I have decided to have the afternoon off. From hauling small stones.  Endless loads of wheelbarrows of little bits of granite to add to the wall pile.  It’s all for the good of the wall building, but not for much else.  Mind you the sun has come out and I really need to swap my beanie for a sun hat. So much for the torrential rain forecast this weekend; it’s balmy.

I’m not going to show you a random picture of a wheelbarrow full of small stones. Too, too dull. Instead my lovely potager all planted up and raring to go.

Well it’s a bit of a stretch of the imagination: we are after all, 550 metres above the sea and in the middle of the mountains of the Ardeche.  But I felt as though I was making sand castles and generally having fun in the sun. All this in the lower potager – my vegetable playground.

Naturally there was no getting away from wall work first thing. I spent the first three hours outdoors collecting small stones to add to the piles beside Nicolas’s latest creation.  I used the car again to win some time and save the spine, and it worked a treat as I was raiding stones from the stack on the first terrace below the road. Nice and flat and easy to reach.

But after that I powered into the potager with my packets of seeds and seed potatoes.  Two trenches of charlotte potatoes in first next to the tomatoes. (I know, I know, but we don’t get blight here), 21 potatoes per trench.

Next up some chives for the edge of the onions and garlic bed, plus a short row of creme de lite carrots to make up the row.

Then it was risk the wrath of hungry beasts and plant out the rest of the carrots in unprotected rows in the space left from all the onions and garlic sets  I planted out. Early nantes 2, and parmex in alternating rows. It should be easy to weed them as I can sit on the edge of the path at a perfect level and pull the weeds.

There were a few left over onion sets so they went in. And then I decided to use the last bit of spare space in this quadrant to sow some gladiator parsnips.  By the time I had finished playing with my bucket and spade it looked as though I had buried a boa constrictor.  A big fat raised bed to make up for the lack of space below the soil. We are on bedrock here.

A quick pause to do another load of stones and speak to the electrician. And then I made a few rows of radish and beetroot. They are a bit close together, but all being well the radish will grow quite quickly and when they come up I can make room for the bigger beet varieties. I sowed albina vereduna, beitola da orto paonazza d’egitto (rolls off the tongue) and the radish varieties were national 2,  and zlata.

Have I forgotten anything? Possibly. But barring the tomatoes, the cucumbers, the aubergines, the climbing beans and the lettuce… I’m done.  But I will check my seed boxes tonight to make sure I haven’t neglected any vital veg.  I’m eschewing corn this year – too thirsty.  And will think long and hard about the pumpkins. I lost the lot last year despite lavishing care and attention on them.

Lunchtime already and I can’t quite think what on earth I have done so far to merit news.  The delivery of sand arrived, and the cement and the metal bars. But that didn’t take long as Nicolas has set the tarpaulin in place for the delivery man.  Lots of gossip from him as he hasn’t delivered here for a bit.

And then I tidied up the east lawn: all the quince prunings are now in a teetering pile in the courtyard waiting for the chipping.  And  picked up my body weight in pine cones. Some for the fireplace box for fire starters, some in the compost bins which are now full.  And the rest in the reserve compost bin at the top of the drive where all things I can’t think how to use to go to die.

Ah yes, I gassed myself. Now I remember. Had to spray the mulberry tree with Bordeaux mix. The French farmer in the Ardeche’s answer to all things.  There is a dodgy white growth on some of the branches of the mulberry tree and I suspect it’s spreading. So now the entire tree is dripping with a fine spray of bouillie bordelaise (copper sulphate) and let’s hope it halts the spread.

Although the day is utterly gorgeous and up to 9C, there was a slight headwind as I stood on the ladder and zapped every branch. So some has decorated my person, but not with too many risks to my health. Most people take in trace elements of the stuff every time they open a bottle of wine.  It’s the vigneron’s drug of choice as well.

Over lunch I shall write up a huge list of things to do for this spring cleaning and then as soon as I have digested, I shall burst out the door, sunhat on head, and spring in my step to seize the day.

Now here’s a first. The quince trees have had their first prune. Well more than prune. They have been sorted.

Nicolas needed to take a break from a continual eight hours of stone lifting, so I suggested he attack the quince trees.  And attack he did.  I didn’t even know we had these quince trees in the first season, so overgrown they were with brambles, and not flowering or fruiting very much at all.  Last year they barely produced any decent fruit at all, despite the rest of the fruit trees producing such a bounty of produce.

I barely go up to this very steep bank in the east garden as it’s just so difficult to get to them.  But I have been feeding them more than before (ie never) and asked Nicolas to have a go at reducing all the growth and actually turning them into cared for trees.  There are 12 trees in all. I had to walk outside to count them. I can never remember. And they are now much neater and promising.

Naturally I am left to pick up all the quince prunings, but that’s fine; I just have to add them to my chipping stick mountain.  Another chore to achieve this week.  But if the weather is set to keep on warming up I’m itching to do more creative gardening than just pushing sticks through the chipper.

I have spent the day being a builder’s mate. Hauling stones in preparation for the new (last) wall on the property.  Nicolas started at 8am, and I hastily finished my cheese on toast and followed suit.

My job was to get the smalls and mediums. His to do the hefty stones.  And hefty they are. Some weigh over 60kg and I winced every time he lifted them and hauled them into the car. 

The car? Oh yes, we used a very sophisticated wheelbarrow for most of the day.  Taking the vehicle to all sorts of fun places on the property to raid fallen down walls and nests of stones.

I have a lot of small stones to do, but feel that I have done a great deal of my share today.

Here’s a before and after example of the stone raid.  This pile was left over from the steps that Bernard made over a year ago from the terraces leading down to the stables. My job was to reverse the car down the orchard and open the boot in preparation.

First up all the littles and mediums into the car for a few loads back and forth and then Nicolas would saunter over and haul the beasts into the back of the station wagon until the wheels squeaked.  A sign we had enough and over to the big stockpile near the future wall and road.

And just in case you were wondering how you make a huge 31 metre long wall on a steep bank, here is the step by step process:  first up dig a trench where the wall is to go.

We had a amiable chat about that.  I didn’t want to lose the chance to be able to drive the car up to the top of the swimming pool area, so wanted to keep the width two metres wide. We did our pacing with assorted pairs of legs, and then I solved the question with a tape measure.

That sorted I went on to haul stones and leave Nicolas to his trench.

Next up is to hammer in some metal rods (sorry can’t think of their name, but the ones you use in concrete pouring exercises) to get the levels. I have ordered the long four metre rods and extra concrete and sand to be delivered tomorrow afternoon. They will go in next to get the height sorted. 

I can hear Gordon spluttering from Scotland to here about concrete. What about dry stone walls? Well, yes. That would be ideal.  But these walls move. Rain, heavy melting snow and a steep slope are not the best friends of the dry stone wall.  And if I had the skills I would tend to the walls every few years to put them back in place and generally be a good egg.  But madame can’t do walls, so concrete they are. But hidden so you get the delicious illusion of dry stone-ness without the continual maintenance.

I never expected to be doing this so late in the year: but I have made a dent in my mighty pile of seeds to sow.  Flowers and herbs and vegetables, all in their seed trays, covered in plastic and placed in a bit of warmth.

Night scented stock, starlight sensation, sunflower velvet queen, naturtium black velvet, cup and saucer plant, nemone japonica mixed, marigold durango red, cosmos sensation, cosmos purity, cosmos dazzler, zucchino custard white, coriander, coriander confetti, swiss chard bright lights.

Not that there is much warmth about, but I feel spring on the air and the forecast promises improvement from now on.  One can have a surfeit of snow.

I have a huge list of things I would love to achieve this week: there are potatoes to plant, the stuctures of the potager to finish, mulch to make.

And in the meantime I rake and drag sticks and chip.  It’s one of those embarrassing moments of revelation: 18th century versus late 20th. I have done three loads of hauling these impossibly heavy sticks from the far end of the property up to the courtyard using a very large old tarpaulin.  And each time I have snagged my load on the car as I turn the corner up at the house.  Duh. Why don’t I just drive the car down and fill up the boot? It’s such a simple solution, and once I have downed this lovely cup of hibiscus tea and hoovered a packet of figulu biscuits, I shall make good my bright idea.

And would you believe it? The tooth fairy’s prayers have been answered. I stomped into the house to replenish the logs in the fire; the phone rang, and it was Nicolas asking for work. He may have a busted knee, but with a bionic looking brace and a need to feed himself and his family after a month of medical bills, he was coming round with the chain saw to help.

And the afternoon just flew by: suddenly with two attacking the pile and the larger logs and branches being tidied away, I almost feel as though I have done the lot. 

There is a day’s worth of chipping still to do; and I will have to rake the little sticks left behind. But not long now, and I will be able to show a rather fetching photograph of a new area of garden.

And the cheeky thing is it’s not even our garden. It is a forty foot  by hundred foot patch of land between our two properties: owned by an absent Palix family member who never tends to it, and who will never sell.  The walls are beautifully constructed, and the soil is rich.  It was paradise for the ducks that our previous owner used to house there.  A small spring of  running water held mostly in check by a rock pool and  plenty of young bramble shoots to attack. Oh yes, the brambles. But now that I can get in there (well, next week when it’s finished) it will be easier to manage.

I was speaking to Jean Daniel about it last night (music concert in St Etienne de Serre) and he said that when they moved in thirty years ago it was just a jungle of brambles and weeds. And it was only after they had cleared and slashed and burned did they find a beautiful stone footpath between stone walls leading down to the road.

My contribution was to find a lovely clump of violets peeping out from under the willow tree beside the duck pond. I’ve never seen those before.

Poo sticks. Pick up sticks, sticks and stones. I have done the repertoire and I’m still not having fun.  This is the worthy task I have chosen today.  A non gardening but necessary chore.  As you can see by the pictures, we are still in grip of a cold snap here. Minus 2s and 3s on the thermometer and too much snow on the ground to get anything useful done.

So for my sins, I have chosen to tidy up the duck pond beyond the fence behind our lawns and pool.  This is the no man’s land between our property and Jean Daniel’s. He did a great job of weed control last year and now it’s my turn to get rid of this unsightly pile of sticks and branches left behind.  I suspect I could just torch the lot and save myself two days of tedium.  But I look at this lot and see mulch. Weed control, sticks for lighting the fire in the morning.  I may regret it but I can’t stop now.

But I must have a pause. It’s hard work manipulating the loppers and trying not to get pronged by the thicket as you yank out the big branches and try and reduce them to manageable chunks.

So, recharge the mp3 player, lie down. Contemplate bringing back indentured slaves, and back out again.

You are kidding:  a heavy snowfall in mid March. This is just not fair. I returned to France today to find the car under snow in the car park at the station and worse up on the plateau.  Where was my promising spring of just a week ago?

Under about a foot of the white stuff by all accounts. Oh the poor peas and beans and onions and garlic. All frozen. And no hope of getting my potatoes in the ground this week.  This cold snap is predicted to last for at least a week and I had such plans.

Still, at least it’s photogenic and fetching if you like winter.  But I yearn for spring. Yearn for some sprouts on all the seeds I sowed last month. I went up to the potting shed and my worst fears were confirmed. Ice blocks of compost and all the plants frozen stiff.  Irksome.

And somewhere under here there should be lilies.  We will have to wait and see if there is any growth this spring. I am trying not to be pessimistic about this cold, cold winter; but it is trying even my boundless optimism.

But there is something frozen I can work with.  I had such a glut of fruit last year that I packed lots into tupperware and hid them in the deep freeze.  Time to haul them out and cheer myself up.  First up a batch of black currant jam which was fun.  And then the long and patient task of dripping the whitecurrants through a jelly bag and turning it into liquid pink gold.

It is supposed to be a white currant jelly, but I left them on the bush so long last year (something to do with the inaccessability of the bush and the snagging brambles that sneak through the branches nearby) that they turned a lovely, irridescent pink.  And pink jelly it is.

Only six little pots from 1.3 kilograms of fruit. Not the best yield, but they look such a treat I may keep them as cheer up beacons when I cannot stray outdoors and wield a pair of secateurs or sow some seeds.

A few of the poles are in and this potager is staring to take shape. It is definitely the fun part of the early spring: where to put things this rotation?

The brassica bed I shall not touch until I lift the leeks. But the beans and peas is sorted.  Climbing beans at the back, peas in the middle and the broad beans to the front.

I have to buy a few more tomato stakes for the ‘other’ bed. One for brassicas, one for legumes, one for onions and garlic and one for the others.  My other bed will contain aubergines, tomatoes, salad and one row of Charlotte potatoes.  That’s the plan anyway.  I have no idea where to put the corn.  It wasn’t a success last year – but I mainly use it as a physical barrier against ruminants.  So it may go somewhere up the back of the brassicas.

I don’t think I need cloches over the new garlic and onion shoots. But they do well in place now and I shall add them to the broad beans when they start to appear.

All this lovely work was done in a spookily warm day: 10C or even more, it was just a day full of promise that I couldn’t stop.

I’m going to mulch around the hungry plants more this year. And have made a start on the future tomato plants: mulch from the compost bin.  It was a battle to get it out, but on one’s knees and with a small trowel you feel that you earn a good harvest from all the work.  Not that the formula ever works that neatly. But on a sunny day like this you can believe anything.