Come back to what you sow

I'm going to get all philosophical on your ass...


Friends and regular readers shouldn't be surprised by this. I have my moments. And we all should, whether you consider yourself Alpha, Beta or Geek.


When was the last time you retreated back to you? You know, where you were in a moment of pure joy that didn't involve anyone else (that includes not thinking about anyone else for those of you who were going there...)


And how often are you doing something for the benefit, attention or demands of others? Yes you may enjoy, even thrive on that. You may even be a 'celebrity', but lets assume that giving pleasure to others is merely a way of masking your own lack of self worth... 


The other day I uttered the words "I can't wait for the weekend because I've got so much to do in the garden" (hands up/tweet if you've been there). It was then that my partner-in-conversation pointed out rather insightfully that I was in danger of losing touch with my very reason for gardening, and that it was becoming yet another pressure of modern life.


A pressure that is relentless. The pressure to achieve and be seen to achieve, all just in order to cope. And if you're not doing either of the above, you probably want to turn to drugs, looting, cigarettes and alcohol, high calorie food or The Only Way Is Essex. Or just to run away and join the circus.


Yet we're in a circus. And everyone else is a ringmaster. It feels like I've been juggling lions, baggage, vultures, and in doing so am in danger of dropping my balls. And an elephant.


In fact, you can see the evidence before you. Fewer posts on the blog, fewer tweets, and when I do write I point to my own disappointments from what I've failed to grow this year. Very luckily, my guests have taken up the writing baton superbly and I only hope this blog continues to be more interactive. But it's my actual de-connection with the garden that troubled me as I was listening to what my friend had to say.


So I stepped out this morning. A concerted effort just to be in the garden, opening my eyes, taking in the smells (of rotting fruit as it happens).

On the garden table was a flower that wasn't there last week:

I have no idea what it is (anyone know?), only that my mum gave it to me in a pot when I moved here and it has always been there for me, even when I've ignored it (I'm not a flower man). It captured my attention though with it's bursting petals and sugary colour.



I then looked over at my old salad container having sowed some lettuce leaves a couple of months ago but had given up on because of their slow growth. Assuming the brown speckles are decoration, they are looking good.


And it reminded me that at my calmest, happiest and fulfilled in recent years, I wasn't gardening for anyone but myself; gardening wasn't a task or a chore, it was central to my being. I would get up, make a coffee and head out into the garden for breakfast, even in the rain. I would deadhead, weed and lay down the pellets (most gardeners' guilty pleasure).


I would pick a raspberry, admire an apple, curse a crow.


I would go close up to things, look at their colour, shape and texture. Ask myself questions, and go look up the answer. Take a photograph, think of stories and puns. And more often than not, run back inside and write a piece for this blog and hit the 'publish' button without so much as an editor's check. I would love the learning and the subsequent creativity. But mostly the learning.


However,  these last months have seen other things creep back. Dominant forces taking over. People who require energy and dare you ignore them they'll find a way to make sure you don't. Except you don't realise what they're up to until you're fully engaged and before you know it, wiped out. And the things that grow you get left to the side.


So my friend has done me a big favour, and I shall be out there again every day from now on, even if it's just for 5. Rebuilding trust with the garden so that when I do enter the bear pit of the waking day, I do so with perspective and strength. And I'll be using this post and this song to remind me :

(yeah, ok I was an Embrace fan, what of it...)

Guest post: Surprise (by Dave Cliff)

The gardening year is rich in emotions; it mirrors life with its ups, downs, frustrations and joys.  But the one for me that occurs more than any other, from day to day, from week to week, good or bad is………..surprise.

 

To be honest, for such an amateur as me, it’s not been a bad year, surprisingly good in fact.  In July and August the versatile courgette become a part of almost every meal.  I recommend the ‘Patriot F1’ variety – you cannot go wrong with these beauties.  The surprise was how these plants grow into beasts, literally scaring the living daylights out of lesser mortals in the patch as they relentlessly spread themselves way, way beyond what I previously thought to be their generously allotted zone.  I blame them wholeheartedly for bullying into submission my normally abundant spinach plants.

 

There’s been a decent supply of raspberries – not bad for young plants in their first full year.  The pots of potatoes were nice while they lasted, the onions plentiful and the experiments with various types of chillies provided surprisingly successful in spite of the suns shyness to appear for any thing more than a fleeting five minutes.

Inevitably, there have been disappointments too.  In comparison to last year, the aforementioned spinach has been lean and lifeless – and that’s before being placed in the steamer.  After two previously promising harvests, the grape vine managed to splutter out one paltry quarter-bunch of tiny and hopeless fruits.  That’s another one to blame on the sun, or lack of.  And for some strange reason, the coriander, usually one of my home bankers, never even emerged from the ground.  In any case, if it had, it doubtlessly would have soon been unceremoniously swamped by a heaving mass of courgette plant.    

But just when I thought it was all over for another year, as the cold wind and rains of autumn looked like prematurely signalling an abrupt end to proceedings, there’s been a final surprise and a joyful one at that.  It’s the tomatoes – the blighters have come good!  This flash of late September Indian summer has brought them across the line, finally turning them from their endless green to juicy ‘eat me’ red.  Cooked with butter, salt and pepper and served on granary toast, the perfect encore to a summer of surprises.  

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This man is a champion of fine music and underappreciated football clubs. Do leave comments below and pass on this and other guest blogs. It's the latest in this blog's ever expanding maelstrom of emotions. For more, head over to the Guest Bed and see if you share any...

If you'd like to get involved with your own take on how you feel about the nation's favourite pass-time behind internet dating, moaning about the weather and baking, email me Thehaplessgardener@gmail.com or find me on Twitter @Haplessgardener. Be bold, even if you've never written before.

Happiness is...

...a well-earned cup of tea

Guest post: Guilt (by Ellie Russell)

Sans green fingers

You may well ask how an Acer can make you feel guilty. Well, if you are, then you haven’t been on the receiving end of a beautiful flame coloured variety sprouting skywards with such alarming speed and joy at being let loose on your mini- balcony only to three weeks later whimper (visibly not audibly, that would be silly) and discard every leaf - leaving nothing but a twisted brown skeleton.



This Acer was my balcony’s new pride and joy. A small but beautiful touch of the outdoors creating a small canopy of tranquillity over my ceramic owl. I realise that this may sound as though I have a balcony filled with freakish stone ornamental animals or worse, gnomes. A macabre garden tribute to our loving outdoor friends. Please don’t fear for me, as despite living in Southampton, I have not lost my sanity… yet. There is only one ceramic animal and I assure you, he is endearing and very discreet.

Meanwhile guilt bites again as my fuchsia (Beautiful Dreamer) does not live up to its promise. The flowers are a washed-out pink. NOT the bright red promised by the image on the ‘how to look after your fuchsia’ card. Even worse, up on the top balcony of our block, perched up in a priority spot lapping up the sunshine hangs a fuchsia heavy with flower, red petals gleaming in the sun.

“What if? Maybe if? Should I have? Did I use the wrong?” There comes a point when you have to stop asking yourself questions about what you did to deserve the ultimate plant rejection. The guilt becomes all-consuming. Had only I not gone on holiday leaving my plants in the careful but sporadic attention of my neighbours…had I used Baby Bio and not the cheaper home brand plant food…maybe?

Ultimately I decide my fingers are just not fecking green enough.

Screw this plant growing. I’m off to get myself something classy to keep my owl ceramic company.
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If you live anywhere near Southampton or you're just passing through check out the Berry Theatre where the wicked Ellie does some awesome work, instead of caring for her Acer! 


http://www.theberrytheatre.co.uk/
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This is the latest in a series of guests posts about the emotions we feel as we try our hand at raising plants and veg, fight the beasts and pests and dream of being the unholy love child of Hugh Fearnley Whittingstall and Percy Thrower (I'm sure it's possible). Head over to my guest bed to find more

Seasons bleatings

I've entered a post into Emma Cooper (@emmathegardener)'s Write Club 2011 competition.

You can read all the entries on Emma's website and the winner is the guest post that has received the most reader interest (from comments, votes, tweets on her website) by the end of September. 

Mine's a short Autumn tale, illustrated with a scattering of photographs - a homage to the best season of all. In my view. You may disagree and you may wish make your views known on Emma's website! Or you may agree and may wish to use one of the voting buttons next to it. But I'll leave that to you of course.

But...

...until the competition is over the only place you can read it is here:

http://emmacooper.org/blog/write-club-season-s-bleatings

Enjoy

Sunflower toil

It has been a long hard slog this summer.

When you're a child two of the memorable things in summer are sunflower competitions and crabbing (which is alive and well in the south west and norfolk i discovered this year). 

As an adult, sunflowers mock us (ha ha, if you had a proper climate I'd be much bigger) and as for crabs...

Back in May I was given 5 black sunflower seeds, by my friend Mark. I had to trade them for a cow much to the dismay of my mother, but I was assured by Mark that these were magic seeds that would produce the most amazing sunflower on the back of which I could make lots of money. Or something to that effect, I can't quite remember.

So, in went the seeds and until about two weeks ago there was no sign of anything other than a long straggly stalk. Then, on return from my festival shenanigans I saw promising signs

And then, yesterday I was greeted by a fully fledged, unique sunflower head and one I feel is apt for the absolute PATHETIC DISGRACE OF A SUMMER that we have had this year.

And I didn't even get to meet the giant.

Pop! It won't eat itself.

Previously on 33...


Read me


The following takes place between 5pm and 6pm


So. The moment.


How can it be that what takes some of you barely a flick of your eyelashes to pop them into your shopping basket, takes me months of preparation, mental and practical?


I have reaped a bumper harvest this afternoon. A colourful array of fruit and vegetables to give me all the pleasure I need without touching 'the red beast'.

But this is about one fruit and one fruit alone. They stand out don't they. Like poisonous berries.  It's time...

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First up. Raw.

Oh god it's vile. It's just burst and the juice has poured forth.  Its the sudden impact of the taste - exactly that which makes me recoil when unexpectedly hit  one in a soggy Pret sandwiches.  Concentrated, dirty bitter flesh.


To me, it feels wrong to be subjecting my mouth to this, and like anyone with doubts of that nature, I'm not going to swallow.

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But I don't give up lightly. I'm all for new experiences. I'm going to take on the advice of others and have a back up.... right, mozzarella and basil lined up. A drizzle of oil and we're ready to go again.

Ok,  this time I've survived the ordeal. In fact, it wasn't so bad with the combination of flavours, and the strength of the basil keeping the tomato at bay. But its lingering. I need a drink. Hmmm, I'm not going to be craving any more of that in a hurry, and I think I know why.


This tomato is an immature version of the bog standard 'gardener's delight' variety. The standard large red brute that sits arrogantly in supermarket aisles up and down the country. Due to a faulty summer, the tomato wasn't able to grow it's normal size and came up short. 


And you don't want to eat something with Short Tomato Syndrome. It tries to make up for its failings which seems to bring out its worst elements. Pretending it has class that it doesn't. My guess is that the green cherry tomatoes that I hope will ripen will be an altogether different experience. Lets hope so, because alas that really was disgusting.

Previously on 33...

...years of avoiding raw tomatoes...

Read me


"The following takes place between 12pm and 1pm..."


This will be my first venture in the garden since last Saturday. I'm scared and have no idea what I'll find. I'm picturing a snail orgy, rotten plants and general carnage. A trip to Cambridge, the start of the rowing season, leaving party for our work placement students, and work itself have all elbowed their way to the top of my diary leaving my garden at the mercy of others. So I approach the steps to the garden door with trepidation...

Right now, there is only one fruit on my mind. Toms. My namesake. My nemesis. I was given a tip by my workmate Jess on storing tomatoes, and I know it's time for me to bite the (allegedly juicy) bullet and harvest whether red or green...

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Out here in the garden and it's a sorry sight. I planted cherry tomatoes and gardener's delight. The latter has gone for it, attacking the bay tree and courgettes in its bid for light domination. I've had to cut rotting vines and over enthusiastic creepers, complete with a mix of immature, rotten or munched fruits.

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I now have my secateurs in hand, hacking away to clear most of the mayhem. It's a grim task, it's wet out and the pungent smell of tomato plant pervades my senses. Whenever you touch a tomato plant it releases its aroma. It's strong and instant. Right now I'm in the midst of an unwelcome fragrant cloud.

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They're collected on a heap ready for the green waste bin. It's all I can face doing. It has grown far more vigorously than I ever expected, and this is despite no summer of any note. It's a bit sad actually, all that wasted potential.

But there is something upsetting me. I don't want to fail. Either in growing or facing my fear of this red beast. I can picture all those people who sneer when you say you don't like something, questioning your character, backbone, and judgment. I wanted to do this as my way of saying to myself, you have nothing to fear in this world. So any sense of relief I now have is actually being overpowered by a sense that I don't want to give up. The prize is too great. And as Jess' tomatoes ripened strung up indoors whilst she was away on holiday, then maybe these green ones will do too...

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Oh crap.

Just as I hacked away to the core of the plants I can't believe how I didn't spot these. Small red tomatoes. There is genuinely no escape is there? I'm going to have to eat these. And prove that I have too.

How on earth did the tomatoes that had no sunshine whatsoever turn red?

It's 1pm. Lunchtime. I'm not sure I'm ready for this...

Guest post: Anticipation (by Katherine Sparkes - @flamingokatie)

ANTICIPATION - ‘Living in hope’

My tiny, but much-loved garden is a constant source of emotions for me. With each new season, and even each new day, I live in the hope that by some miraculous intervention of Mother Nature, it will be transformed as if by magic into the garden of my dreams.

Of course, this has not yet happened, but the anticipation that a new season brings lives on and I find the change an incredibly exciting and refreshing time.

Managing my expectations can be tough, but I know that whatever a new season brings it will be a real treat.

As I prepare for autumn, still rueing the fact that we have hardly had a proper summer, I find myself excited by the prospect of new, and different, life.

Being aware of the changing seasons and the differences in weather it brings allows me to focus on creating a garden that will evolve and transform in each new season.

It is a constant challenge – not all plants and animals in my garden are as keen on the colder months – and I have to work hard to create a space with elements that thrive in all conditions.

This autumn I’m expecting to see the number of visitors increase, with squirrels and foxes putting in many appearances, and I hope my plants will continue to provide the amazing colours and smells that have delighted me with already this year.

The arrival of conkers is another source of joy for me. As they start to fall I know that autumn is well and truly here, and I look forward to cracking them open to find that shiny gem inside. As someone with a morbid fear of spiders, I then litter the conkers around my house to ward off the eight-legged monsters and keep them out. Don’t ask me how it works, but it actually does!  

Each changing season brings such a thrill for me. My garden may be small, but it has a lot of variety. Every year I delight in the new life that a change in the weather can bring. Snowdrops and crocus peeping through the snow and ice in the depths of winter, daffodils waking up to the spring, summer rose buds ready to bloom, leaves turning to all shades of yellow and gold as autumn sets in.

Anticipating these changes is one of the great joys about having my own patch of nature to tend and care for. It’s difficult to be too ecstatic about the wind, rain and freezing temperatures that autumn and winter bring, but seeing the effect the new season has on my little garden really does warm the heart.

Mother Nature never fails to inspire me, always bringing new life and energy with each change of the season, and it’s a real delight to watch her at work.

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Kat is one of the most inspiring people I know. We totally disagree on flowers but other than that I totally get why her sense of anticipation is so important. It drives so much. She has built a business from scratch that does so much good. Last July I played a small part towards raising £20,000 towards building in a school in Africa, based on a whim that she could do it. She has been nominated as one of the top 100 small businesses in the UK and is currently no. 2 in the vote. Take it from me she deserves to be no. 1 and if you fancy voting do so here...

http://www.smarta.com/smarta100/2011-winners/flamingo

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As for the guest bed, well just keep checking the blog every Friday for a new one because those of you who are kind enough to be writing for my blog have some really strong emotions to get up here!


All the emotional outpouring to date can be found in the guest bed and involves:


Love
Disappointment
Frustration
Sorrow, and
Hopeless romance

Grassed off

Grass. It's just so plain isn't it? Unimaginative in name and character. There's a reason we call it a lawn out the back. A lawn suggests class and croquet. It's what the aristocracy had. Well, actually the aristocracy had sunken lawns. (Before you go getting ideas, they also had the space in which to make it look good. If you were to try it, it would look like a bunker. So don't).


And it's not called the Lawn Tennis Association for nothing. Even boutique festivals have lawns. The End of the Road festival at Larmer Tree Gardens in Dorset had a garden stage where you could watch bands sat on a sumptuous lawn. None of this Glastonbury 'turf turning to mud quicker than you can say Bono' nonsense.

And yes, turf. The stuff that makes grass sound positively upper class. Turf is disposable. Rough, ready, kicked out at closing time. And it's menacing older cousin, astroturf will scrape your shins to bits should you dare to play hockey or 5-a-side on it's blades (aptly named for once).


I have a small, ahem, 'lawn' out the back. But it's a bit rough, overgrown with weeds. It's not even big enough to justify a normal lawnmower, just a strimmer, which scatters the dandelion seeds more vigorously with each cut as this despairingly bad photo from last year shows (just ignore the ladder and don't even ask why there is a photo with no artistic merit that isn't even straight, of a ladder on an overgrown lawn): 

I've thought about re-sowing it, but to me it's an almighty project and I don't know how long I'll be in this flat, so it would perhaps be a bit generous on my part. If we were guaranteed hours of hot blazing barbequing body tanning sunshine for at least 6 months a year, I'd reconsider.


On Sunday I 'popped' back to Cambridge for my mum's birthday, which we celebrated down the road from my parents at my brother and sister-in-laws home. It used to be my grandparents house, home to the finest back garden vegetable patch known to anyone until my grandad could no longer keep it going. He grew everything anyone could ever want to grow. And greengages.


Steadily, Matt and Lucy are recreating a new garden to suit a young family and one of Matt's recent tasks was to reinstate part of the 'original' lawn (ie the only but that wasn't part of the vast vegetable garden.  I couldn't quite believe just how much grief seemed to have gone into getting some grass up, and dare a certain little 2-year-old stray into this area, daddy would not be happy. In fact dare a certain 33 - year - old do the same, younger brother would have had no qualms in shouting "get off my lawn!" 


You see, he has managed to successfully oversee the first shoots of growth and has got protective. I don't blame him:

Even growing ubiquitous grass can stir up the most instinctive emotions. With any luck, a couple more guest posts will be on their way...