A surfeit of tea

Couldn’t sleep last night (a surfeit of tea in the afternoon) so redesigned my vegetable garden with my eyes shut instead. I have a new spot for the tomato plants and even have found a purpose for that line of gravel under the soil up near the rhubarb. I will use it to plant the herbs. They like well drained soil after all. And if I can ever get my spade in to shift some of the clay encrusted gravel it will be worth while.  The sun is shining at long last after a roaring day of storms. So I am off to dig. Hurrah.

What a day. T’was the calm after the huge storm. And when I went up to the plot I could sense something was different but couldn’t pin point it at first. And then I saw what was not beside the shed. My 20 foot high pine tree had been blown down in the storm. And by a miracle it didn’t fall on the shed. It fell on the path. And a very kind allotmenteer (Dave I believe, or perhaps Bob, I wasn’t paying that much attention for once) had sawn it in bits to make it easier to drag to the side of the path. Very dramatic and I was rather pleased that it was down. So I don’t need to keep the big bow saw in the boot of the car after all. Dave (or Bob) has promised to burn it for me. But I think I will have to parcel it up a bit more neatly. It still has that stricken just uprooted look to it. But it did mean that the lurking chore has been sorted. David Raeburn, the allotment secretary, had been warning me that I needed to attend to it. It really was a lumbering beast: once a small Christmas tree of the plot holder three people past.

To make up for the task completed by the wind, I thought it prescient to tidy up all the areas covered by carpet and black plastic that the wind should have lifted off and deposited a few plots further aft. I tidied and sorted and pinned down the edges and generally made the whole site a lot more secure. Then it was a quick meal (again in the sun) and on with the little pits of compost for the next beans, and more digging of earth. I had long read that you should prepare your bean areas by digging in good compost a few months before you plant. Garden rubbish and newspaper bits are supposed to be put down, then covered with soil. I found some not too slimy grass cuttings in plastic bags beside the shed, plus added the old cabbage and kale leaves, and torn strips of newspaper. Hope it works; it looks like soup right now.

I have won another 15 feet of soil that used to be under carpets last year. It’s looking quite a long plot now.  I don’t really need the room. I just don’t want to share the little shed.

But it was a great day for progress and turning soil really makes life into a physical and simple affair. Slice, heave on the top of the blade, bend, lift, turn. The Vietnamese neighbours appeared after lunch to inspect any wind damage and found that a lot of their netting had taken flight. And they were amazed that the tree came down. We never have real conversations, but big gestures and smiles does for all of us.

I don’t think I’m going to dig any more of the plot.  The whole bit needs weeding in that hands-and knees-and-aching-back sort of way. It will take weeks. So there’s plenty to do. And besides I don’t know if I have permission to squat in the end of the plot that has been memorable for Jana’s absence all year.

I made the makeshift cold frame out of an old glass window that was propped against the dilapidated compost bins. The window pane is dilapidated as well, but placed over the clear plastic file boxes I have it makes a sort of cold frame. And it saved me one hundred smackeroos in the process. It’s only temporary, but at least I have somewhere to put the broad beans.

Janet, another gardener, came and saw the upended tree and promptly burst into tears. There was a difficult moment as she thought I was the villain who did it. (I would have if I could, but she didn’t need to know that.)  I tried to show her the roots sticking up in the air and explained that it came down in the storm. But she thought I should have ‘replanted it.’ She is not very logical poor woman. I found out eventually, between sobs, that she was weepy over her husband’s extra marital affair and not the massacre of the Scots pine. But I did have to spend a bit of time with her to cheer her up. Ineffectual patting of the back trying not to transfer armfuls of clay and soil as I did so and generally trying to be an optimist.  She is great believer in mediums and was heading off there to get some wise (?) advice later in the afternoon.  This is the same medium who told her that she foresees divorce in her tea leaves (or whatever). I don’t know if she was more upset about the husband or the medium. But it did remind me that gardening at an allotment is a very public affair and you have to deal with some rather odd people.  I guess my unrelenting enthusiasm must make them think I’m odd too, so it just adds to the mix.

She cheered up eventually and was eyeing all the pots of assorted bits I had to store round the back of the shed from the house sale.  Goodness only knows how she can imagine pretty flowers and shrubs from the motley lot, but she is a strange gardener. She doesn’t do fruit or veg.  To make her even happier I placed the two climbing roses (Alfred Carrière) under the apple trees. Hopefully they will thrive and wind up through the branches and the strong scent ought to fill the air. But we shall see. If we have the same drought as last year I won’t be able to keep up with the watering of the pots.  And one of the pots really is there to prop up the apple tree that insists on listing to the left.

Stupidly I don’t have the right routine yet for my new tidy shed and managed to leave behind my wallet and purse sitting on one of the now neat shelves. Curses. I hadn’t planned to go back on a Saturday, but at least it would afford me the chance to buy more seed potatoes from the shop.