Guest Post: Glum by Jono Stevens

GLUM

I write a self-proclaimed ‘cheery allotment blog’, but sometimes being cheery all the time can get you down. The opportunity to be miserable on someone else’s webby was an opportunity not to be missed.

Standing in the middle of my plot, I’m surrounded by bare beds. I lost my leeks to rust and my promising purple sprouting broccoli has faded badly. Inexplicably, I forgot to sow spring greens.

If it wasn’t for half a row of seemingly immortal perpetual spinach, a few young rhubarb crowns, and last year’s stored squashes, I’d be contemplating meals with no contribution from my allotment whatsoever.

We’re in the hungry gap. That time of year when I have to resort to getting veg from those things called shops. It’s a humbling experience. I live in a small town, a place where friends and acquaintances  spot me buying veg, and approach with a knowing, smug look. ‘Oh, Jono, thought you got all your veg off your allotment?’ they enquire. ‘What are you doing buying it?’

I laugh off their mickey taking, but I’m left glum. Glum that I’m stuck in this miserable rut where I’ve exhausted all my winter veggies, but there’s nothing ready to replace them with.

The feeling is not dissimilar to that of riding my bike in hills, as I do when I’m not at the plot. I’ve flown down that fun, exciting descent but now the buzz has worn off, and I realise I’ve got another whacking great hill to climb before the enjoyment can begin again.

I’m saddened that although my broad beans are looking healthy and verdant, I’ve got a good few weeks before I can boil up some of the sweet little beans with my tea. Likewise the beets, carrots and radishes I’ve sown. Despite the steady rain and rising temperatures, I know I’m still some time before they’re ready for harvest. My pea plants are small, and the potatoes are only just poking through their trenches.

None of this is particularly cheery. Cheery has given way to glum, and a subsequent growing apathy. My plot and I are feeling bereft of ideas, food and energy. I’m writing a Glum Allotment Blog.

I have a fight on my hands. A fight to ward off this glumness. Fortunately, help is at hand. I know it feels like bleak midwinter out there, but spring is here. Really, it is. The sun has come out, and I’ve just remembered that I’ve also got lettuce ready to harvest. Yes, my asparagus is crap (I did get the crowns from Woolworths), but I’ve found a little farm hidden away on a quiet road where no one can see me buying it.

Even better, I’ve got a friend who runs a veg box scheme. If I ask her nicely, she might leave a box round the back where nobody is any the wiser. ‘Yes, of course I grew those brilliant early spuds…’

The hungry gap: not a time for scratching around the Internet searching deeper and deeper for yet another thing to do with perpetual spinach, but a time to get on that bike again.

There’s a hill to climb, but just the other side good times are ahead once more.

For all my best efforts, that turned cheery, didn’t it? Oh well, maybe I’m just not cut out to write a Glum Allotment Blog.

As my allotment neighbour says, ‘happy gardening’.

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When I first saw the emotion Jono chose I was totally surprised. It just wasn't in keeping with, as he says, his cheery and determined outlook on growing his own food. It made me appreciate even more that gardening matters. It's on our minds even when we're distracted by the day job, the finances and people who wander past as you're drinking your tea - ah people watching, never gets boring. 

Jono's website is a treat, one of my favourites, and I particularly like his experiment to see if what we all deep down believe is true – that we can save money by growing our own food. And of course, I wholly agree with the name

Real Men Sow

And if you're the emotional type there is a veritable orgy of writers getting in touch with themselves over in my Guest Bed - get involved! I'm open to people who would like to write for the Guest Bed, have a read and see if you want to, then email me Thehaplessgardener@gmail.com or tweet @Haplessgardener. Don't be shy now...

We have lift off...

I'm fast running out of rocket puns, and I imagine you're all sick of me harping on about it all the time.

Last year, I set readers a rocket challenge because I was astounded at how easy it was to grow.

This year, I challenged readers to be a bit more creative with their salad and see if it was possible to grow rocket in something crazy, and to do so by Easter Sunday.

Now, this is a small spare-time blog, not one of the more glamourous, professional websites that run lovely competitions attracting many entrants (usually including me!) However, it's all about quality, and I have been so thrilled ever since I received my one entry because it quite simply shows how something simple can inspire a bit of fun.

May I introduce @chantscottage who made me jump up, with a kind of leap of joy at such a cracking response to the Easter challenge. Rice krispie cakes for the grow your own generation (just don't eat the soil!)

I'm can't decide what I love the most - the ability to coax green life out of such a tiny amount of space in a cake case, the voracity of the rocket or the bewildered chick! 


I strongly recommend you head over to the rather wonderful blog http://chantscottage.blogspot.co.uk/ to find more from where this little gem came from! 


Now, I promised that I too would participate and grow my own rocket in a can. Which I did, and it survived the abusive winds that took down my grow house. I also hoped to decorate my tin can. Which I didn't. Because I'm rubbish at anything remotely involving colouring in. However, that really doesn't matter when you have rocket as abundant as this:

But lets face it. If you didn't take up this challenge because you just didn't have time, or were just not inspired enough, or perhaps you think the supermarket grows it better for you, then I think it's about time you were shamed by some (talented) kids. Yes, there are five boys (aged 3 - 11), offspring of my good friend and co-writer at yummymummycookingschool Ruth, who have got off their behinds, made their own rocket rockets and are writing about it. On their own blog (five boys bake)


Now if that's not a rocket up your...I don't know what is.

Rocket for the rocket

Reach for the stars

Bouncebackability

It's a modern word, forged in the heat of a post-match interview by part-time wordsmith / football manager Iain Dowie. Yes, it's an awful word (especially when uttered by Tim Lovejoy), but it means the ability to go on from a losing position to win.


You may have read my traumatic last post that saw the demise of many of my seedlings. Well not the peas.


Not only did they survive but they still managed to look damn gorgeous when faced with a camera. 

Gust unbelievable

Look, I'm perfectly capable of screwing things up in the garden myself. I don't need this:

I'm so despondent I can't even come up with a decent pun.


It happened a second time just before I had to travel north for work last week. With a 6:30am train to catch I didn't have time to rescue anything. The picture isn't the true carnage - I've cleaned much of it up in a traumatised daze, but my early seedlings are ruined, having been rescued after the first collapse a couple of weeks ago (and typically just as I was about to head north for work too).


This didn't happen to me last year, I always make sure I weight the things down, not least with the compost-filled trays.


I don't know what others have experienced, but for me I had a strange mix between 'my computer has crashed and I've lost all my work, I can't face it all again' and 'I was actually quite attached to those seedlings - the potential in them, they were going to live good lives and I feel a small sense of loss'. A kind of private mini-mourning (not getting too dramatic).


I say that, but when the winds were at their menacing worst I had the following nightmare...


I woke up to a violent crash, and there in my face were the roots of the pear tree. It had been uprooted, been thrust across the garden, taking out the grow houses and indeed everything else in its bath, through the back window of my ground floor flat and, smash, within inches of my unsuspecting sleeping self.


Realising that this was absolutely ridiculous I properly woke up, but went outside just to check, as you do,  and to my total horror the tree had actually been uprooted, destroyed the garden, taken out a whole wall from the back room and left me panicking about how to tell the landlady.


Then I really did wake up, was late for work and it was only the grow houses that had blown down. Relief and sadness at the same time.


Dreams are weird, but it's clear I'm now very much attached to what I grow. 

Pier weed of the day

Weed of the day is back!! 


Inspired by this indomitable specimen growing on Clevedon Pier I thought it about time that we give an annual nod to those plants that defy convention, and often physics to make a home wherever they see fit. 

I once wrote in defence of weeds - and given they are just plants in the 'wrong' place, I'll be looking for examples where plants are sticking two fingers up at us who know better. Not ones to shy from a challenge, and given how much they thrive, who can criticise them for their choices? Especially when you consider this restored Victorian gem your home:

To reminisce in weed wonder checkout some old favourites:

The first weed of the day
Iron weed of the day
Shy weed of the day
Hapless weed of the day
(sea) weed of the day

Hapless is (almost) 1!

Monday is my first birthday - a year to the day that this blog began life. Sadly I'm away for work from tomorrow, so I'll be burning a candle in a hotel room in Fleetwood instead of getting my hands dirty in the garden and on the keyboard.


A year ago, I'd just met a fellow gardener / rower with a new found passion for growing veg and, Laura, thank you for encouraging me to have a stab at writing, I am still thoroughly enjoying every minute of it.


I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who has written for and sent photos to me - friends, strangers and strangers who are now friends. Thank you too for the tons of comments, tweets and re-tweets, 'likes' and 'shares', and thank you especially to those of you who have shared your enthusiasm for this blog and given so much personal encouragement. Love it when you all get involved so keep the garden love coming.


To mark the occasion, here's a guilty pleasure for you all - a chance to show off in my new gallery inspired by an old post - or more accurately the title of an old post. Yes, it's a gallery just for you, the amateur. Introducing:

'Readers Chives'

Head on over, I've had one entry already from the reader who started it all...

And once you've cooled down from that, have a think about which fruit, vegetable, flower or, er, nuts you're most proud of growing, get out the camera and send over your snaps to Thehaplessgardener@gmail.com or tweet @Haplessgardener. Don't be shy...


Finally, I thought it would nice to re-post the first ever post, especially if you're new to the blog. It makes me feel strangely nostalgic. And of course, it has little to do with gardening really:

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Angry. Birds.


It's me that's angry.

I've seen the headlines, read the books, listened to Monty and friends and thought - a bird table, what better way to encourage wildlife in and help the old sparrow survive in these troubled times. And as a bonus they can deal with my snail problem. To be honest it's more than a problem (b*******) but that's for a later post.

So, save the planet, save my crops.

Except I never realised how hungry birds could be, a whole feast of nuts has been devoured every day!

At first I thought I was single handedly reviving Bristol's feathered population, but this morning I found a shameless crow gorging on my generous offerings.

A bloody crow! Not even good to look at, let alone useful in any way. Do they even touch snails?

So as the country suns itself in the easter heat wave, I'm here itching for a showdown with the crow. I can see why gardeners need to get out more...

Guest post: Pride by Catherine Jennings

PRIDE

I know, it’s not a very British thing to be very proud of one’s self but I am actually very proud of my garden. It has taken a long time for us to be in a place with a garden to call our own and I have revelled in working in it, choosing plants to provide blooms all year and setting up our raised beds.

Our lovely sized garden – enough size for kids and mummy to play in!

Saying this, it hasn’t all been easy work. We have been here for 1 ½ years. When we first moved in the garden was in a reasonable condition but the border was full of weeds, cherry and sycamore seeds had taken root and all number of smaller weeds that I don’t know the name of but just know (through growing up with parents and grandparents who garden) that they are weeds. As we had moved in the September I did a little work in the garden that year but then it got left until the spring. We revelled in the swaying daffodils as they raised their heads and were stunned when the big shrubby thing in the corner turned out to be a large forsythia and the two clematis came into flower. But, there was one particular weed that was through the whole border, even winding its way into the grass; it’s roots deeper than the sycamore seedlings roots and the top shooting out runners like a strawberry plant! Even after a year of uprooting this plant it is still the most prevalent plant in my border!

My nemesis – if anyone knows what this is please help!

More hard work was needed to create our raised beds, constructed out of scaffolding boards that I acquired in exchange for 11 cups of tea and about 20 spoons of sugar. I had a, not so willing, helper who constructed the beds for me and it was a team effort to dig out the beds which we then filled with a rather large number of bags of compost and topsoil but I am very proud of our results. We have onions, garlic and broad beans in one bed and strawberries, beetroot and carrots in the second large one. There is nothing in the small bed yet, either potatoes or courgettes? We can’t decide, we have both to put in but really need some more space!

Onions, garlic and broad beans in one of our big beds – with rhubarb in the pots at the back.

Really and truly, saying that we need more space, I really don’t think we do! I am proud of the progress I have made in this last year and a half as I know we have so much to look forward to over the coming year, the crops we will harvest and all the flowers and herbs in the border will continue to amaze us but there are still areas of the garden that I just don’t have the time to tackle.

My patch of weeds – I am hoping to turn this into a wild flower patch

Thankfully I have enough good parts of my garden to be proud of so these small areas of weeds can be mostly overlooked. I will continue to try to do a little work in the garden every day and will continue to be proud of all my efforts.

Do you have flowers, or fruit & veg, or both in your garden? Which part of your garden are you most proud of? What are you looking forward to coming up next in your garden?

These bluebells are the latest thing that I am so proud of – just emerging out of the stones

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Catherine is the latest gardener to be seduced into my bed of roses and thorns, having been completely taken not only by gardening but by writing too. Follow her intriguing journey as Catherine and her family test out food, fun ideas and more at http://bellaandwill.wordpress.com/.

If you would like to take on the challenge of tapping into your inner gardener and expressing yourself within the hapless family then do get in touch Thehaplessgardener@gmail.com

Pain in the grass

We all want the perfect lawn, front or back garden.


In my patch it's simply not going to happen unless I go for a full re-turf, yet I fear that ripping up the lot will be too painful and seeing it bare will just make me itch as it slowly grows back (I'm impatient you see). 


Also, I don't know how long it takes to pull up, and whether I should ask a professional? Do I really feel comfortable showing someone else just what a state it's in? What if they make it worse?


However, I believe we need to open up a bit more, share what nature has given us all, no matter how embarrassing. It's the only way we'll come to appreciate what we have in life. So here it is:

Granted, the dandelions are rampant, but take a moment to absorb their buttercup-rich petals and proud defiance among the mish mash of green leaves and stalks. Ok, perhaps I'm pushing it a bit, and yes it is in desperate need of a tidy up.


However, no amount of overgrowth can hide a thing of beauty, and in amongst the rampant mess proudly sits this gem:

I couldn't have decorated it better myself

Root 666

If garden writers, lifestyle journalists and the folk at B & Q are to be believed, growing your own is meant to be fun. Often involving bright colours, hazy images of sunset at the allotment, and children. Always children when portraying images of gay abandon, such as you might find raising tomatoes.


Not in my garden.


Last year I was saved by kind readers from mistaking potentially deadly ground elder for elderflower (also potentially deadly when mixed with champagne. At least in the quantities I would probably be tempted by).


I was wisely advised to remove it quickly from the garden to avoid it spreading. And I did. Well, lets say I removed 95% of it, the bits around the base of an old tree requiring perhaps too much effort to clear. 

Roots prior to being 'Green Binned'

But just like Hollywood, I should have made sure I killed off the bad guy properly. I turned my back and bang - it's back for revenge. Why oh why do they never give up?!


So instead of spending a joyous sunny Sunday potting beans with a heart full of hope, I was cursing under my breath as I discovered the true extent of this devil weed. Oh yes, it divides itself and heads off in all directions, creating its underworld cackling away as it meanders past worm, buried stone and, as I have also annoyingly discovered, buried cat crap.

Seen here surrounding and killing off a more deserving plant

On the surface its murky green leaves have blocked out the sun for plants that are more deserving and it surrounded my healthy bay tree with dark intent.

Burying the bay

Next time a gardener advises you to get rid of something, do it properly. Don't succumb to the temptation of the good stuff, ignoring the warnings. You'll only end up like me, stuck in horticultural limbo, wanting to taste gardening heaven, yet fearing your actions will take you on the opposite journey.

Oh Goody, Jade

Cambridge University Botanic Gardens

Four words that make someone like me feel well and truly out of my intellectual depth. 

Or thick (as a more concise writer might say).

The plethora of latin names, the tangle of botanical geneology, and the sheer biological complexity makes the plant world fearsome enough. But throw in one of the world's academic behemoths (I still love that word) and it's enough to make you weep, knowing you are to the garden world what a kebab is to the culinary world. Actually, to the world in general, a morning stain on the pavement of life. 

Now, I'm not about to dive in to the intellectual waters claiming it's all too elitist, because there's no class in that. But I do want to share some thoughts on botanic gardens from the hapless point of view.

Bristol has a botanic garden, yet I've never been. I grew up a squirrel's nuts throw from the esteemed Gardens in Cambridge but barely set paw. And when I took a beginner's course in growing your own, set in the treasured grounds of Bath botanic gardens, a generous talk from the director there didn't just go over my head, it was totally lost in the clouds.

Yet in Cambridge last Thursday I saw this:

A Jade vine. The actual colour was breathtaking, and it was recommended to me, upon asking, by the lady at the entrance gate. The photos don't really do justice to how striking this plant is, but here's a close up to try and give you some impression.

Why do I not regularly mooch through the grounds of such gardens when there is such simple pleasure to be had? Is it just my own ignorance of the botanical world, or is something being lost in translation between those who live for plants, and those of us for whom life is rather overwhelming? And are those of us stuck behind computers or in meetings day to day, missing the real antidote that many over the years have painstakingly concocted, developed, understood and used for themselves?

What I can say is that if you too fear the botanist, go in on your own terms and see what you come out with. Well, make sure you don't come out with a Jade vine or any other rare plant. That would be stealing. And you'd be going somewhere else, on Her Majesty's terms... 

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For more information on the Gardens click:

Cambridge University Botanic Gardens

University of Bristol Botanic Gardens

Bath Botanical Gardens