The longest day of the year.
The rain is sweeping in from the west across the bottom field and the downs are
lost in heavy, grey cloud as I walked towards the duck shed to open up for the
day. As I pass the row of bean poles where the first young tender plants are
struggling upwards towards the sky, I fancy I can hear the slugs and the snails
gathering together in the damp undergrowth to plan and launch an attack on my
poor defenceless beans.
Ducks out, fed and watered,
chickens out, fed and watered, sheep checked, I stand sheltering under the
veranda of the garden shed watching the rain playing rivulets down the folds of
the polytunnel and make the decision to go home. Thinking back over the last
two months, I realise that this is the first time I have abandoned the
allotment because of the weather.
I stop; where have the last
two months gone? What happened to May after we lambed? Why are we more than
half way through June and the year?
What happened to the
shoulder high, lacy white umbels of the cow parsley that I walked through to
get to work? Now the air is full of the smell of elderflowers lifting their
heads above ranks of tall, dark green nettles crusted with tiny brown flowers.
Creeping buttercup skirts the path to the field shed and the lower field is
awash with daisies. When did the blossom on the apple trees around the chicken
run fade and form these clusters of tiny red tinged fruit I can reach up and
touch now? Where have the miniature greengages come from and the plums; when
did they start to grow?
What have I been doing for
the last six weeks? I guess the answer is that I have been gardening flat out,
hardly daring to turn around because another job needed doing.
Seedlings, tenderly grown in
trays, have been potted on and then pushed out of the womb of the polytunnel to
harden in the cold frames stacked along the boundary fence. From there they
have been shoe-horned into an ever shrinking area of allotment. Squashes,
courgettes, melons, have been tipped into heavy manured beds; sprouts and
cabbages secreted under bird netting; tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers and
aubergines cosseted in the greenhouses; potatoes earthed up; bean poles erected
and purple-hued runner bean seeds and small opal white French bean seed tucked
into the ground around them. Celery and celeriac which filled the polytunnel
with its minted smell is now standing proud in two long straight rows between
the sweet corn patch and the white flowers of early peas. The strawberries
have, true to their name, been strawed and there are gooseberries almost ready
for picking. Carrot seed has been regularly sown and failed, parsnips are
finally coming up and after an abortive first attempt, it looks as if I have
beetroot and spinach. Then there are the onions and garlic. Why has the garlic
got rust?! Finally, there is my first real crop of the summer; the board beans
which I cook smothered in home made parsley sauce, add to casseroles or turn
into bright green humus to eat with freshly made flat bread.
The thing I haven’t done is
write the regular blog that I had planned every week to map out my first year
as a small holder. But the rain has changed that, driven me inside and made me
sit down in front of the computer. The window is slightly ajar to let in the
smell of fresh earth and damp grass and the sound of the wind tormenting the
trees. This is a chance to catch up, get down on paper what has happened, take
stock and plan ahead. The longest day of the year.
