Titanarum

Well well well. What can I say? The buds are swelling, the worms are wriggling and the rain just keeps on coming. It is spring. I know I declared spring sprung during a visit to the Isabella Plantation in early January but that was obviously a mistake on my part. I don’t feel a need to apologise. Those who know me accept that I’m wont to over excitement. But, being at the end of March, the statement finally holds true. And now, with the storms behind us, it is time to get our nails and backs broken. Time to get sunburnt arms and aching thighs. Because gardening isn’t all about fun. It is hard work and sheer determination. Those who say otherwise either employ a gardener or belong to a tiny minority of organised sticklers who check their angles, and best-before -dates on seed packets. And rest assured they are well ahead of garden people on TV and in magazines. We all know one or two, I expect. And respect to them. By all means. But I’m going to hurt for my produce. When I think of the chewing, slicing, boiling and baking I’m going to subject them to, it feels like the least I can do.

I planted my first cherry tree five years ago. It is called Stella and is a red self fertile dessert cherry. Last year I had my first fruits. Only 6 stayed on to maturity and of those I only had two thanks to the determined cunning and sheer weightiness of the pigeons feeding off our plots. Despite using netting they still managed to sit on one of the branches till it broke off and the fruits were free to get their beaks into. I wouldn’t bat an eyelid if they got stuck in the netting and died a long drawn out painful death (that was obviously my subconscious and base instinct talking and I’d never follow through in real life, it is only how I feel.). Anyway, the two I tasted were out of this world. Unsurpassed sweetness and juiciness. And the largest, I kid you not, was the size of a walnut. So this year I’ve decide to wrap the sets of fruit individually in small pieces of netting. The kind that comes with oranges, packs of garlic and potatoes. And I will disguise the fruits as best I can without barring the sun’s light, so necessary for ripening and flavour. Never again will a pigeon or any other bird for that matter, share my cherries.

Begonia Rex. Ah. The trouble that plant has brought me. But not for much longer. I told you weeks ago about the history of my exemplar: kept in a tiny plastic pot for 4 years in a baking hot south facing window sill the magenta red leaves had me entranced. When its owner, a dear friend, decided to emigrate to Bavaria in Germany, I put a bid in for adoption. I won, needless to say. And in my gratitude I gave the plant a new life with fresh soil and room for the roots to grow forth and multiply. And the leaves grew brown and beige and darkly green. So a few weeks back I did the only thing I could think of. I cut it back and crammed the roots into the smallest pot I could find with barely a hint a humus to keep them moist. I watered sparingly and am now waiting for the red leaves to grow. I have already seen enough signs of redness to cheer me up. And to chill me to the bone. You’d think goodness begets goodness. But that is not always the case. It scares me to think what other analogies can be drawn from the example of Begonia Rex.

Now that Easter has wiped out all bugs and tender plants I’m with Andrewdotcom in hoping for a long warm summer. His pictures, to be seen on www.lavendongarden.com, of snowclad ground and buildings remind us of the contrasts we in the UK and many other places around the world, have got to put up with. Sigh.

Wonderful idea this: www.twowests.co.uk. Why didn’t I think of that?

The generosity of spirit of some people puts me to shame. Take Greenforks.com, who is not only feeding pigeons, but is protecting the food of pigeons from squirrels!

Wall flowers have a lovely scent. Not always pretty to look at but then you can’t have everything all of the time. Some cultivars tick both boxes though. I prefer the slightly variegated pale purple, pale pink and pale yellow ones. I sowed a pack of multicoloured wall flowers a few years back in the hope that I would be able to pick the colours I liked and discard the others. But something went wrong along the way. Or the colours didn’t stay true. What I expected to be a bluish red turned my pet hate colour: rusty orange. I picked them the other day but have hid them in a dark corner in the living room so that the scent is all I notice. The disappointment is bearable but I shall not sow packs of multi coloured flowers again. The winds raging this Easter have deterred me from doing my bit for the plot. I will sort the place out in clement weather, thank you very much. And I’d advise everybody else to do the same, were I in the habit of advising. But I’m not. Due to chronic inconsistency and irrational, mood dependent behaviour I fly in the face of role modelling.

The propagator is on the sill. Empty toilet rolls have been cut in half and filled with compost and seeds (sweet corn). Other seeds are ready to take their place once germination has been established and the seedlings have been transferred to K’s greenhouse. I’m planting coffee seeds next, I expect. The ones I got on Ebay before xmas. I’ve also managed to squeeze into the propagator two pots of hypodronically grown herbs. One is mint the other parsley. Both have been shorn to give flavour to a couscous dish I made the other day. I am hoping they will yield another crop for another dish. I’ve tried both these herbs before and found mint to be no problem whereas the parsley, being so tightly packed, can disappoint unless I thin them dramatically. And I didn’t bother doing that on the day I cut them down. Two traumas won’t make a recovery, I fear. I may just put it in the compost bag. Talking of which. I have to take it down to the compost bin very soon. I.e. today. It is beginning to pong a little. But that, I guess, is all part and parcel of caring for the environment.

Helped K the other day. She was in need of a tidy up in her back garden and her thousands of plants in pots needed new soil and dividing. Being a little bit of a hoarder she also had thousands (ok, hundreds) of bulbs in need of being planted. Some had become too old and fell apart when touched but many still seemed viable. After four hours of chopping and changing and cutting and potting the area was transformed. I am particularly excited by a tiny scented jasmine I rescued from a corner that hadn’t seen light or rain for months. I cut back 90% of it before dousing it in water and then planting it in a pot. And I have to mention her freesias. She had left a pot of them outside and they looked cramped but healthy (not lanky and brown from too much heat and not enough light, i.e. like mine). I put them in a slightly bigger pot in a sunny sheltered position and have no doubt she will see and smell the rewards in a month or two. A trio of agapanthus could also do well. K couldn’t remember the colour but it didn’t matter as I was more concerned with height and shape. I predict a firework.

Rhubarb. I love it. Been given stalks by allotment neighbours. Beautiful stuff. Am stewing it with some sugar and having it with vanilla suffused custard or rice pudding. The next bunch will go into a crumble. I do have my own rhubarb plant but it’s a late one. Right now all I can see is a cluster of vibrant red knobs ready to burst into leaf. Give it a few more weeks and I should be able to start picking. Also doing well is the sprouting broccoli. Have only had a few stems so far as the fat pigeons beat me until recently. Now that the plants have adequate protection (chicken wire) the little stems are sprouting from every node. I should have half a kilo of the stuff by the weekend. Will definitely grow them again. And lastly. Praise the powers that be for flat leaf parsley. It has survived all winter and its fragrance and flavour do me proud. And the chives… I cut the first cluster of the year down to a number one and mixed the finely cut bits into a smoked mackerel and thick yoghurt mousse. Divine. I have about half a dozen clusters, enough to keep me in going and then some.