Gardeners' World Blog - Alys Fowler

'So I'll be letting go, goodbye and not hello'

2009-04-02T10:02:30Z

I'm not sure how to let go of Berryfields. Or put another way, I don't think I ever will. It is etched in my gardening psyche, because of it I garden differently, better, wiser. I can sit here and map out its every corner, know what is under every bush, exactly where you'll hit clay or where to sit to catch the afternoon sun in every season - but in time this will fade.

]]> What won't diminish are the memories: Beth cart-wheeling in the meadow, Joe throwing his trowel in at planting bulbs and Geoff's revelations to keep him going. Those stolen lunch times swimming in the Stour, all who came and ate at our table, and the funny things we served up to you. That lunch on a shoot when Clare S, Monty, Joe S and I sat discussing art and the Beatles and it didn't seem there was a better job. Letting off fireworks with Gordy the soundman. For me Berryfields was as much about the people as it was plants.
As I write this the Trillium sessile are in flower, the cherries are in full bloom, heavy with bees, the Fritillaria meleagris are up around the pond, now full of tadpoles and awakening newts. The veg garden is also alive again with full heads of lettuce and rocket flowering all over the place. In short, the cycle is starting up and yet this time without me.
I know Berryfields had its critics and much of what they said was true for them. But for me Berryfields was, is, alive and kicking with soul and I am very proud to have been apart of it. I only have one wish left and that is that I might see the swallows return.
Now I must step forward to a new future with different soil and just as many memories to make.
I'm listening to 'Goodbye' by Essie Jain.

Spring cleaning

2009-03-05T13:56:27Z

I found a dead fox on the upper lawn last week. It was a terribly sad scene as it had chosen to lie down amongst the crocus and there it lay frozen in time, whilst the rest of nature got on with spring.

]]> It's a lovely time to be in the garden, everyday something new is out and the greenhouse is beginning to groan with seedlings. The outdoor lettuce is catching up with its indoor counterparts and it's possible to pick large bowls of landcress, rocket, endives and hardy winter lettuce. The pigeons have been causing havock. One managed to get into the sprouting broccoli and asparagus kale and there is now little but tatters left.
At home I've been busy rearranging things. Gone are the large ornamental shrubs, well nearly all of them I'm just waiting for my friend Dave to get started on his garden so that they have a new home. In place is rhubarb, artichokes of all sorts, fruits trees and a new larger compost bin. I'm also going to get rid of the gravel path as the small dog hates walking on it (I know that's crazy pandering to the small dog's feet, but hey what makes her happy, makes me). So I spent most of last Saturday running up and down the block collecting old bricks as someone a couple of streets up was taking down his outhouse. My winter muscles ached from all the work, but now spring is here I'm not prepared to slow down, sore back or not.
And with that I'm going to go and sow some broad beans before I have to go to work.

Spring awakening

2009-02-11T12:53:19Z

As I write there is a female pheasant on the square lawn pecking amongst the very first of the crocus. The cardoons in the long border are constantly covered with birds, blue tits, robins, goldfinch; even the woodpecker now makes daily visits to tap the stems. They are a triumph of success: they looked stately in the snow and now their heads blow into a mass of seeds. Along with the hollyhocks and the miscanthus, they've held up so well and even in the darkest, dullest days always offered some sort of interest.

]]> However, they are being outshone as the snowdrop, aconites, witch hazel, honeysuckle, periwinkle and muscari all come into bloom. Thanks to young Joseph (H)'s love of snowdrops, there isn't a corner of Berryfields left unadorned. If we ever lost Joe it would be easy enough to find him, there'd be a trail of snow drops...
The greenhouse is surrounded by a frozen moat as the rain and ground water mingles. There is still very little to do other than gaze at the beginning of spring. I've installed a very efficient grow light that runs off a giant energy efficient bulb with a sort of silver cap surrounding it. One light and the propagation end of the greenhouse is bathed in growing conditions. I have the light on a timer so I just increase it at the beginning and end of the day with a little warmth. The seedlings are responding very well to this treatment and still have relatively cool nights, but the growth is good and strong. I'm sure they'll give me a headache later on, when I struggle to move from the greenhouse to outside life. It was an indulgence to sow early, I just want to see a little green growing.
The winter salads are finally putting on growth and I can now pick a large bowl, enough to feed two, most days. I have 12 different salads growing in the greenhouses and another five or so outside under cloches. Only the corn salads, frizzy mustards, purslanes, rocket and winter spinach have survived with any dignity outside.
I'm making my way through the last of the potatoes. We've done well for stored things this winter as I still have a bucket of carrots, say 30 or so potatoes and 10 heads of garlic to go. The beetroot and mooli were blasted by the frost, but the celeriac, parsnip and leeks are still good for picking.
I can hear the buzzards cry in the far field. I guess everyone is celebrating spring today.

Outgrowing my garden

2009-01-30T12:48:17Z

I spent much of the beginning of this month slightly depressed about the size of my garden. It seemed, when I first got there, like an entirely suitable size for someone who spent all day gardening. Enough to get stuck into, but not enough to consume all weekend, every weekend. And then something happened. It didn't shrink, I haven't amassed more time, I don't have a larger family to feed and it's not filled it up, well not completely. What happened was ownership, I've gardened for 16 years now, 14 of those professionally, but always for someone else (or at least with someone else, in the case of community gardens).

]]> I had a wonderful boss at New York Botanical Gardens, a truly amazing horticulturalist who created such flights of fancy in the rock gardens and filled the alpine houses with gems to rival any natural history museum. However his back garden was a holding space of pots filled mainly with half starved plants - an inability to throw away the leftovers from the botanic garden, but no desire to actually put them in the ground.
The truth was, like many botanical gardeners, he was on a bad wage and thus rented a tiny flat with a cramped concrete garden. But he also said something very interesting that he couldn't have his own garden as it would take away from his real garden, his work. I thought he was mad at the time, but I understand now.

You see I was happy with my back garden because I didn't take it too seriously. I did what was needed, enough to look pretty, to feed us sometimes, a treat to look upon from the washing up, but I kept my heart tied up somewhere else.
Something happened while I was sick this New Year's eve. Between the seed packets, the glossy garden books I got for Christmas and all that lovely crisp frost I fell in love with my garden. The plans I made for this year suddenly felt cramped. There is so much I want to grow, so much to experiment with and learn about: to test boundaries, to move things on, to explore. My little back garden is just that, little.

I've been on an allotment list for over a year, but I'm still far from the top. I've bullied my parents into letting me use some of their veg garden, but it is bullying, as although I can do the initial hard graft, it'll be them that's watering come summer. I've got a secret guerrilla spot and there's more to explore, but I can't exactly grow veg there, not unless I want it trodden on every Friday night.

Just when the slightly depressed started to tumble to deep, dark well someone reached out. It wasn't a purposeful reach out, it was more of a random stop on the street. But now I seem to be gathering space to garden like no tomorrow. It's all early days yet, but there are tentative plans for orchards, wild flower meadows and container gardens, all for the community. It's day dreaming stuff, but as anyone who's ever gardened knows that is how beautiful gardens begin...

On an entirely different note, I went to potato day at Garden Organic's Ryton garden last Saturday and although I was disappointed not to get some 'Ratte' (poor crop apparently) I stocked up on lots of other lovelies. Three different 'Sarpos' in case of blight, 'Sante' to keep us going later on, 'Red Duke of York' and 'Duke of York' for pretties and the very tempting 'Mr Little's Yethom Gypsy' a Scottish heritage variety that produce red, white and blue all on one potato. I bought some minituber (very vigorous, disease free tubers) from Alan -Mr. Potato- Romans of this variety so that I could a comparison test with normal seed potatoes.

I noticed that the talk on blight was packed out. I head in other direction (probably to my detriment) for a potato packed lunch. I had a good catch-up with Alan. He had some very interesting things to say on potato eel worm and I suggest anyone who's had a problem with this, then checks out the biological control Foil-sis. Foil-sis is a close relative to the potato plant and is grown as part of a rotation (it's a year long rotation so it's foil-sis this year and potatoes next). The eel worm mistake the foil-sis for potatoes and get ready for action only to find there are no potatoes and thus die off. Trials have shown dramatic reductions in eel worm and according to Mr Romans a lot more of us suffer from this problem than we know.

First signs

2009-01-22T16:12:44Z

The sun is out. It may be wet, muddy and cold, but the sun is out. With sun has come the aconites, snowdrops, swathes of daffodil spikes, along with the hamamelis, hellbores, muscari and asphodels (Asphodelus acaulis in the alpine house). It's coming, spring, that is.

]]> We've been chopping wood, splitting the poplar and cherries that had to come down last year. The cherries expose a miriad of red, purple and pink stripes as you split it. It's hard brittle wood, where as the poplar is as soft (and wet) as a sponge in place. It smells very strongly. Joe reckons it smells of new born baby lambs. The job has kept us warm and hopefully once this lot are dry will keep others snug.
I'm surrounded by indoor flowers as Toby's hyacinths are up along with many amaryllis trumpeting about the place. It feels jolly in the office and, as the sun continues, so do I.

Post-Christmas pounds

2009-01-05T11:34:44Z

I'm a little miffed about this Christmas. Every day I got up dug for three hours, moved, mulched, sorted out the compost bins, raked and tidied (it was my Christmas present to my parents to sort out their new vegetable garden) and yet I've still put on the Chrismas pounds. I think this is a little bit of an injustice as there was a point where I thought I might not move again as my muscles hurt so much.

]]> Still their veg garden may not look perfect, but once the cardboard (putting good use to all their moving boxes) has rotted down and spring has arrived their soil should be in a good state. It's lovely stuff (the soil), if a little starved at the moment, lots of chalk and cuts like butter- a far cry away from Berryfields' heavy stuff. But where it is free-draining and light, it lacks nutrients and even the weeds are a pathetic size. Still, plenty of green manuring and compost will sort that out.

I went up to Danesbury hill fort to have a look at the local flora and picked juniper berries, a little hairy thyme and marjoram and stuffed them in my pockets for no good reason other than I could and now my coat smells lovely. There were lots of lovely beech trees, contorted by the winds over the years, and in every nook and cranny there were hundreds of snails snuggled together. It was an extraordinary sight.

I came back to my own garden full of vigour to get on with the 'self-sufficientish' plan, but have come down with some stomach bug. I'm consoling myself with reading seed catalogues and in my present state it's no bad thing; a bit like going to the shops on a full stomach; I'm finally showing constraint and have a very modest list. Still I'm dying to try parsley peas (Plants of Distinction) and to get hold of some purple asparagus (a bit of a pipe dream at the second) from the Organic Catalogue. The rest I'm keeping secret until I've put my order in...

Christmas wish list

2008-12-11T14:16:07Z

I want to be at home in my mother's kitchen making bread.

I want some more Salsola seed, but I think I may be too late to get an order in.

I want to be more organised about ordering seed this year. I'd like my veg plan to be the size of my belly instead of my eyes.

]]> I wish I could find the errant slug in the green house as it's making a mess of the purple pak choi.
I'd like to find a dress in the charity shop for tonight's office party.
I'd like to not smell of bonfire smoke for the occassion.
I'm a little worried my girlfirends are going to ditch me for boyfriends tonight (though I'd wholeheartedly approve).
I wish I'd got on top of the aphids in the greenhouse as now they are all over the chilis.
I want the meal worms to grow as they're tiny and only the smallest robin would be pleased by them.
I wish I could identify my birds better.
I'm glad I got Joe a guernsey jumper for his birthday as he is very pleased with it.
I must get into my own garden and plant the hard-necked garlic before it's too late.
I'm pleased with the arrangement of DIgitalis lutea, achillea and Verbascum 'Helen Johnson' in the cottage garden, I think it will work well.
I'm looking forward to planting a sweep of the Digitalis 'Pam's Choice' in the spring garden.
I'm hoping I'll get a quince tree for Christmas (OH that's a hint for you). . .
Oh and what I really, really want is a pair of 1994 Chanel wellington boots (they even had steel shanks).

I've made my first cookie cutter

2008-12-05T11:49:34Z

I'd quite like an office job this week. One where I could sit inside when it's wet and cold or just wet or cold but when the sun shines I'd be allowed out again. Hmmm, actually I have that job. It's just there not a great deal to do in this office. Save sorting seeds by best before date (done) or rearranging the office furniture (exhausted all possible arrangments) or making cookie cutters out of old seed tins (neither that satisfying or easy and slightly pointless, thanks READYMADE magazine). But when it's not storming we've been getting on with wintery task such as crown lifting the beech in the spring garden and renovating lilacs. Our lilacs are old and woody and it was time to be ruthless for their sake (and ours). We've taken all the oldest stems right back to a foot or so above ground. It's a good idea if your lilac is very overgrown to stagger this sort of renovation work, as the new growth doesn't tend to flower for another three years. You'll often find the new growth is very vigorous and it will need to be thinned (in late spring/early summer) to maintain an attractive shape. An old, woody lilac can be transformed into something youthful in just a few cuts. So if you like your lilac but not that its taking up too much space, now the time to get at it.
We've got fencing to fix this afternoon--a good warming job for such a day. That and I have the inevitable bicycle woes that always appear all at once, just at the point when you're contemplating becoming a fair weather cyclist. I'm not sure how many frozen, wet journeys Isabel and I can take. By the time I get to the train I'm so bundled in scarves, waterproofs, two pairs of gloves and the dog is only visible by her nose under her many blankets that we are quite the comedy duo.Still all the amaryllis are poking their heads up in the greenhouse and the first of the daffodil leaves are emerging, which means it can't be that cold and I should get on and do some work.

]]>

Rambling around nowhere

2008-11-25T15:31:08Z

It's got to that finger numbing point. I plunged 90 minature daffs in under 20 minutes, no small feat in our clay, but it was either go that fast or watch you finger tips go blue. 've had some fun in the cottage garden making sure it looks pretty for next year. The dog has basked in whatever sun she could find, even if it meant climbing onto a wall to precariously fall asleep.

]]> When no-one is here, it's like Disney's snow white has come to visit and I am constantly surround by flocks of finches, tits and sparrows darting in and out. The squirrel came out and we had a game of who could get to the bulbs first whilst all around chatted and chirped. It was a lovely day even if I did feel terribly demotivated.

Against the setting sun the Miscanthus sinensis 'Ferne Oslen' looks incredibly beautiful next to the exploding cardoon heads against a backdrop of Melianthus major, still bravely holding onto to its lime green leaves. It's a nice view for an office.

I went for a lunch time walk with Joe yesterday. We sloshed through the far field and thumped up the hill. The view of the far field is lovely, it's all buff coloured from the mustard left to seed. Our landscape looked wonderful from afar - very pretty and yet so fragile amongst the muddy, stubbled fields.

I can only counterbalance my sadness for this time of year with cooking. It's the only way I know how. I go home and bake, strain and simmer until it's time to fall asleep. I made a most wonderful apple sauce from some Egremont Russets that were starting to wrinkle in my warm kitchen. I added two pints of dry cider, some water, a lot of fresh ginger, ground cloves and a little allspice to four pounds of apples and simmered away. The result is almost heaven when swirled into porridge for breakfast. It's like going to the German Christmas market for breakfast in your own kitchen everymorning, perhaps minus the hangover. Last night I made another celeriac/leek/potato soup, this time with a generous amount of Manzanilla sherry before the yoghurt. And tonight I'll make borscht, though I only have the variety Chioggia left in the garden. I'm not taken to it as a variety, it may be pretty whilst preparing, but it makes an insipid soup, looks terrible pickled and not much better baked. And the taste - can you really tell? I like a good blood red variety like Boltardy (so reliable) or the cylindrical 'Forono'.

Stomach rumbles

2008-11-18T12:46:23Z

I harvest a head of 'Grafiti' cauliflower that was so beautiful that I wandered around the garden till I found the perfect sundrenched, yellow leafed spot on which to place it. Then I just stood there and admired it. It's a little punk in its purpleness and its bright hue is dulled by cooking, but you can't help but love the colour on a sunny day.
]]> I've been cleaning and clearing the veg garden. Removing old brassica leaves and planting more mild mustards and pale pak choi for the spring. I've thinned rows of rocket, mustards and komatsuna. The thinnings will make a lovely lunch time salad. It's that and baked beans as I forgot to put on a potato to bake in time.
Yesterday's lunch was far more superior. I bought a tin of curried chickpeas. I bought it more for its technicolour tin than the contents but they turned out to be delicious and at 59p a bargain. I added three carrots, one diced potato, star anise, a little cinnamon, a chili, some garlic and plenty of swiss chard and tat soi. It was lovely curry made in under 20 minutes from plot to plate.
I've also been eating lots of pak choi, mainly stir fried with ginger, star anise (a little obessed with that flavour at the moment) and various meats. I had a great udon terriaki beef broth swimming in oriental greens from my wineboxes on Sunday.
I have to admit what with dark nights and various weekend antics I haven't seen much of my garden in light. I flashed the torch around for slugs whilst going to the compost and other than the oriental clippings in my slippers, the garden might just be a figment of my imagination. I must try and plant some garlic and I need to build some raised beds at the bottom for the 'big 2009 self-sufficientish year' that I haven't really let my husband in on. I am sure he'll give up 'Lucky Charms' just like that.

Otherwise between Birmingham and here things are blissfully quiet. I intend to spend the rest of the week pottering before I tackle any larger projects such as muddy, boot wrecked, camera-worn lawns.

Congratulations Mr Obama

2008-11-05T12:06:02Z

I woke this morning with that childish excitement that the day has begun. I knew the minute the alarm went off that it was going to be alright. Still I wept over breakfast at the relief. I think that this is the first significant, positive historical change I've witnessed in my life time. I, like so many, feel on top of the world today. This is good, really good.

]]> It's just as well because otherwise two hours of pulling the shredder apart might have floored me. Grass, however dry, and shredders just don't go together. I had to take a pair of tweezers and a stanley knife to the axle, five strands of grass later and the thing works. Beth's been pricking out all morning, we won't go hungry for salad this winter. I've been toying with taking the indoor toms down to make more space for the indoor lettuce. I sort of loath to do it as they're still flowering and setting, but for the amount of pale fruit we'll get, it's a lot of space, perhaps next week.
I've been moving various clumps from the long borders. I've been noticing an ever growing amount of bindweed around the yew hedge and into the hot end and decided that now was the time to tackle it; bindweed is a pain anywhere, but particularly when it's got into mature clumps. The best way is to dig up the clump and soak it a trug of water. Once you've got all the soil off you can usually tweeze the the roots out, it's a fiddly, time consuming job, but it does pay off. I still have a great deal of shredding to do. Prosaic stuff for such a monumentous day, but there you go 'happiness is', as Iris Murdoch wrote, ' a matter of one's most ordinary and everyday mode of consciousness being busy and lively and unconcerned with self'.

auto reply: 'I'm out of the office'

2008-10-23T14:07:30Z

I went into the Mailbox on Monday. Without wishing to offend my colleagues, I'm so very glad I don't work in an office anymore. If I was blue from the lack of summer in the last few weeks, one day in the office was enough to snap me out of my ennui. I've spent a week marvelling at the countryside and it's response was a truly seasonal performance of dancing leaves and flock of goldfinches. Joe and I moved the bench in the veg garden to gain more afternoon tea sun and were astonished to see how even young grazing rye looks beautiful in this light.

]]> I've tidied the veg garden, made the kale and Brussels stand straight, picked the last of the caterpillars off (so sneaky in their crevices) and planted out more mustards and winter lettuces. The Digitalis ferruginea is up. I'll have a small army if I prick them all out. That's one of drawbacks to filming you get trays upon trays of things you can't bear the throw away. Perhaps I'll be good and pot them on for Gardeners' World Live. Though I always says things like that only to curse the space they take up in cold frames once spring comes.

To celebrate this rich landscape I've made it a week of soups, rich hearty ones full of vegetables and thin broth steeped in autumnal tastes. The best is a tomatillo recipe from the internet made of garlic, roasted tomatillo and fried chicken. The other one that stood out was a miso based vegetable soup using black Spanish radish marinated in rice vinegar, salt, sugar and paprika.

Waiting for the leaves to fall

2008-10-09T15:07:59Z

I have decided to take a leaf out of the dragonflies' book and soak up as much of autumn as possible in the prettiest place I know. ]]> I've been dipping in and out of the pond, clearing of it of brown algae and cutting back some of the more rampant vegetation. I was forced to sit very still for a good while when a ruddy darter dragonfly alighted on my waders. It seemed wrong to move him on, so we both soaked up the sun and enjoyed the view. They're funny things dragonflies, like little machines with their twitching heads and motorised flight. One might imagine they are little alien spacecrafts--if you had nothing better to do.

It's been one of those autumn weeks when you take stock of things, 'So this is where I stand then' Or perhaps it's just being here for another autumn and watching the whole story unfold all over again that's made me stop and stare. Not wanting to wish away time, but I think it would be good if the leaves started falling soon to keep me occupied otherwise I'll sink into an existential fug.

On an entirely different note, so very different it hardly seems my life, I met Alan Titchmarsh for the first time this week. I never, ever thought I say this but Alan T. kinda rocks. He's very droll and way more dapper than you'd imagine. So perhaps it's not the same story unfolding again, because it means one of two things: either I'm getting old or I've got to redefine my dictionary of cool (if you believe in such things).

The year of the tomatillo

2008-10-08T11:32:43Z

Although I think I declared last year as the 'year of the tomatillo' I think I'll claim it again.

]]> Despite the rain, the slugs, ohh and the lack of summer in general it hasn't bothered these Mexican souls who've produce a bumper crop. We tried two varieties this year, A Thompson and Morgan violet type and the plain green, Physalis philadelphica. The violet kind is far prettier, but crop isn't prolific and each cherry is smaller. They look lovely, but once you whizzed them into salsa you can't really tell they were purple. If you're looking to start a salsa business I'd stick with the green ones.

The other thing I learnt, after I gave my neighbour Sue a plant, is that they aren't terribly self compatible, so if you have just one plant you don't get any fruit. I crammed three into a wine crate and got a sizeable harvest for such a limited space.

Apart from roasting them with lots of garlic, I've added them to soups and stews with great success. Mostly though I've fallen in love with making salsa verde. I've used a very basic recipe that can't be bottled because there isn't enough acid to preserve the sauce, so I've frozen it in batches instead. I used 60 or so tomatillos, one onion, two cloves of garlic, a big bunch of coriander, two Apache chillies and half a lime. I made a mind blowing variety with scotch bonnets as well, but you end up merely wafting the tortilla chips over rather than eating the stuff. In this batch I also upped the lime juice to temper the chillies (sort of worked). It's best to use the firmest, bright green tomatillos rather than the light yellow, the latter tasting more bland. I chopped in half and roasted the tomatillos first in olive oil. Then I whizzed the whole thing into a suitably chunky blend. Next thing you know and I'll be plaiting my hair like Frida Kahlo.

Winter squash

2008-09-25T15:32:20Z

I've just been bending Dr. Claire's ear about kabocha (winter) squash. While I was in L.A I ate the most divine dish of kabocha squash and chicken broth.

]]> The pumpkin was slightly flourly and yet melted in your mouth. It was heavenly and although I don't believe in heaven, if by chance I get there I hope this dish is served regularly. I also ate some burdock roots dry fried in chillies--a sort of fiery chip in you like. Again it was perfect. Or perhaps that was the unfilleted sake the nearest anyone can get to an alcholic milkshake.

Anyhow you can imagine my glee when I got back from America to fine six huge mottle light green squash in the vegetable garden. The chef told me that part of the secret was a par-boiling the pumpkin before coooking it in the chicken broth and the rest in the curing of the pumpkin. Winter squashes are harvested whilst still growing and ripened by storing them first in a warm place for around 13 days and then for a month or so in a cool place. The warm place converts some of the starch into carbohydrates, the cool place increases the sugar production. From one to three months later the squash are ready (in my case in time for Christmas dinner). You can tell if it is ready as the flesh is bright yellow/orange and the skin is hard (if your thumb nail leaves a mark it has sat long enough) and the stalk withered. Oh I can almost taste it now. It's enough to make me almost forget about the tomatoes.