It's a shed thing

The decision had been made and I was comfortable with it - happy even.  We had rationalised that with parental illness on both sides and the need to travel more frequently to help out in house and garden (and both parental houses have large gardens) our time for allotmenteering was going to be even more squeezed.  Add to that my husband starting a new job, and our wish to get out of Edinburgh more, and everything seemed to add up to a sensible decision not to renew our allotment lease.  

Having made the decision, I tested it out on my emotions when I visited the plot in early December.  What pangs of regret would I feel?  I tried not to dwell on the 'glad to see the back of', such as the endless battle with couch grass, the heavy soil, the feeling of obligation at spending sunny Sundays at the plot instead of out on the Scottish hills.  Perhaps because they were the only things growing, I did feel a pang about leaving the blackcurrant bushes and strawberry plants.  But once home again I returned to my calm, settled conviction that giving up the plot was the right thing to do, and began to plan for weekends away.

And then the gales came.  We dutifully visited the plot afterwards to check the state of the shed roof.  Although we were giving up very shortly, we didn't feel we could hand over a shed that we had let deteriorate through the worst of the winter months.  A section of tar paper had blown off, and it was decided that husband and son would return the following weekend to repair it.

They were out all afternoon, returning after dark.  A good, solid repair had been carried out, and another decision made.  We were keeping the plot for a further year, on the basis that so much investment had been made in infrastructure that we should try to maximise our return.

I sat and thought about the infrastructure.  Blackcurrant bushes?  Strawberry plants?  Two compost bins?  Posts for wires up against which to train non-existent raspberries?  There is nothing else - no paving, no fencing, no greenhouse, no fancy border edging or raised beds.  So I concluded that the only possible 'infrastructure' was the shed, and set about doing a mental U-turn towards planning and sowing.  And perhaps hopefully still some weekends out of Edinburgh.  

First deckchairs of the year

Until now it's been a case of keeping moving to keep warm, but yesterday at the plot it was warm enough to take a break from digging and soak up the sun.  All of 10 degrees, but it felt blissful after a winter that has seemed never-ending.

Not much blogging has been done, but a fair amount of digging.  The blessing of this cold Spring has been that the weeds haven't got going, so digging the ground over hasn't been as hard as it might have been.  Hard enough, tho, and the ground has been hard through lack of rain. 

Below, the strawberry bed in mid-clean.  It's finished now, and plants dressed with sulphate of potash.  Couch grass seems to love strawberry plants, twining itself around their roots and popping up in mid plant.  I don't doubt that it will return to the fray.
 

The bare ground below holds the newly-planted potatoes.  Two rows of Red Duke of York, two of Mayan Gold (hoping that they will live up to Monty Don's praise of them), and one of Ratte, a salad potato.  The tubers had been chitting for so long that I'm concerned that they will be over-chitted - they had started to wrinkle up - so I hope they will get going and grow.

We have had a paltry harvest of brassicas.  The purple and white sprouting broccoli has still to sprout, and frost has killed most of the calabrese.  However some new shoots of calabrese have survived, as has the purple kale and savoy cabbages.  I'm in two minds about the purple kale.  It does look lovely as a plant, and steamed with a plateful of green lentils, but it made a bizarre addition to my traditional Scotch broth, turning the whole thing a pale lilac.

As for the leeks, they have sulked all winter.  I'm making the best of it by thinking of them as gourmet baby leeks.

There has been curiously little sign of life at the allotment site over the past few weeks.  The weather has been fair, if bitterly cold, and it seems as if people are reluctant to emerge from hibernation.  Everything feels suspended, and it's been difficult to think ahead to a time when winter will end.  When the temperature rose during the night yesterday, with rain and wind, I felt like Laura Ingalls Wilder in 'The Long Winter', when the chinook started to blow.

Allotment beauty

The plot isn't very beautiful just now. It's either frosty, with friable, crusted earth, or frost-burnt, wet, sticky and weedy.



But occasionally there's an unexpected glimpse of beauty.





These chinese lanterns and polyanthus are part of a little flower bed tended by a group of plotholders who try to counteract the gloom of the site in the fallow months. During the winter it can seem nothing more than a sea of huts, black plastic, sagging netting and tatty cabbages. But here's a reminder that allotments needn't always be dour and functional.

Getting tiresome

The fourth break-in at the shed. This is really getting tiresome. A notice at the entrance to the site alerted me that there had been break-ins on the night of 12 January. As before, metal cutters had been used to break the hasp. The still-locked padlock was lying on the grass in front of the door. You can see in the photo how the cut ends have rusted since 12 January.

Nothing seemed to have been stolen, however. We had taken the strimmer motor back to the house before Christmas, making the strimmer head alone a much less attractive prospect. Our forks and spades were grimy with dried mud, which I had fretted about slightly but which turned out to be a blessing.

Time seems to be passing strangely during January. I could have sworn that I had been to the plot since the 12th. It seems like months rather than weeks since Christmas. Perhaps it's the short, dark, busy days that create this effect. But just in the past few days it's been noticeably lighter by the end of the afternoon. With the growing light has come frost, which is often the case in Scotland, so no digging just yet. Still, I feel the first stirrings of Spring interest in the plot. It's been a long, fallow winter with many other preoccupations.

Social life

There's life stirring at the allotment site. Not just the glorious May blossoming of cow parsley and geans, or the perky rows of onions and emerging potatoes, but community life. Many sites have a bustling social life - not so ours. Immediate neighbours chat with each other, 'hellos' are exchanged as people pass to and fro on the road in to the site, but that's about it. Now, in the climate of diminishing council spending, there are stirrings of self-help: discussions about the communal strimmer; should we build communal compost bins for weeds, since the council won't; what about painting the site toilet. And as an off-shoot, if you'll pardon the pun, making time to get to know each other a bit and enjoy our common haven.


We had a get together at the very end of April. What better than to sit in the sunshine, serenaded by a blackbird, and make plans? And eat some cake. A few decisions were made, but that wasn't so much the point as to start getting people together.

And there's something particularly cheerful for me about the Union Jack fluttering from the site hut. I'm fiercely proud to be Scottish, but I'm also British and would like to remain so. Still, who knows - if Scotland were to become independent, perhaps Sir Sean Connery, that ardent supporter of the independence cause, would return from Switzerland to live here...

Noticeboard chromatography

This is what winter does in Scotland. The damp seeps in everywhere, obliterating even this Ode pinned up inside the glass case of the site noticboard. It creates its own beauty, of course, but the Ode to (I presume) a Fox has been lost. Hopefully the poet will put up a fresh copy once the weather dries out.

Neighbours

Crisp homegrown apples. Not ours, but a present from our allotment neighbour. Thank you, Robert!

It's a good year for apples, and so far no thefts. Sadly a bumper crop sometimes attracts that dastardly breed, the allotment thief.

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!

First Aid

I'm pleased to report that in the couple of weeks since this notice was posted on the site noticeboard the fox's limp has improved considerably. We haven't seen the cubs yet, but we're hoping to if we get along to the plot one evening. That is, if the rain stops.

(SSPCA = Scottish Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals)

The work squad

So nice to watch other people working!

Again

Arriving at the plot on Sunday, it took us a few moments to realise that although the shed door was bolted shut, the padlock wasn't to be seen, and the ring that it had been fastened to had been cut off. Yes, another shed break-in. This time we were one of about 20 sheds to be 'done'. Inside, everything was very tidy, except that our petrol strimmer was gone.

This is the second strimmer we've lost to theft, and I suppose it means we'll have to keep the replacement in the garage at home. For me this is less than ideal, as the garage is where we hang clothes to dry on a pulley when it's too wet to use the outside clothes line. Having made it through 19 years of children's washing without a tumble drier, I'm not about to cave in now. So either I have to reconcile myself to a faint odour of petrol around the clothes (my husband swears he can't smell anything), or we risk having the new strimmer stolen.

Annoying.

Skywatch Friday - what sky?

Last Friday I took a day off work for a combined allotment/Christmas shopping blitz. It was a day of freezing fog, and not surprisingly I was the only person mad enough to be working my plot that day. While I was working - hard - I was warm enough, but as soon as I stopped the damp chill seeped into my bones. I drank my thermos of tea sitting on a deckchair inside the shed, looking out at the foggy view, and felt very...British and eccentric.

More skies from around the world, including some with sun, are at Skywatch Friday.

St Andrew's Day - allotment style

Even allotments fly the Scottish flag, albeit in a tattered state. A bit like the rest of allotment life - determined but a bit ragged round the edges.

A national holiday today, and of course more fireworks this evening. That's two lots in seven days here. We could perhaps have a rest from pyrotechnics until Hogmanay..

Glimpses

My walk to work takes me past an allotment site. Every morning it tantalises me - here am I, heading into an office, when just the other side of the fence is where I would rather be.



Still, it makes for a good start to the day.

New Neighbours

The half-plot next to ours has been unkempt since the end of the summer, despite having crops of strawberries, cabbages and brussels sprouts planted. We heard on the site grapevine that the owner had moved on to a full plot. Last Sunday the new owner appeared, and in a whirlwind of activity hauled out the cabbage stumps, dug over the ground, and as a sign that he meant business, cut down the holly bush that was taking up a good quarter of the plot.

Rather alarmingly it turns out that he works at the Royal Botanic Gardens. He must have seen my alarm, because he was quick to reassure me that he wasn't a horticulturalist, but a tropical plant specialist. I'd still put him in the 'knowing a fair bit about plants' category. Perhaps I can pick up some tips.

He was accompanied by his two young sons, who found the whole event full of excitement and wonder. With two older teenage children I'd forgotten just how full-on life is at that stage.