a sign of things to come, I remember worrying) and last year, well, I'm not sure what happened last year. Now though, I'm back with renewed vigor. Nothing is going to stop me (except perhaps my lack of gardening skill...).