Autumn allotment

Down the allotment with a bag and a spade for the last not slug munched spuds and an armful of corn that escaped the trampling snuffling humbug of Brock's paws. Still traffic murmured autumn air that lulls you into winding down for the season and yet there is much to be done amongst the dahlias and the compost heap. In the corner of the site, a man all grey trousered and narly jumpered prods a leaf pile with a fork like he expects a viper to slither out and a cough of a mutter escapes. 

Mould-green bog stenching leaf litter slides off the side. 'ya bugger'

Out comes the toffees from rat's nest stuffed pockets and on goes the shed kettle.

Greenhouse hiding plot holders tend to unripe tomatoes or cascading grapes on autumn coloured turning vines, twisting and tendrilling suspiciously across to the box of Growmore and the chicken manure. Next year it's world domination.

A snip and a gather, green tomatoes will ripen in a brown bag and perhaps taste nice fried or in a chutney. And back outside in a huge clump, some kale, the bitter green leviathan of the plot, with sprawling tentacles to last the winter through. Some to take home for Dad's chickenosauruses, ferocious things that peck your wellied feet and pluck each others feathers. 

Standing, summing up, pondering. Bonfire heaps and forgotten watering cans. The last chance to harvest any squashes before the frost hits them. A time for making plans for the next gardening year.....there is always next year. New veggies to grow or fruit trees to buy and seed catalogues to order for afternoons by the fire dreaming of next year's cutting garden and bountiful beans of all varieties, striped and spotted pods, popping into soups for months and months.

Before the late autumn set in, the plot was swarming with scarecrows, the young and the old crafting sock-faced granny dressed hat wearing guardians that can not even frighten a sparrow let alone a corvid. I have seen crows mocking with a chucking caw as they sit aloft an old straw hatted wurzel 'Come see, come see oh raven and rook, a mermaid to keep us away and over there, caw-caw, a stuffed French man. And my doesn't this sweetcorn taste good'.

Whilst I wandered, amused and inspired, amongst the rows of brown sugar dipped dahlias and the burnt out sunflower heads, I heard a cheery 'hello' to my Dad. Another plot holder has arrived, on her bicycle, helmet off and camera quickly out from her rucksack. Here to photograph the haunting abundance yet decay of late autumn, just as I am. Completely normal to me, bemusing to my Dad who carries on digging for spuds and then shuffling along the path for some apples whilst propping netting back up and flapping at a crow.

A few more snaps by the patch of gone midnight-pumpkins that sprawl in drunken disorder, mildew setting in on bristly leaves, powdered end of year dust. No glass slippers just the season algae tainted glasshouses, ready for cleaning for spring. And their occupants, still pottering away, hiding out with mugs of tea and having a break from compost snake charming.

And now home down the grassy path, waving goodbye, bags full of those earthy potatoes for mashing with salted butter, a few late borlotti beans, add some herbs, maybe roast some pumpkin and a glug of gravy. Place some vegetable into the store shed to last over the cold months when there is little to harvest aside from winter greens and especially that perfect Christmas Brussels sprout.

I don't really mind January

For most people January is the worst month and yes whilst it is cold and grey with a sprinkling of post Christmas debt and seasonal blues....actually it's not that bad. I like cold. I like grey. And I'll just spend little this month.

It's a month off really, still able to hibernate and recuperate if you've overdone Christmas and New Year and stay home huddled in a blanket. I've got a couple of social events I need to go to this month but to be truthful I'd rather be at home. January to me is hopefully a chance to mentally catch up after the roller-coaster busyness I've been carried along with since October. Also if I look miserable, nobody is going to annoyingly tell me to cheer up, it's expected to look fed up in January so I can be at ease with my inner gloom. Hooray. I do enjoy a little bit of melancholy. Embracing my Eeyore tendencies I'll be quietly just being myself - cups of tea, reading, going for walks and gardening. No parties, no big social occasions, no fake cheer and all that festive glitz gone. Good.

However, secretly I'm happy, loving every minute of the dark days, howling winds and icy rain showers. Every time somebody moans about January being bleak I smugly smile like the Grinch. January I love you, you ground me for the rest of the year and connect me to those ancestral feelings of hardship, isolation and getting through the winter. Life is so easy in our warm houses that a fierce January gives that tiny remainder of previous life lived a little shake of making fires and battening down the hatches.

A whole month to plan, make lists and forget any rubbish from the previous year. A month off from too much pressure to be doing things, of not feeling guilty for not leaving the house all week and of trudging around the house in comfy clothes.

Here are my five things that occupy my time during the start of the year.

1. An abundance of food and drink. Getting rid of the Christmas left over treats and making wholesome veggie stews and soups. The slow cooker is out and I've got root veggies chopped up nearly every day for variations on winter casseroles - potatoes, swede, celeriac, carrots and turnips. For drinks I have syrups for my coffee - vanilla, hazelnut and gingerbread along with loads of different types of teas. 

2. I read lots of books and then some more. Yes, fire blazing, comfy spot in the corner of the sofa, a book on nature or history, aforementioned cup of tea. I'm just reading the Time Travellers Guide to Medieval England as well as my university course books. 
3. I pursue my hobbies which may involve books as above, getting out into the bitterly cold air on the odd occasion or watching a documentary about churches or religion. I go out a couple of evenings a week to bell ringing practice which stops me from being a total winter recluse.  
4. January is a great time to study a new course. My new module will be starting next week for my post grad in Parish Church Studies and I can't wait. I have the reading list already so have made a start and I've also been revisiting last term's books too. There are loads of free short courses too such as with Future Learn and Coursera. I'm doing Magic in the Middle Ages which is a nice addition to furthering my understanding of the medieval era. There are so many courses I want to do, just wish there was more time. I wish there were more Januaries :) 

5. I make my plans for the garden and allotment in January. With a rough sketch of the plot and a list of those jobs to do, I will be popping over to my weed riddled patch of land this weekend to burn off a few calories and get clearing and digging. Back at home I'll take stock of what seeds I already have and make my list of seeds to buy - my favourite kind of shopping. 

Happy New Year and I hope you love January too. 

Sturgeon Moon

 After such a rainy summer where a lack of allotment attendance has meant an overgrown array of mares tail, grass and an ochre carpet of bee and hoverfly attracting nasturtiums, there was a surprising amount of homegrown goodies hiding amongst the vegetation to take home:

• French beans
• Borlotti beans
• Glorious orange gladioli
• A pumpkin already fallen off its stalk
• Beetroot
• Potatoes
• Raspberries
• Blueberries
• Courgette

After dispatching the bounty into the car I was able to take a walk around the plots as the sun dipped and buttery light streamed across the corn tassels. Still blue skies but twilight creeping in from under the railway bridge and across the vegetable patches. Sunflowers reaching for the last sunbeams before the shadows take over.

 The leeks have flowered adding a row of full stops to a strip of bare soil that once grew early potatoes and tansy from a Medieval Fayre has softened the edges with its medicinal yellow 'bitter buttons'. Once used as a strewing herb on the floors to keep the flies away, it does indeed have a strong camphorous smell. Folkore says it will keep monsters away so we gathered some to take home to see if it works......  Walking to the plots at the far end to admire a profusion of sunflowers in all sizes and past sweet peas climbing a trellis, I looked up and saw the full moon all aglow, low in the sky just above the rooftops. A sturgeon moon, so called as it marks the time when the fish can be readily caught.

One of those moments where you feel at ease, just in awe of such a majestic sight and the connection of everything from the little seeds that I sow to the tiny moths I disturb as I brush through the grass and the heady scent in the air of late summer.


Joining in with Mammasaurus for How Does Your Garden Grow?

Allotment community

 It's a dark rainy summer's day, the dampness perpetuates and thoughts of lighting a fire at home spring to mind. But in the spirit of a true allotmenteer I head over to see the hardy bunch at a site in Cheshire for it is their annual open day and I wouldn't miss a chance to see prized flowers, onion rows and a gaggle of scarecrows for the world.  Through rain soaked arches of scrambling blush roses and pathways of puddles, the rich tapestry of allotment life was enough to cheer and forget the wet feet. Each plot with a different style, some ordered and meticulous, some wild and rambling, others devout to vegetable growing and others a garden of herbaceous perennials and bee attracting colourful annuals like calendula.  The quirky characters of allotment holders show in their plots, the colour of the shed, the amusing signs, the planting schemes and preferences but all meet in the community area for a cup of tea and a natter.  It's a neighbourhood of colourful rows of lettuce interspersed by pillars of climbing beans with orange flowers and nasturtiums rambling up sheds and pallets. Flags flutter, sunflowers sway and a hive of bees get on with their hard work despite the frequent heavy rain showers.  By tilled soil and watering can, pathways flanked with glossy leaved sweetcorn, polytunnels filled with ripening tomatoes, there is pride and camaraderie. A bag of spuds shared, a jar of rhubarb jam passed over the wire fence. By the allotment cafe, books were being sold and there was snail racing, a plant stall with peppers and flowers, much chatter amongst the hum of insects and happiness. This is were I am happy. By the plots and the people that tend to them.

Joining in with How Does Your Garden Grow? at Mammasaurus.