The weeding regime

Well it takes a day. That is my calculation for the weeding regime I need to have if I am going at this garden in a part time capacity. I arrived yesterday afternoon and the method of arrival seems to follow a similar pattern. Open car door and launch myself onto the fig tree. Heaps of figs right now. I gorged myself on many, and juggled the rest to the kitchen table. Next one parks the car properly, unpacks, then you wander over to the grape arbour and gaze appalled at all the weeds in the potager.

Next it is not far with a handy pair of secateurs to dead head roses in the courtyard, prune the sinking branches of the courtyard mulberry tree, pause to eat more grapes, and then sprint into the house to unplug the just plugged phones and computer as a rumble of thunder roars overhead.  In a light drizzle and loud distant roar, turn the compost bin a bit with my nifty turning fork. And then in the fading light gaze amazed at the wonderful land we have.

This morning it was up early under drizzling skies and into the garden with a trusty hoe. (Well first it was visit to the pool with M. Pontgerard and his assistant to discuss tactics about the decking, and unearth the jungle of amaranth weeds that are growing waist high around the pool.)

The whole vegetable plot needs a good weed; but goodness what lovely radishes. In just five weeks they are the size of golf balls and look very juicy. In between trips to the house I have a go at the stumps of elderflowers that are pushing out yet more leaves beside the house and near the grapes. The ones by the barn and the future artichoke bed are pushing enormously large amounts of leaves. And the one under the grape arbour is growing lustily. I am also just about up to speed weeding of the ivy around the guest house and the barn wall.

Then this afternoon there was a lovely pause – a visit from a professional. Nicolas and I walked over the property and discussed strategy for walls and plants and terracing above the pool. He is the one who told me that the weeds are called amaranth. And he approves of the idea of growing lots of grasses and perennial plants. Work needed there. I really must get out the tape measure and find out how much land there is to plant up. Above the swimming pool will be the first.

I was delighted to be able to hand some of our produce to him. A bag of ripe quinces and a dozen figs. The figs have to be stored in egg cartons to stop them being squished and Nicolas thought it a clever way to present them. He Has Ideas for trying to sell more of his produce next year and figs in egg boxes are a good start. The quinces are for adding to his jams. Like me he isn’t a fan of the quince on their own, but they do add well to other things. If we had better apples they would go well in a chutney. I have a bowl of the poached quinces in the fridge – and must try and eat them a little each morning. Should go well with fromage blanc.

Then it was down to planting. I managed to put back 129 strawberry plants into the new wall above the potager. They don’t look as impressive now that they are in the ground, but it was fun and soothing to put them all in.  I lost around 40 since the summer, and have the pots to clean up. And I shall try and plant up some mâche now. No idea what is in the row that I planted directly into the soil in August – they all look like weeds to me. Nicolas identified some physallis which is a surprise to both of us.ÂÂ

We were talking about green manure to stabilise the terraces over the winter. But up at the top potager I have discovered that I already have one growing. It’s a salad plant that is quietly spreading over the soil. Not a baddie, until it flowers. So if I can keep an eye on it, I won’t need to plant anything else. Shame about the rest of the weeds mind you.

Lastly I planted up the four artichokes that I smuggled over from London. And they are a sorry state. I almost wonder if it was worth all that effort. I don’t even dare take a picture of them. They may die overnight. If they survive I promise to record their happy transplantation from the allotment in London to the garden here. But I’m just not sure it has been a success.  And worst of all, there are three more large artichokes to go. Sigh. And next month I need to bring all those sage and thyme plants over. At least they are light and easy.

Calabert. That is the Ardèche name for our open barn near the house. Wish we had a nifty name for the second house. We have been calling it the Gîte as that was its use – a bed and breakfast place. But that won’t do any more. We really only want to have it as a guest house. Or a summer house (because it has so many gaps in the walls on the first floor it would be impossible to heat in winter). Pavillon des visiteurs? Not a very snappy name.