Thursday 3 May 2012

Life starts here

Right, I have limited time whilst child number 2 has her nap and child number 1 is at pre-school.  It is a wet morning in early May and I am going to jam as much information on here as possible before the cry of the well-known toddling warbler signals the end of my productive day.

The aim of this blog is to catalogue and record my experiences in the garden, having committed a spectacular career suicide just over a fortnight ago. More on that in another post I feel.

The purpose of this account is to act as a record of what I was planting and when, what worked and what didn't, and what I can do better in future years.

So here goes.

I think it would be helpful for all of us (and by all of us, I of course mean just me) to start with a quick summary of where we have got to so far and what we have to work with.

The "greenhouse":


I'm actually quite pleased with this.  Full of promise.  The courgettes haven't yet had the opportunity to disappoint me by producing two withered edibles; there isn't a slug or snail bite in sight - except a little nibble on one of the sunflowers...

And for all those natural light fans out there, let it be known that I do take my plants out for a walk each day...


...which is where the sunflower plant received its little nibble.

The only plant that doesn't seem to like to go outside (much like my son) is the coriander:


Carrying on our tour, the herbs, flowers and shrubs.  Don't ask me to name the flowers and the shrubs (and if anyone does ever read this blog and is able to name the succulent that is thriving in the pot on the centre right, that would be most appreciated).  However, on the herbs side we have bay (looking a bit sad), thyme (common), sage, chives, tarragon (french) - apparently tarragon does not like to be in a pot, but seems to like it for us - various lavenders/lavendulas and, finally, parsley.  


Here I am trying to grow swiss chard (rainbow lights) in a planter.  Who knows if it will work.  I grew far too many chard seedlings so have decided to try them out in a couple of different places.  If any of these experiments are successful, then as a family we're going to have to up our chard consumption (from zero currently).


The white bits are blossom rather than some sophisticated new growing media...

Onwards and downwards, hacking through our uncut lawn.  Ladies and gentlemen I give you ... sweet peas, planted by my wife:


We are hoping that they will happily climb up the twine that I have looped round these amateurish supports.  Time will of course tell.

So this fence is replacing one that I burnt down last February, along with my neighbour's shed, the contents of said shed and a substantial proportion of their leyland cypress (Cupressus x leylandii, Latin fans).  The ceremonial burning of this beloved tree was the silver lining to this sorry episode.  The building of the replacement fence, which required significant guidance and assistance from my father-in-law (essentially he built it and then left me to undertake the apparently straightforward task of attaching the feather-edge boards), has now taken nearly 15 months.  




A slightly quicker project has been the building of my compost "heap".  Heap is the wrong way to describe this hulking monolith.  I am sure that all eyes in the architectural world will this year be focused on the various Olympic venues and the completion of the Shard, but I am convinced that the more considered members of RIBA will want to come down to my garden to revel in the elegant beauty and magnificent practicality of this celebration of compost creation.



The fact that the majority of it is made with relatively fragile feather-edge boards from fences past and present means that it is likely to collapse with the first sniff of a decomposing vegetable, but for now my basilica of biomass stands tall and proud.


On which soaring rhetoric I must bring this inaugural post to a close.  This is somewhat premature, since I had plans to discuss the contents of my beds (vegetable), but the squawking from the nursery (child's) has reached fever pitch.  I can't imagine my wife's definition of success in our domestic role-reversal plan is having social services called round by our neighbours.


I do, however, have time for my final garden job. So, with a rattle of my tambourine and a twang of my ukulele, I cast off my clothes for the daily naked sun dance.  Until next time folks....


[Photo removed]

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