Marking time

A summer of marking time and clearing the decks at the allotment. We're having the raised beds debate, and so to give us a blank canvas we've opted not to fill up ground as it's vacated by crops. We're using the opportunity to improve the soil structure by sowing swathes of green manure. Above is the first sowing, of alfalfa. Last weekend I sowed phacelia in the empty area at the top of this large bed, and white mustard in a strip beside the blackcurrants at the other side.

We've also been concentrating energies elsewhere, enjoying the company of our children, one home from university, the other going into her last year at home before university, visitors, holidays, home improvements. Sometimes when I've gone along to the plot I've done half an hour's work and then sat and taken in the way the light falls on the plot and the bliss of being outside in summer. I should feel some Calvinist guilt, but I don't. It's been good to have a pause.

Meantime the fox has been enjoying marching through the alfalfa.

New bed activity

So many photos backed up, so many aching muscles from working at the plot, so few blog posts... It's the hungry gap in my blog world. Just to redeem myself quickly, here's the new bed as at Sunday, with the Anya potatoes coming through.

And just as forecast, we had frost this week, as the potato foliage shows.

A new bed

A blogging silence doesn't mean that nothing is happening at the plot. Somehow I'm not managing to get the photos I take at the plot each week transferred to a blog post. But we've been busy every weekend. After the harvest of rubbish I showed in the previous post, we finally got down to bare earth in this area for the first time since taking over the plot. Above, just a few rocks left to move. The imprint of the corrugated iron can still be seen at the back of the bed. That iron took some moving - iron posts had been driven deep into the soil by the previous plotholder, and I feared for my husband's blood pressure as he hauled them out.



We planted two rows of Anya potatoes as a first step to clearing the soil. I was heartened to see how many worms there were, so it can't be as bad as we feared. Now we (just) have the massive ex-weed heap on the left still to move.


Because it's still chilly up here, with the risk of frost, I'm being canny and not rushing ahead with sowing. That's one excuse, anyway. The reality is that I'm also busy with other things just at the wrong time for forging ahead with sowing. This weekend for example we've been up in Moray visiting my Dad and attending to his garden. In fact I'm off outside now to weed a border and cut back last year's stems of an everlasting pea. Once I've put on a couple of fleeces - it's cold out there!

Spring harvest

Enough of this trying-to-be poetic looking into the heart of Spring stuff. This is the other side of my Spring - getting going with tidying up at the allotment. Every week I take photos and never get round to posting them, for a variety of reasons. Aching muscles, ironing, watching Grey's Anatomy, reading (just finished The Idea of North, by Peter Davidson), trying to visit other blogs, working too late, exhaustion, making ominous lists of Things To Do In The House...

So catching up, from a few weeks back here is the first of our Spring harvest. Rubbish left behind by the previous plotholder underneath a lid of corrugated iron sheets.


This is just a small sample. The rest included old carpet, which we had to wait to shift until a nesting bees had moved on elsewhere, stones and glass.

We now have another patch of reclaimed soil, once a few remaining brambles are cut out and the corrugated iron sheets removed. The plan is to plant potatoes this year, and then next year to dig out the grass separating it from the rest of the plot. At the same time we'll try to relocate the mound of earth that's sitting to the left of the cleared space. It's the remains of a massive weed-dump that has slowly composted over the years. It's going to be a long haul, but it will extend the plot by a full bed.


Meantime I hope to visit some blogs and see what other harvests this Spring has brought.

To plastic or not to plastic?

...isn't actually a question I ask myself. But I see so many plots swathed in plastic sheeting over the winter months that there are obviously plastic afficionados out there. I know that it keeps the weeds down. I know that it means that you don't start the spring by weeding. But I can't reconcile growing with smothering the soil for months at a time. I want to see frost sparkling on the hard earth, puddles shining in a sudden shaft of weak sun, Ted Hughes' 'attentant sleek thrushes' stabbing at worms. It seems the gardening equivalent of keeping the plastic covers on the suite in the front room.

Our winter cover this year was a mass of dead phacelia, flattened under the December snow. I feared a strenuous job of digging in wiry stems.


But the first forkful revealed a clean, bare, fine tilth. It was the tilth of seedbeds, which I have only read about but never achieved. 'I have a tilth', I kept saying to myself as I swept away more stems. No digging in, or up. Just a bit of sweeping, and underneath healthy soil which had been rained, snowed, frosted and sunned upon.


The other thing that puts me off plastic is that you have to do something with it for the rest of the year. And our shed is full already. But are there any bloggers who have answered 'yes!' to the plastic question?

Finished

We had to admit defeat on Sunday. During the week the broccoli and kale had been stripped bare by the pigeons. The netting had pulled free of its pegs at one side of the frame, leaving a big, inviting gap. At that point I lost heart completely and decided just to take the plants out and get the ground ready for something else.

The winter netting has been a big disappointment given the investment in a 'proper' cage and heavy duty netting. We think that the netting is too heavy for the pretty lightweight aluminium poles. It offers a good surface for the wind to catch, and it's so heavy that once it's in motion it drags out the steel pegs from the soil. On the build-a-ball cage this also knocks over the supports. On the recycled climbing frame there's no such problem, but the netting just lifts free from its moorings leaving a doorway that basically says 'pigeons: this way'.

We'll try again but with lighter netting. Meantime, any suggestions for what to do with yards of heavy-duty netting, apart from a good bonfire?

As feared

The aftermath of Thursday's gale, as we'd feared. The wind had whipped the heavy netting up and away from the metal pegs anchoring it to the soil, and deposited it neatly along two sides of the cage. We were surprised that any of the cage was left upright. For a minute or two we contemplated taking the whole thing down and leaving the struggling broccoli and kale to their fate. The pigeons had already been right in there.


The ground was so soft that we didn't think the uprights would last long. On the basis that the old ones are the best, we pressed the climbing frame into service. It's been overwintering beside the shed, and we'd planned to dismantle it.


I don't quite know what it reminds me of. A hovercraft? The Apollo command module?

Low ebb

Along with the glaur, we have slime. No crisply overwintering lollo rosso for us. Just a composting-on-the-spot icky mess.

And we knew this would happen - the potatoes stored in the shed experienced sub-zero temperatures, and were bound to suffer.


Perhaps the bright side of all this decay is that the phacelia that we didn't manage to dig in during the autumn is doing its own breaking down, after being buried under the snow. But look closely and you'll see a hint of green peeking out from the leaves and dead stems.

I think we may be about to experience the return of the phacelia for another season, just where we don't want it. Snow for the month of December, followed by rain, illness, other bits of life, all have kept us away from the plot. Although I've been going along to check on the broccoli cage and empty the kitchen waste into the compost bin, I haven't done any real work since November. It feels as if I'm losing touch with it. Just standing looking doesn't make the same connection as putting spade in soil, weeding, sowing, planting, pruning.

For the past two days we've had gales and heavy rain, nothing to match the storms in the US and Canada, but I've gone to bed at night listening to the roaring wind and thinking of the fate of the broccoli cage. Last weekend I was at the plot I spent the time fitting poles back into their sockets, and that was before the gales. Ironically we have all this anti-pigeon protection in the year when the broccoli is sitting there doing nothing. I'm still hoping for a growth spurt in March, but if not it's been a long winter of cage maintenance for nothing.

Weather-worn

Evidence of repair work to come - measurements on a pane of my Dad's greenhouse. It suffered in the heavy snow of last January, and again with December's snowfall. Because my Dad was in hospital for the first 6 months of the year and we were more concerned with him and house maintenance when we visited, the greenhouse has not been top of the priority list. Since coming home Dad has enlisted the help of a friend - a youngster in his 70s who now looks after the garden for Dad. He puts in a 6 hour day of digging, and then goes off to help build another friend's house. We're really grateful for all the work he does to help Dad.

He had just measured the panes and gaps for replacements and delivered the glass when the latest snowfall put a stop to the work. So here we are in the aftermath with an even more weather-worn greenhouse.



We're hoping that the weather doesn't turn to gales before the panes are replaced - with the missing panes there's great potential for the pressure of high winds inside the greenhouse to blow the rest of the panes out.

The taps

Our last fall of snow in Edinburgh was so light that it was like beaten egg white. Flakes stuck to every possible surface, clinging on to the rough surface of the rubber insulation round these allotment taps. Ribbons of snow hung from twigs, like the original Christmas garlands.


The allotment taps are good value as photo subjects. Back in 2009 they provided an ice garden.

Now there's a thaw everywhere. Stepping outside this morning I could smell the earth, which made me immediately long for spring and sowing seeds and working outside. We are still up on Speyside, so there is a lot of earth around - fields of it just outside the garden. But even in Edinburgh today the scent of the earth will be there. The sky is mild and blue, and it's hard to think that we have what are usually the two worst months of the winter to get through yet.

Winter solstice

Having finished up at work yesterday I had time for a quick dash to the allotment this afternoon, in between Christmas shopping and preparing for our annual Christmas pilgrimage to Speyside. For the past fortnight I've had a horrible cold-with-a-tinge-of-flu, and keeping plugging away at work has left me drained at weekends and only fit to take to bed so that I'm able to go to work on Monday. So no trips to the allotment at weekends, and on weekdays I leave home in the dark and get home in the dark. But with a fresh fall of snow and hard frost I wanted to see how the broccoli cage was faring.

It was mid afternoon by the time I set out, and I caught the brief glow of the solstice sunset. I was relieved to see that the cage was still standing, but it was suffering from the 'wrong' kind of snow, just as Britain's airports and railways have been suffering in the past weeks.


The snow had a woven effect, a bit like the cellular blankets which we keep in the loft for the very occasional warm summer night when duvets are too much.



All this softness was deceptive. As I knocked the snow off the netting, I dislodged one of the supporting poles, and saw that it was bent by the weight of the snow. At this point I was stuck: the ground was frozen hard, so that even if I managed to pull out the pegs holding the netting in place and get underneath to fix the pole, I wouldn't be able to push them back into the soil. So I jiggled and coaxed the pole back in to the balls at either end, and left it all balancing precariously. I fully expect to come back after New Year and find the whole lot on the ground, with pigeons sitting on top gorging on my baby kale.

The kink in the pole in the photo below shows the effect of all those feather-light snowflakes.

Same but different

We took a quick walk round the allotment site on Sunday. Things were disconcertingly the same, but different. The fox's tracks were everywhere, and although paths and borders were hidden, in some places it had stuck to the invisible paths. In others, it had set off across raised beds.


It's been quite a while since we've done a tour of our neighbours. We saw several extremely spick and span plots which have obviously had a change of ownership. I resolved to return once the snow has gone and see exactly what they've done by way of plot improvements - and be shamed into action myself, probably.

One of the impressive features was this picnic table and seats, with the prime view of Calton Hill. A permanent seating area is the height of allotment civilisation. Sometimes I aspire to it, and at other times I think I'd rather keep it natural.


And the sheds had an Alpine chalet look.


It's all melting now. A soft west wind, and the sound of dripping and running water everywhere. City pavements are still treacherous, with a film of water over sheet ice. I'm impatient to see what's happening at the plot, but there's going to have to be some bare pavement showing before I risk the walk there.

Location, location, location

If there is an upside to the fallow summer we've had at the allotment it's been the time to stand and stare. With less plant activity I've often been looking up and around while at the plot, instead of looking down at the area I'm digging/weeding/sowing.

So it's been striking me on every visit how this corner of the plot is just wrong. Not from the aesthetic point of view - what could be lovlier than sprawling rhubarb, a plank, and two black plastic compost bins? It's the location of these that's wrong. I took this shot around 4.30 a couple of weekends ago. The rest of the plot was in shade by this time from the big sycamore trees that border the access road. In high summer this sunny patch lasts into the early evening - ideal for relaxing in a comfortable chair, cool drink in hand, surveying the afternoon's work.

While we may not go down the patio route - I can't quite reconcile hard landscaping and allotment, but I'm open to persuasion - a grassy corner, level enough for chairs and perhaps a folding table, would bring the plot that bit closer to the Swedish colony garden idea of a green living space in the middle of the city.

I also want to make use of the edges of the plot for growing. A sturdy frame running along these two sides could support espalier plum and apple trees. At this time of year that may mean a few wasps sharing the cool drink bit, but it could be worth it for the sake of blossom in spring and fruit in autumn, plus a bit of shelter from the east wind. Comments from experienced fruit tree growers welcome!

Still Growing

When I get discouraged about amount of time I have to spare for the plot at the moment, it's good to look back at progress. Above, the shallots and garlic on 16 May. Below, 9 May.


2 May:

2 months ago in March, with the demised red clover waiting to be dug in.


So that's good. But then again, things are getting rather shaggy round the edges. Whoa! When did that central path take over? There's a Big Dig looming.

Back to basics

We're almost weed free, thanks to the bitter winter, most of the plot is dug over, and we're further ahead in terms of clear ground than we've been since we took on the plot. But we've decided to go back to basics this year, and spend our time on getting the shape of the plot in hand. Sorting out the borders, defining the central path (look how ragged it is), evening up the size of the two beds on either side, getting rid of The Heap and the corrugated iron.

So this whole big bed is planted with potatoes, onions, shallots and garlic. Red Duke of York and Charlotte potatoes, Shakespeare overwintering onions, garlic (Solent Wight??? I've forgotten already), and several varieties of onion which I must remind myself of. And that's it. Nothing fancy, no celeriac, no green peas which need staking. Just a basic Scottish diet and a lot of hard work on edges and earth moving.

Just to situate you - the bed in front of the dark orange shed is ours. The other half of the plot is off to the left, and the bed to the right, in front of the black shed, is our neighbour's. The hand that is just reaching out to close the blue-spotted shed door is my husband's.

I will post about the other half of the plot when I emerge from another busy spell at work, daughter about to sit important exams, son looking for flat for next university year, hamster in the last couple of weeks of her short life (sob).

Skywatch Friday - corrugated sky

The clouds were low over Edinburgh yesterday, with a corrugated effect over the allotment site that I pass on my way to work. I thought they matched the corrugated iron that for some reason seems to collect on allotments. We're desperately trying to get rid of the stuff we inherited with our plot. I have decided that this will be the year that it goes. Watch this space.

More skies from around the world are at Skywatch Friday .

The Heap (or, Ethical Dilemma)

The last real work done at the allotment was way back in mid December, on a day of fog and damp. Then after a month's gap I visited briefly a couple of weekends ago and that will have to do for the next few weeks while other parts of life have to be attended to. But all the while I've been looking forward to working on the next stage of dismantling The Heap, the huge weed pile that we inherited with the plot and have only added to over the years.

Removal of The Heap has been a problem. There is no communal green waste facility at our site, unlike other sites in the city. The large waste container is explicitly NOT for green waste. We don't burn our weeds, as we suffer at home from the acrid smoke blowing from a neighbouring allotment site. Some plotholders seem to regard a smoking bonfire as a necessary part of every visit, even tho the waste is too green ever to produce flame. Contrary to site regulations (oh yes, I know these regulations by heart!) they leave the heaps smouldering when they go home at the end of their stint. It's a real nuisance for those of us who live beside allotment sites. Smouldering bonfires mean having to take in washing hanging on the line, unless of course you like the tang of smoke in all your clothes.

So how to free up the ground occupied by The Heap, which would give us half a bed more of growing space? An appeal to the Council's allotments officer brought the concession that we could relocate green waste to marginal woodland ground at the borders of the site. Great, we thought. We'll do it slowly and spread it well around so that it doesn't impact too much on the existing grass. However, we've not been the only ones with the same problem, and not the only ones offered the same solution. During the autumn we noticed that there was wholescale dumping going on in the woodland ground, not just of green waste (of which there were mini Himalayas building up), but also of unwanted wood, brick and corraugated iron. We could either hold back on our green waste disposal while everyone else piled in, or get a move on. Civic togetherness is not a particular feature of our site, so we didn't hold out much hope for a reasoned, let's work this problem out together approach.

Hence my stint of moving the growing part of The Heap while permission to relocate was still available. Sometimes I feel I should have been a bit more principled, and held off while the issue was sorted out. Mostly I feel that I was doing what I had permission to do, and doing it properly. All the same, I didn't expect to face ethical dilemmas over a compost heap.

The photo at the top of this post shows The Heap after a couple of hours' work. Last April, before we'd done any relocation, it stood tall and proud. Over the course of the summer, before we stopped adding weeds, it began to bulge out from its iron walls.


Here it is once scalped:


A pleasant surprise was the cache of Charlotte potatoes, probably grown from a potato I'd thought too small to be worth taking home.


Now 'all' that remains to be done is to sieve out the residual couch grass roots from the rich, crumbly compost and spread it over the beds. I'm keen to get on with it, and to return this part of the plot to growing something other than weeds and a few rogue potatoes.

Greenhouse maintenance

Thank you to all who have left kind messages. Things are now improving, but with quite a way to go yet.

The greenhouse above is my Dad's, in the last few days of Britain's Big Freeze. Day-time temperatures on Speyside were around minus 13 C, and snow depth in our little pocket 18 inches to 2 feet. Since we were weather-proofing Dad's house, we had to weather-proof the greenhouse too. My husband is standing on a mound of snow that he's cleared previously from the roof.

In the shots below you can see the layers of snow. Not surprisingly, given the way the snow has fallen, the Cairngorm ski area has avalanche warnings in force. Although today the ski roads are blocked by 15 feet deep snow drifts. Lots of wry comments going around about there being no snow when you want it, and then it all comes at once.