A week has gone by

and rain, rain, rain.
My old and trusted 'Readers Digest', illustrated gardening from  1975, has been thrust aside. I have been thumbing through my new gardening manuals.


hamlyn, '200 veg-growing basics.'  A handy little book.
The 'RHS Allotment hand book.' Clear and simple.
'Grow something to eat every day.' by Jo Whittingham. - Fabulous, well laid out. With sections for each month. Ready to eat, what to sow, what to plant, what to harvest, what to do, and so much more.
and finally
'Companion Planting,' by Brenda Little. Which was all I hoped it could be.

I have to admit, I browsed through the gardening section at Waterstones to see what I liked. Noted down a few, then bought them on line. But I did go home with the 200 veg basics.
There were none there on companion planting, my primary objective. After all the 'Readers Digest' covers vegetables.

I won't be able to go to the plot for the next couple of weeks as we are away on our summer holls. No doubt it will be sunny and dry. I will take my books with me and dream. Then when we get back...the work starts in earnest.

The sun was shining

So I dashed down to the plot with the car to take some of the weeds to the dump, of course I couldn't stop pulling them up once I started.

I expect the enthusiasm will wain, but better keep going while I'm still on the upward trend.

My arms sting!

Soooo many nettles. Already a week has passed. Weather, work, life has kept me from my new baby.
I guess I could have found time in between the downpours, but I wanted to share this experience with someone. Who better than my man and helpmate; Hudge. Time to test his husbandry skills. Get him to grow as well as cook. As luck would have it, he returned from work early last night and there was a break in the clouds, so off to the allotment we went.
The weeds and nettles awaited. In the intervening time they had grown to triffid proportions. We were not daunted. We stoically set to work.
We found; a rake; a hose; lots of netting; old plastic milk cartons; and rotted down plastic sacks. And that was only in the small portion that we cleared.
We were thanking the rain. The ground was so soft that the spiteful things pulled out easily, roots and all. The giant thistles followed them. The piles grew. Eric had said to leave them to frazzle in the sun then pop them on the compost heap. but I have my doubts... the compost heap seems to be a source of the nettles it's self. I am going to come back with the car and a tarp' and haul the lot off to the dump.
Knackered and hungry we decided to stop for the night.
Our slow amble back enabled Hudge to photograph all the scarecrows we saw. We had a short stop for a chat with another evening gardener. He was a source of information about broad beans; They are growing on the plot and we don't know how to cook them, they are not something we buy at Sainsburys. He kindly answered my questions, and now I know. You take them out of their pods and cook like peas. Pick them early, they are small and sweet, leave them to long, hard and bitter.
Home at last and our arms were red and stinging. We slathered on the antihistamine cream and waited for modern science to relieve our pain.
Hudge's Photos

I get my plot

So, I have a 'phone message. Eric from the allotment had rung. 'Do you still want a plot?'  Do I still want a plot? Oh yes! I punch the air. I'm alone. I can do this.
I ring back. 'Is now convenient to take a look?' We are both free, so off I trot to meet him. Its not far, just around the corner, under the old brick railway bridge and I'm there; at those enticing locked gates that I am soon to have a key to.
We meet. Eric is a silver haired, sun tanned man of seventy in shirtsleeves with a strong grip. Well he would, all those years of digging.
I am advised of allotment etiquette and rules as we go and I learn the business with the key and the padlock. We walk past neat plots; weedy plots; plots with chickens; plots with fruit cages; ones that have been there for years, their forests of asparagus ferns gently swaying; and shining new plots, eager and burgeoning; plots worthy of promising newcomer awards, I'm told. Eric is a mine of information, and, I hazard a guess, a little bit of a gossip with a twinkle in his eye.
We walk for ever. I'm shown parking places. Phew! The community shed, the compost toilet that the key also opens...double phew. And finally, plot 85 (I think) right at the far end, but, I am assured, in the sunniest part.
Of course, it's covered in nettles, but Eric tells me that's a good thing, it means the soil is rich and nutritious.
We walk the perimeter. Potatoes, hollyhocks, raspberries, Sweet William. A rickety shed, with its door off its hinges but with a waterproof roof, nestles against the tall hedge that surrounds the allotments. There are even a couple of potting tables slung in a corner for regeneration.
Visions fill my mind... Gertrude Jecklesque cottage gardens, parterres, serpentine sweeps and circular beds, with a sun dial in the centre. I can't wait to get home and hit Amazon, order a few books to drool over. I plan to be there at the crack of dawn to start clearing.
A leisurely stroll back, a gift of  scented sweet peas, a quick look in the seed shed, then paperwork done - and three months rent free arranged starting August. We say adieu.