Obsession, naivety and corrugated iron

Tags

crochet, en dash, rights and permissions, writing a book

I try to keep my posts to all things plant related, whether it’s walking in the countryside, reading gardening books, growing plants or, even better, eating them. Now I can add writing about them to the list.

I could never have imagined last autumn when a publisher said they loved my idea for a book what it would have involved. Of course, at the time I thought I did. But isn’t that always the case with something new, because if we did fully understand the process we’d probably never do it in the first place. Instead we fall into things with differing degrees of naivety, discovering along the way whole new worlds that had previously been off our radar. For me writing this book has been a pretty steep learning curve. Previously I hadn’t had anything to do with the world of book publishing. I’d had some experience of research and writing long documents when I was at university but, other than that, nothing. Over the last few months a plethora of new words and phrases have appeared in documents and emails that I have never come across before and gradually the realisation has dawned on me that writing a book is not just simply getting some words on to a screen.

I’m developing a whole new appreciation of the work that goes into producing the books I love to read. It becomes a slightly obsessive process, partly because it’s not the sort of job that you can leave in the office on an evening and go home and forget about it. Ideas crop into your head whenever and wherever. As a result I have pieces of paper with frantically scrawled notes to self dotted about the house which, invariably, I can’t understand by the time I get round to looking at them properly. Because the book is about gardening and I’m growing all the plants for it, my usual, pre-book plant obsession has only multiplied. As the months progress this will be matched only by my increasing preoccupation with the weather.

This time last year I had no idea about the complicated world of rights and permissions. That means trying, and generally failing, to secure the OK to use material, be it a photograph or text from another source in your own book. Just trying to track down who owns the rights to a particular book or photograph is a task in itself and I’ve spent whole mornings in email conversations on the elusive trail of a particular sentence. All of which so often ends in frustration.

I have had to come up with a list of photographs I’ll need. So a rough draft of the text so far is covered in red pen indicating where I think a photo is needed and although I’m writing this with the benefit of spell check, it is, of course, not foolproof. For some reason my fingers insist on typing ‘form’ when I mean ‘from’ but as the former is a correctly spelt word spell check is useless. It’s surprising how many of these little things slip through. It’s crazy now to think that all of my university assignments were hand written and my 10,000 word dissertation was typed up on an electronic typewriter with a tiny screen that only showed four lines of text at any one time. There was more than one occasion when ‘Boris’, as the typewriter was known, was nearly launched from my bedroom window with sheer frustration.

Then there has been the quest for prop materials for the photos. I’ve discovered that spending several hours on cold, wet Sundays wandering around flea markets and reclamation yards is a surprisingly absorbing pastime. And there was the serendipitous introduction to a local builder on one of the aforementioned sorties which resulted in us following him along country roads to his farm. There was much consternation and amusement that I should want something he was going to get rid of as scrap. But when I explained he very kindly gave me just what I was looking for, a sheet of corrugated iron, and we spent a while chatting about his farm and his late wife and her love of gardening.

By the end of this summer I will have discovered what ‘box prominent’ and ‘box recessive’ mean, I’ll have proof read around 45,000 words and I’ll have worked out how to write an index. Apparently, there are some people who write indexes professionally. Another fact I hadn’t come across until recently.

I’m loving the whole process, though. I’ve always wanted to do something that was even just vaguely creative. I did once crochet a hat for Wellyman which he still wears today but I was still frantically finishing it one Christmas Eve and had developed repetitive strain injury in the process and so never really went any further with that. I also have no musical ability whatsoever and have no real skills on the drawing/painting front to speak of. But, for once, I feel like my creative juices have found an outlet and it’s brilliant.

So, if I disappear from the blog occasionally over the next couple of months you know where I am. I’ll be buried in my study, surrounded by illegible notes trying to find the ‘en dash’ symbol. How could I reach my mid-thirties and have never come across an en dash before?  It’s a longer hyphen for all those who are as mystified as I was.

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Not Quite Wordless Wednesday

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Monmouth Canal

Capturing the cold snap in the countryside around my home.

Wintery scenes on the Monmouthshire Canal. Colour stripped from the landscape.

Inky black water and glistening white snow (this isn’t a black and white photo).

The ones that got away

Tags

bird photography, goldcrest, isle of skye, The Anxious Gardener

I love watching birds which visit the garden. The bird feeder and the bird table are all positioned in a way that means I can look on whilst I’m in the kitchen, washing up or sat at the table writing. I have been known to settle down to work in the kitchen with some binoculars next to me. It doesn’t do much for productivity levels though. The mild weather we’ve had this winter had resulted in very quiet bird feeders but the ice and snow of the last week has meant bird numbers in the garden have rocketed. There were seven starlings at one point crammed on to my tiny bird table and I’ve never seen so many chaffinches.

I’m a bit wary of feeding the birds and encouraging them into the garden when I know there are so many cats in the neighbourhood. Although my feeders are out of reach of bird snaffling moggies there are some birds that don’t like to feed from them and much prefer scrabbling around on the ground for seeds dropped from above. It’s always sad when I come across birds deposited by the house by said cats; they could at least take them back to their owners so they get the dubious pleasure of disposing of the feathered corpses, instead of me.

We don’t get a vast array of bird species visiting the garden which is disappointing. Typically we’ll see house sparrows, tits, blackbirds, starlings and robins. The bad winter of 2010 was pretty special with bramblings, blackcap, field fayre and redwings. The bird guide was perched on the kitchen window sill we had so many birds I’d never seen before. But this, it seems, was a one-off. I guess it’s because we don’t have the right plants and habitat the birds want. Neighbouring gardens prefer the ‘minimal’ look (just lawn), or plants such as cordylines for which I have developed an increasing dislike. They just seem so out of place in a rural Welsh garden and offer nothing to the local wildlife.

My quest has been, for several years now, to try to capture the visiting birds on camera but it has proved surprisingly difficult. The bird table is mounted on the side of the house and it’s possible to get photos of the birds through the window but ,generally, by the time I’ve got the camera they are gone. I’ll wait a while in the hope they’ll return but since I don’t get paid to watch birds I’ll eventually resign myself to getting on with the day. I know though that as soon as my back is turned the birds are ready, waiting to return just like the roller-skating pandas on the Kit-Kat advert.

I’ve tried to stealthily watch them from the shed with my camera primed. The shed is situated opposite their prime perching and feeding spot, my crab apple tree, and with the zoom I should be able to get some decent shots. That would be if they didn’t all vanish whilst I’m standing there in the freezing cold. I spent an hour in my shed last winter trying to get photos of goldfinches. A huge flock of them had been visiting regularly, that was until I entered the garden. I guess they didn’t want to get papped. It’s not me though, I’m convinced they know I have a camera  You see, I can go about by normal jobs, sorting out the recycling, depositing vegetable waste on to the compost heap and collecting wood from the log pile and they don’t bat an eyelid, feeding happily as I wander past. As soon as I’m there with the camera, WHOOSH and they’re gone, with just a lone feather slowly floating down in front of me. That’s the thanks I get for feeding them and running into the garden in the snow, in my dressing gown and wellies, flailing my arms around to scare off the prowling cats. You’d think the least they could do would be pose for the occasional shot.

To quick for me

Even if a bird does linger long enough for me to take a photograph invariably it’s out of focus or the light is rubbish. I’ll admit that these are due to my lack of skills and aren’t the bird’s fault.

Outside the garden, when I’m out walking, I’m no more successful. I had the perfect opportunity to get a beautiful photograph of a robin on a snow covered branch yesterday but we’d just put the camera away in case we slipped on the icy path. Unzipping the bag and removing the camera from its case and then dropping the case on the floor, unsurprisingly, scared off the robin. Occasionally a bird will oblige. There was an incredibly fearless chaffinch that ate crushed up oatcakes from our table when we were on holiday on the Isle of Skye. The bribe of oatcakes meant it lingered long enough for photos. Then there was the Great skua or bonxie which was happy to pose. Although it stayed in the same spot for a good 30 minutes and I did wonder, at one point, whether it was glued to the rock or something. It’s just a pity that such an obliging bird wasn’t a little more photogenic.

If you’d like to see how it should be done take a look at the Anxious Gardener’s blog. Not only am I envious that he got so close to a goldcrest but he even managed to capture it on camera.

A Snowy Scene

Tags

snowmageddon

Snow covered branches

So they got it right after all, those weather forecasters, and we did wake up to a winter wonderland this morning. On Monday, with predictions of snow we travelled to Devon for a meeting of flower farmers with blankets, a shovel, an overnight bag and food supplies in the car, only to travel back later that day in glorious sunshine, feeling a little over-dressed in all our layers, with not a hint of snow anywhere. It was rain falling last night when I went to bed, so I did wonder whether there were going to lots of disappointed children (and adults) this morning. There were runs on sledges yesterday with shops selling out. Imagine the disappointment if the snow had never materialised.

Although I’m eager for spring to arrive I’m pleased to see the snow. We have had two very cold and snowy winters recently but generally snow, and deep snow in particular, is not that common an event. We have a friend who was born and brought up in London and she hadn’t seen snow until she was in her twenties and the first time was on a visit ‘up north’. Its rarity means councils and government can’t justify buying the sort of equipment other, more snowy, countries do to cope with the conditions. So, as a result, the country grinds to a halt. Snowmageddon, I believe, is the term being used this year to describe shops being stripped of ‘essentials’, schools closed and flights being cancelled.

Having a spell of snow makes me feel like we’ve actually had a winter rather than just the mild and damp weather that normally constitutes winter in Wales. I love how a spot of the white stuff completely changes the landscape around me. By this point in January I’m sick of the monotony of the grey, brown, drab winter’s landscape. Waking up to a blanket of snow makes me feel excited. After tea and porridge I was out this morning taking photographs in the garden and along the country paths leading to the allotment. Trees that were boring and dull yesterday have been transformed; snow clinging to the dark branches creates a stunning silhouette against the grey sky. Pines and conifers lining the road look like a scene from a Christmas card. One of the delights of pristine, virgin snow is what it hides. Even the scruffiest of neighbours’ gardens can look magical . .  . well, magical is stretching it a tad, but certainly more pleasing to the eye than for the other 360 days a year I have to look at them.

Of course, snow doesn’t remain immaculate and unblemished for long. It isn’t long before grit turns the snow into an awful brown slush and there’s the rush to clear it from everywhere. We live alongside a small road that the council don’t grit but there’s a tractor repair centre in the village and they clear the roads the council don’t do. It is very good of them. There are a lot of elderly people in the village and I appreciate that snow seems to delight less and less as your mobility diminishes. There is part of me though  that wants the beautiful snowy scene to remain that way, at least for a day. Instead there is this frantic dash to shift it. The huge piles of snow left by the snow plough will remain long after the rest of the snow has melted, dying a long, increasing dirty and unattractive death by the side of the road.

Snow covered yew

In the garden, the weight of snow can cause problems. Branches can snap and hedges can collapse. It’s worth brushing off excess snow if you have plants you think will be vulnerable to this but, on the whole, snow isn’t a problem. Unlike frost, which can damage plants, snow is like a duvet protecting plants underneath from the cold temperatures above. So, whilst everyone else in the village is sweeping and scraping away the snow, as if it’s an unwelcome visitor, I’m going to enjoy it. The snowy caps on top of my box balls, the yew topiary slowly morphing into snowmen and the thin delicate stems of my Viburnum bodnantense, which now look fat and chunky and are in danger of developing the dreaded ‘bat wings’.

Stay warm and cosy this weekend. WW

Saving our Allotments

Tags

allotments, Farm Terrace Allotments, Watford

Farm Terrace Allotments ( image courtesy of Sara  Jane Trebar)

I wrote a while ago about my allotment and what it means to me. Shortly after that it appeared that there would be large hikes in the rent and there was a worry that the site might be sold. Whilst the management of the site is undergoing some upheaval, rent rises have been put on hold and selling the site is not on the cards. It’s a different story for the allotment holders of Farm Terrace Allotments in Watford, though.

In June 2012, the mayor of Watford Council, Dorothy Thornhill, wrote to allotment holders telling them that they were considering selling off the allotment site for development in conjunction with other land. The developers would build 600 new homes, with about 60 of them on the allotment site, and retail space and, in an agreement between them and Watford Council, potential profits would then be used for the regeneration of Watford General Hospital. Six months later, the council voted in agreement of the proposal. It was suggested that allotment holders at Farm Terrace would be offered plots at another site some 2 miles away.

It’s a sad story but, unfortunately not an uncommon one. Land is at a premium, especially in urban areas where there are pressures on any space that is not already built on and, as green spaces go, allotments seem bottom of the pile when it comes protection from development. When it was announced that the current government planned to sell off our woodland in an attempt to raise money there was an enormous outcry. How could they even think of it? The resulting campaign was so successful the government backed down. I imagine if they tried to do the same with our parks the nation’s response would be the same, so why don’t we all get behind the plight of threatened allotments in the same way? Well, maybe because we don’t all have one or because we aren’t interested in gardening or that the issue is very specific to a particular area and doesn’t then get national coverage. The situation with Farm Terrace though, is symbolic of so many other problems facing our country that it should be of interest to us all.

Allotments really are a unique part of our heritage. I would spend childhood holidays travelling the long journey from the north-east to Cornwall with my nose pressed up against the window watching in fascination as the allotment sites whizzed past. The little worlds that were created, with their sheds and crop protecting contraptions, intrigued me so much. Then there were the days spent at the allotment of a friend and his dad. I can still see us playing in the greenhouse with that warm, damp air and the smell of tomatoes that was so potent. Why allotments are treated with such disdain by councils, politicians and developers I don’t know? We’ll give dreadful pieces of architecture that nobody likes listed status, protecting them from the demolition team, and yet small patches of land, vital bits of green space that give people a sense of belonging, that give them the opportunity to grow their own healthy food and to get fresh air and exercise while doing it don’t matter. I know, instead we’ll build yet more ‘homes’ that are so poky and unattractive and have no outdoor space of their own, oh and I’ll throw in yet more shops because we really need more of them.

Farm Terrace Allotments (image courtesy of Sara Jane Trebar)

We do need good health care facilities and providing them isn’t cheap, so when businesses step in and say they will contribute to these costs it’s no great surprise that our leaders have jumped at the chance of this private investment. The problem is it does leave us exposed to those with the power and in today’s world this is big businesses. These companies deal in the realm of profit and loss and the problem is not everything in life can be measured in these terms. Libraries are closing across the country, deemed not to be not worth the expense any more, and yet what could be a greater expression of a civilised society than these places of learning and their resources that are free to all. For me, allotments too are a symbol of a society that understands and appreciates what makes for good and happy lives. To allow allotments to be concreted over when the government is constantly going on about the need to eat healthily and tackle obesity is like selling off school playing fields but spending billions on hosting a huge sporting event.

Allotments should not be treated as if they are just another scratty piece of land ripe for development. They deserve to be protected as part of our cultural heritage and also for what they give to people today and for future generations. Who knows how climate change will affect our food supplies but with so much of it now imported and worries regarding food security for the government and councils not to recognise the true worth of these plots of land is yet another mixed message in today’s confusing world.

I hope so much that the action group that has been formed to save the Farm Terrace Allotments can find some way to halt the destruction of their much loved plots. If you’d like to find out more about the allotments, the story behind their campaign and to sign their e-petition please go to www.farmterrace.btck.co.uk.

Resisting Temptation

Tags

Alchemilla mollis, Delfland Nurseries, sprouting broccoli

Sprouting Broccoli

I spent an afternoon at the plot last week. It was mild, strangely mild for the start of January, and dry. It hadn’t rained for about 5 days in a row and I couldn’t remember when that had last happened. I know, if you live outside the UK, you’re probably getting sick of me going on about rain. You’re thinking, ‘Hey, I knew these Brits were obsessed by the weather but she writes about it ALL the time’. I did think one of my New Year’s resolutions should be to stop mentioning the weather so much but then I realised how much it governs what I do and thought there wasn’t any point in setting myself up for a fail so early in the year. Even on a slightly sunny, pleasantly warm day where the weather seems pretty uneventful we’ll still find something to say about it. Anyway, I digress.

On the plot I was greeted by the pile of plant debris dumped by the compost heap. This was the remnants of dahlias and other plants from the cut flower beds. I’d got round to removing them, on what was probably the only dry day in November, and piled it all up, the intention being to come back another day and chop it up for the compost heap. I hadn’t planned that it would take me two months to get round to doing it but with an allotment inspection due I thought it was about time I tackled it. Then there was the brown and scruffy dying foliage of the Alchemilla mollis which was cut back ready for new leaves to appear in spring.

Stocks and their first flower buds

I was excited to see the first buds on my biennial stocks. It’s early but my stocks last year flowered sporadically from October to March. They coped well with the cold spell we had last year but, just in case the doom merchant newspapers that are suggesting a catastrophe is coming in the form of snow and ice are right, I’m off up there today to rig up some protection.

Excitingly, there are the first signs of flowering stems appearing on my sprouting broccoli. It’s the first year I’ve grown them. I bought them as plug plants from Delfland Organics. Five of a white variety and five purple. A couple succumbed to the slug onslaught of the summer but eight remain. I read somewhere that it was better to start sowing sprouting broccoli later than the packets suggest as they make smaller plants which suffer less in wind but it doesn’t affect the yield. My plants are much smaller than those on other plots. Brian, who is always so organised and has the neatest and probably most productive plot, has all of his broccoli plants staked. Even though mine are smaller they could have done with a little bit of support. That’s one to remember for later on this year and next season’s plants.

And finally, to the title of the post. The plot next to me is up for grabs. The couple who have had it for several years now have decided to give it up, finding it difficult to juggle it with a young family and work. I didn’t see them at all last year. It’s a shame because the allotments could do with more younger people up there. I said last year that I was looking for some extra space as my ambitions had outgrown my own plot. With a new clerk managing the site the idea is that they are going to be stricter with maintenance and several people have decided it’s too much and with only one person on the waiting list it looks like a few plots will be going spare. The temptation is hard to resist to increase my plot space. There are two problems though. The first is the state the plot has been left in.

Doesn’t look that tempting, does it?

And secondly, time. There are only so many hours in the day and taking on another plot is probably only going to make me feel stressed. I’d rather do the things I’ve committed to well than spread myself to thinly and find everything goes pear-shaped. I’m not sure what will happen to the plot if nobody wants it. There’s talk it might just be turned over to potatoes by some of the other plot holders. I suggested sowing one of those pictorial meadow seed mixes once it had been cleared but it’ll more likely end up as spuds. It is tempting but I must resist, for my own sanity.

A Walk In My Wellies

Tags

Brambly Hedge, Flora Britannica, Navelwort, Richard Mabey, Winter heliotrope

Grey leaden skies greeted me on Sunday morning. I had planned to do a bit of pottering on the plot but I couldn’t muster much enthusiasm. There isn’t a lot that I can do at the moment anyway. A whole week without rain has been welcome but it’s going to take much longer for the ground to dry out enough to be workable. Instead, we decided on a walk around a nearby village. Known locally for its large (and expensive) houses, the village has some beautiful old buildings, a lovely church and some stunning views across the countryside. On a clear day you can look out across the Severn Estuary, with an impressive view of the bridges. There wasn’t much chance of this on Sunday though, the low cloud and fog reducing visibility. I had wanted some fresh air and exercise after spending too much time in front of a computer but as we drove up the hill onto the ridge the fog descended and it looked pretty grim. It was very tempting to stay warm and cosy in the car and just drive home, but we didn’t.

The quiet country lanes make for good walking when most of the paths and fields are just too muddy. Walking out of the village, past the church we came across an old stone wall, running alongside the road. Driving past in a car you would probably not notice the myriad of plants growing in the cracks and crevices. Stood in front of it though, it was fascinating. The damp, shady conditions had created the perfect growing conditions for mosses and ferns to thrive. In parts, the vegetation was so dense it was impossible to see the stones of the wall, so much so Wellyman wasn’t sure whether it was hedge or not and had to have a feel.

Polypody on a mossy covered wall

I love places like this. I was fascinated by hedgerows and mossy covered walls as a child. My imagination would conjure up a world of creatures that lived amongst the foliage, flowers and stones. I wrote in an earlier post about my favourite childhood books being the Brambly Hedge series and this wall was the perfect place to imagine mice and voles going about their daily activities. I’m more interested in plants nowadays, I have to say, than rodents dressed up in aprons and bonnets but I still think there is something quite magical about places like this.

I’m always surprised how I can come across something different, something I’ve never seen before, on walks near my home. There was a really lovely sweet scent in the air but we couldn’t work out where it was coming from. Everything seemed pretty green and we couldn’t spot any flowers so we thought it must have been coming from someone’s garden, hidden behind tall laurel hedging. And then we noticed this.

Winter heliotrope

It wasn’t something I recognised at all but bending down it was definitely the source of the fragrance, its pinky-white flowers smelling very similar to Viburnum bodnantense. At home, I discovered it is called Winter heliotrope or Petasites fragrans, which according to Richard Mabey in Flora Britannica was brought to Britain from North Africa in the early 19th century as a garden plant. It turns out, though, that it is extremely invasive, spreading rapidly. It was certainly everywhere on this walk, covering the roadside verges with its heart-shaped leaves. Considering its seemingly successful quest for colonising parts of our countryside I can’t believe I haven’t noticed this plant before.

Navelwort

Navelwort, or Umbilicus rupestris, was another plant in abundance. A lover of damp climates it is particularly at home in the south-west and Wales. Strangely though, I discovered it is a member of the Crassulaceae family which are known for their succulent, fleshy leaves that store water like the house plant, the money tree and stonecrop. The name Navelwort derives from the dimple in its round shaped leaves looking a little like a belly button. And in summer it sends out spires of tiny bell-shaped flowers, apparently, which I’ll have to remember to look out for.

I loved the rich green of the mosses and the delicate foliage of maidenhair spleenwort and polypody ferns. The enchanting little world was completed by the spiders webs glistening with moisture and this collection of tiny fungi, looking like an illustration from a fairy tale.

Fungi

What had initially looked like a pretty uninspiring walk had turned out to be a fascinating way to spend a few hours.

A Botanical Wander

Tags

Birmingham Botanical Gardens, Chris Beardshaw, Eden, National Botanic Gardens of Wales, National Collection of Bonsai, Norman Foster

Birmingham Botanical Gardens

Itching to get out somewhere over the Christmas holidays we trawled through our books and the pile of tourist leaflets I have stashed in a cupboard for some inspiration. Bright ideas were few though as so many places were shut. It seems unless you want to go to the cinema or theatre the only other way to amuse yourself at this time of year is traipse around the shops. I don’t really like shopping … well, unless it’s for books, plants or food. Even worse is the strange frenzy that takes over some people in their desperation to get their hands on the prized sale item they have their eyes on. So, since I wasn’t up for a round of elbow jabbing over a pair of shoes we ended up at the Botanic Gardens in Birmingham.

A soggy day in December isn’t really the best time to visit a garden, especially for the first time, as initial impressions are so important but at this time of year I’m just so desperate to immerse myself in plants again.

The gardens were first opened in 1832 by the Birmingham Botanical and Horticultural Society with the aim of providing a home for the increasing numbers of plants being brought to Britain from around the globe. Combined with this were the ideas of improving the lives of those living in an increasingly industrial and polluted city by providing somewhere green for them to enjoy and encouraging education and the thirst for acquiring knowledge.

The four glasshouses housing tropical, subtropical, Mediterranean and arid loving plants provided shelter for us when the rain inevitably came. I have to admit I find glasshouses a slight disappointment now after visiting the biomes at Eden and the Norman Foster designed glasshouse at the National Botanic Gardens in Wales, which are both so spectacular. Putting this to one side though, there was something beautiful about the Victorian metalwork of the palm house and it was possible to see how, although now a little faded in comparison to modern built glasshouses, these and the exotica inside would have wowed people over a hundred years ago. There were some fascinating plants on display. I loved the prickly pear, the beautiful flowers of Mackaya bella, a plant from Africa, and the delicate white flowers of Begonia suaveolens. And I was intrigued to see tiny white flowers on a money tree. I had no idea it even flowered. I wasn’t quite so keen on the coleus/poinsettia combo though which ran the length of one of the benches in the Mediterranean house. I think the element I love most about botanic gardens is the desire to inform. Little panels were dotted about giving you some fascinating bits of information about the plants on display or the plant hunters that discovered them and brought them to Britain.

National Bonsai Collection

A courtyard adjoining the glasshouses is home to the National Collection of Bonsai in what I can only describe as looking like a tree prison. I understand that these trees are worth a lot of money but it was very weird to see them displayed behind bars like they were captives. I felt like leaving a little placard saying ‘Free the Trees’.

Outside it may have been damp and chilly but there were some beautiful faded flowers and seed heads to see. But most importantly, to lift the spirits, were signs of new life; flowers on the witch hazels, bulbs appearing all over and fat, hairy buds on the magnolias.

Magnolia and its buds ready to open

In the 19th century the gardens weren’t just a home to plants but also included a zoological collection. All that remains of this today is a small collection of birds housed in four domed aviaries. Some may think another placard was needed saying ‘Free the Birds’. I’m uneasy about creatures being kept like this and in an ideal world they wouldn’t need to be but whilst habitat is being destroyed being able to protect species in captivity is important. There’s also a strong argument for the educational value of being able to actually see such creatures so close up. It’s not the greatest photo in the world but we were particularly taken by this little bird with what looked like a toupée. It was reminiscent of a 1970s game show host.

Toupée bird (not its actual scientific name)

The gardens are very much true to their Victorian roots but there were elements with a more modern take such as the prairie planted area and a garden designed by Chris Beardshaw which shows how a garden can be used as a classroom, encouraging a new generation of growers. Bearing in mind the educational remit of botanic gardens I was surprised, and slightly disappointed to discover that there wasn’t a single gardening book for sale in the shop. Now I’m not sure if there was some secret corner of the shop we failed to find that was actually stuffed with them but it certainly didn’t look like it. There were plenty of scented candles and Christmas decorations though.

Botanic gardens, like Birmingham’s, are precious resources and even though there were elements that felt a little dated and could do with a bit of TLC it was a great place to while away a few hours. I’m looking forward to visiting again when the sun is shining and the roses are blooming.

For more information about Birmingham Botanical Gardens.

A Happy New Year

Tags

astrantia, greenhouse, New Year

Happy New Year

Much is made of the hope and optimism that the start of a new year should bring but the reality is, of course, somewhat different. Hangovers, the feeling that we ate too much over the Christmas period and the sinking feeling that January, my least favourite month, stretches out in front of us, is somewhat closer to how most of us greet the start of another year.

It’s no great surprise though that as humans we love the idea of a fresh start, a clean slate and the thought that things will be different in the new year. Companies know this which is why we’re bombarded with adverts for online dating, detoxing, losing weight and holidays at this time of year. For us growers that feeling has probably never been as strong as at the start of 2013. You have to be quite optimistic to be a gardener and lets face it after last year’s summer and autumn the fact that we’re planning to pick up our spades and fill those seed trays once again is pretty remarkable. So, although January can be an inhospitable month, we know that a new growing season is upon us and we’re buoyed with hope that this year will be better than last. It would be hard not to be though.

I’ve got quite a big project on my hands this year, I’m writing a book based on my allotment. So, whilst I’m excited, I’m also feeling a sense of trepidation, partly about delivering the actual book and partly that the weather is going to cause me no end of headaches when it comes to getting plants ready for their photographs. A normal spring can be stressful enough.

Flooding at Ross on Wye which could be renamed Ross on Sea

Plans for 2013 involve a spot of replanting in my front and back gardens. Some plants have rather taken over. Yes, you know who you are, astrantia. And other spots don’t have enough seasonal interest. There’s the constant challenge of making the allotment as productive as possible. And I can’t wait to get growing in my new greenhouse. I have plans for some tomatoes, a chilli plant and possibly a cucumber. However, I don’t want to get carried away, which I think I’m in danger of and find the greenhouse is so full I can’t get in there.

The impact of the weather in 2012 hasn’t dampened my enthusiasm for growing but it has made me reflect on the plants I grow. I’m not yet completely decided but I think this might be a spud free year. My plants last year didn’t do well and for the amount of space they take up I’d prefer to grow something more reliable and that is more prolific. I think, and my plans are still in their early stages, that I’m going to try to grow the crops we eat a lot of, such as bean, peas and lettuce, really well and focus less on trying new things this time. Celeriac will definitely make a reappearance and I hope to grow more Florence fennel over a longer period this time. I’m looking forward to reading about everyone’s plans for their own gardens and allotments over the coming months.

So, for me, it’s the thoughts of seedlings galore, buds breaking and the first signs of spring that refresh me. Forget the detox and get sowing will be my mantra for the start of 2013.

Wishing everyone a happy, healthy and prosperous 2013. Lets hope the rain stops, the ground dries up and that the weather is kinder to us this year. Best wishes WW x