News from the Veg Patch

I'd like to say that this year's growing season has been a triumph but ... sadly, no.  

But let's start with something cheerful - these nasturtiums are helpfully climbing up through the raspberry canes, the sight of their lovely vibrant flowers just sings happiness to me.

Elsewhere in the veg garden, things are not looking so rosy.  Ideally, the veg patch could have done with spring warmth and summer rain; instead, like many other gardeners, I've found the weather this year has done me and the garden no favours.  

Weeds have thrived, edible plants have not.  

Although, that said, I had a fantastic strawberry season ... over 3 kilos of tasty berries! (I think that equates to nearly 7 lbs. Impressive.)  The berries were mostly untouched by slugs, snails or birds without any protection (remarkable, given the wet weather) and the plants kept producing over several weeks. Copious rain followed by warm ripening sun seems to be the magic formula for success.  

If only I could bottle that and bring it out every year!

But no beans, peas, leeks or courgettes for me this year. What marauding molluscs didn't decimate, the heatwave finished off. Several times I've seriously considered ripping it all up and starting again with perennial flowers. But, as the saying goes, Keep Calm and Carry On Gardening. 

My tomatoes, on the other hand, are looking very promising. (I'm an optimist.) I planted them out late this year due to the chill weather so things are a bit behind schedule but green fruit has started to appear. And, this year, I diligently removed (almost) all of those little side shoots growing between the leaf and stem; a few have escaped me but I've left them alone as they've formed trusses of fruit. (Probably a mistake.) I'm watering daily and feeding every Friday and have recently pinched out the growing tops of my cordon (indeterminate) tomatoes. 

Why feed weekly on a Friday rather than, say, Monday? Because I love a bit of alliteration so 'Feed on Friday' makes for a good aide memoire.

Still on the bright side of things, apples from both the Braeburn and Core Blimey trees are looking good. They're dropping in droves from the branches but the flavour isn't there yet - it's more cardboard than crisp for now. 

Blueberries and gooseberries have also been surprisingly good and plump; Chilean guava berries, not so much. Thanks, heatwave.

The Morello cherry trees, however, which are usually of minimal interest to the birds here, were stripped bare of fruit as soon as they ripened. A phenomenon that I found both puzzling and annoying. Who were the culprits for the meticulous denuding of my Morellos?  People or birds? My money's on the pigeons.

There will be no fruit from the quince tree either. There was lots of quince blossom in the spring but not enough bees around to pollinate them. Another climate casualty.

And what of the pear and plum trees? Pears are ripening out of reach at the top of the tree, and there are no plums. Again.  That's fifteen fruit bearing years with nothing to show for it; I may have to deploy my recently serviced chainsaw. 

So that's my veg patch year so far ... more food for thought than food for the table but there's still the winter brassicas to plant out. 
 

A Feast for the Senses

 

I was reminded the other morning how rare are those times when it becomes possible to just slow down and deeply relish the moment without any of the distractions of modern life. 

I'd been down to the veg patch to water my tomatoes and, as I walked swiftly back through the gardens on my way home and towards work, I saw how quickly a few days of warm weather had ripened the blackberries on wild brambles growing untamed in one of the borders.  

I slowed down to eat a couple, lingered on to pick a small handful and then I started to look for a pot to gather enough for a pudding, a smoothie or jam. That sweet/sharp burst of juiciness was so moreish!

It was a meditative moment.

As I lingered over the picking of fruit, I relished the warmth of early morning sun after weeks of chill grey skies, the sight of the plump berries growing tall against a clear blue sky and gradually became aware of the sweet scent of honeysuckle flowers rippling towards me on the warm breeze. 

These brambles have been allowed to thrive in an untended border, pushing their way through Cornus stems, an Elaeagnus shrub, honeysuckle vines and a very large pink flowering Hebe. It was the Hebe that has always been a magnet for bees and so I gathered berries to the gentle hum of foraging honey bees and birdsong emanating from neighbouring hedges.  

As juice from the fruit stained my fingers, it occurred to me that this short interlude to my day appealed to all of my senses; it was a blissful, peaceful, hugely satisfying moment. 

It's not that where I live is noisy - planes drone quietly overhead, trains swoosh past, sirens wail, horns beep in the distance, the usual everyday city sounds - but a prolonged moment of stillness among nature is a moment to be cherished.

It reminded me of the time I lived by the sea. There, I would sit on the pebble beach, listen to the waves washing onto the shore and the gulls wheeling overhead, and watch the sun set in the west. Even then, (it was a long time ago), I could appreciate the beauty of the moment.

And now I have my garden spaces and nearby Heath.  Often, for me, the mindful benefits of gardening are limited to the satisfaction of a task finished, the physical movement involved in all that bending and stretching and the joy of a well earned good night's sleep.  

But it's the times we slow down and feel gratitude that life becomes mindful.

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In case you're wondering, blackberries freeze well laid out flat on a tray then bagged up when frozen so I'll put a batch in the freezer to enjoy over winter. In the meantime though, I like the sound of the blackberry muffins and pie from this London based blogger:

https://vikalinka.com/bakery-style-blackberry-muffins/