Yesterday, I planted the asparagus in the new asparagus bed. Some green stuff, and some purple stuff. This means we now have to stay in this house for at least two more years because the first year after planting asparagus you have to leave any spears that grow alone, in order that the newly planted crowns (that's a technical term y'know) can build up their strength. And then in year two you are supposed to do only a light harvest, so you don't really get to pig out on asparagus until year three.
And I have to say that planting the crowns was a bit of a faff. First you have to dig a deep trench. Then inside the big trench you make a little ridge and then you drape your crowns over the ridge as though you were balancing a many legged cowboy on a particularly wide horse. And then you back fill your trench. Have you ever seen an asparagus crown? Weird looking things. If you attach one to your chin, you can do an impression of an Ood from Doctor Who. I know this because I tried and then I surprised Andy by sticking my head around the kitchen door and saying, 'Look at me! I'm an Ood!!'
He said it was a very impressive impersonation. Like an Ood was ACTUALLY there in person. Or Oodson.
Anyway, the asparagus is in and I shall wait with nervous trepidation for signs of greenery lest I have killed it/ planted it upside-down/ got my trench-ridge ratio completely skew-whiff /covered it up so deeply that it will ne'er more see the light of day.
And because the greenhouse was positively tropical I also planted some salad leaves in the hope we're going to be getting a summer this year.
Next, the allotment. Gave the polytunnel a good spring clean. Dug up a hundred-weight of Jerusalem artichokes before the whole plot became over-run with them. I tell you what, if you want a crop that requires minimum effort for maximum output, the Jerusalem artichoke's your man. Bucketfuls of the things we've got.
Pulled up some leeks. And located the parsnips at last. That's the problem with parsnips, I find. If you don't get the blighters out of the ground before their foliage dies back, you've lost them. Still, a bit of judicious prodding in the vicinity of the area where I thought I'd planted them soon produced success, and after that it was just a case of following a straight line upwards to get them all out of the ground. And on the subject of parsnips, I'm going to try chitting the seeds before I plant them this year. They can be tricky to germinate and you can lose a lot of space through no-growing seeds. Putting them on damp kitchen roll (in the manner of growing mustard and cress) can get them started and then you concentrate on planting the seeds that show signs of life and consign the dud ones to the bin.
And so we embark on year 4 of allotmenteering.
The only new growth that isn't appearing at the moment is the Baby-Bug Grand-Daughter. She was due to arrive today. It is half past eight in the evening. No sign of any action as yet. I wish she'd get a move on. I want to buy her a mini-gardening kit and take her allotmenteering with me.
Showing posts with label asparagus. Show all posts
Showing posts with label asparagus. Show all posts
Monday, 8 March 2010
Saturday, 6 March 2010
Come Into The Garden Maud
Well, it was about time I got into the garden. It's been a long, wet, snowy winter, and the garden (both front and back) is on the point of neglect.
'Where are we going?' asked Andy, suspicious that I was up with the lark this morning, singing and looking decidedly perky.
'Garden centre,' I said. 'I am spending the day in the garden and I need stuff.'
'I hurt my back at work yesterday,' said Andy.
'Not good enough,' I said. 'We are going to the garden centre.'
So off we hopped, to the garden centre where Number One son Chris works, so I could avail myself of his staff discount.
And we returned with a pair of heavy duty secateurs, some long-cuffed leather gardening gloves, a spade, a wheelbarrow, some knee pads (pink, v. nice) and two lovely blue pots.
Number One on the list of things to do was to empty and move the compost bin from Cluckinghen Palace. I had been having nightmares about finding nests of rats in said bin, having seen a furry visitor run away from it a couple of weeks ago and disappear under the fence to next door. Immediately, I'd been out and laced the rat traps with fresh bait, but I wasn't going to rest until the bin was emptied and moved.
Andy set about moving the bin. He was very brave - he didn't even tuck his trousers into his socks. I wasn't so brave. I had everything tucked into my wellies. No rat was disappearing up my drain-pipe, no sirree. Luring the hens into the North Wing by using copious amounts of grapes, Andy was able to close the double gate that divides the North Wing from the South Wing, whip the bin into the air and let the contents (rat-filled or otherwise) spill over the ground. Result? Lovely compost - no rats!
The compost was moved to the raised bed you may remember the hens built last year for the purpose of salad growing; this year it is going to become 'The Asparagus Bed.'
'I like asparagus,' said Mrs Miggins.
'You've never tried it,' I said.
'Isn't it the stuff that makes your wee turn purple?' said Miggins
'That's beetroot,' I said.
'Oh,' said Mrs Miggins. 'But I don't like beetroot.'
'Quite,' I said.
Whilst the compost was being shifted by a brave Andy-with-an-achey-back using the new wheelbarrow, I set about trying to murder the buddleia with the new secateurs. I tried murdering the buddleia last year but despite my vicious pruning, it sprung back even bushier and full of flower than before. I had studied the buddleia pruning guide in this month's Gardeners' World magazine, but decided my way was the best way so disregarded any advice to 'look for new buds' and hacked away regardless.
The result was that a lot more light appeared in the garden.
And there will be even more light in a couple of months' time, because we have decided the eucalyptus tree must go. It's about 25 feet tall now, and dominating the skyline. And heaving up our small scrap of lawn with its roots. A call to the tree surgeon is in order, methinks.
In the front garden, I applied a similar pruning regime to the rose bushes, and oops, accidentally tugged the cordeline shrub a little too hard and pulled it from the ground.
'You've never liked that shrub, have you?' said Andy.
'No,' I said. 'But as it came out of the ground so easily, it was probably nearly dead anyway.'
All in all, a good gardening day was had. The asparagus bed is ready to receive the asparagus. The empty compost bin is ready to receive a new supply of compostable material. There are a couple of potential spaces available to receive a bee hive. The space vacated by the compost bin is available to receive Andy's next building project of a new conservatory for the hens for extra shelter during the rain. (Or, if Mrs Slocombe has her way, a purpose built rat hotel.)
And the chives, mint and clematis are starting to sprout in their pots, the bluebells are nosing up in the front borders, and there are little tiny leaves appearing on the rose bushes.
Spring is here. At last.
'Where are we going?' asked Andy, suspicious that I was up with the lark this morning, singing and looking decidedly perky.
'Garden centre,' I said. 'I am spending the day in the garden and I need stuff.'
'I hurt my back at work yesterday,' said Andy.
'Not good enough,' I said. 'We are going to the garden centre.'
So off we hopped, to the garden centre where Number One son Chris works, so I could avail myself of his staff discount.
And we returned with a pair of heavy duty secateurs, some long-cuffed leather gardening gloves, a spade, a wheelbarrow, some knee pads (pink, v. nice) and two lovely blue pots.
Number One on the list of things to do was to empty and move the compost bin from Cluckinghen Palace. I had been having nightmares about finding nests of rats in said bin, having seen a furry visitor run away from it a couple of weeks ago and disappear under the fence to next door. Immediately, I'd been out and laced the rat traps with fresh bait, but I wasn't going to rest until the bin was emptied and moved.
Andy set about moving the bin. He was very brave - he didn't even tuck his trousers into his socks. I wasn't so brave. I had everything tucked into my wellies. No rat was disappearing up my drain-pipe, no sirree. Luring the hens into the North Wing by using copious amounts of grapes, Andy was able to close the double gate that divides the North Wing from the South Wing, whip the bin into the air and let the contents (rat-filled or otherwise) spill over the ground. Result? Lovely compost - no rats!
The compost was moved to the raised bed you may remember the hens built last year for the purpose of salad growing; this year it is going to become 'The Asparagus Bed.'
'I like asparagus,' said Mrs Miggins.
'You've never tried it,' I said.
'Isn't it the stuff that makes your wee turn purple?' said Miggins
'That's beetroot,' I said.
'Oh,' said Mrs Miggins. 'But I don't like beetroot.'
'Quite,' I said.
Whilst the compost was being shifted by a brave Andy-with-an-achey-back using the new wheelbarrow, I set about trying to murder the buddleia with the new secateurs. I tried murdering the buddleia last year but despite my vicious pruning, it sprung back even bushier and full of flower than before. I had studied the buddleia pruning guide in this month's Gardeners' World magazine, but decided my way was the best way so disregarded any advice to 'look for new buds' and hacked away regardless.
The result was that a lot more light appeared in the garden.
And there will be even more light in a couple of months' time, because we have decided the eucalyptus tree must go. It's about 25 feet tall now, and dominating the skyline. And heaving up our small scrap of lawn with its roots. A call to the tree surgeon is in order, methinks.
In the front garden, I applied a similar pruning regime to the rose bushes, and oops, accidentally tugged the cordeline shrub a little too hard and pulled it from the ground.
'You've never liked that shrub, have you?' said Andy.
'No,' I said. 'But as it came out of the ground so easily, it was probably nearly dead anyway.'
All in all, a good gardening day was had. The asparagus bed is ready to receive the asparagus. The empty compost bin is ready to receive a new supply of compostable material. There are a couple of potential spaces available to receive a bee hive. The space vacated by the compost bin is available to receive Andy's next building project of a new conservatory for the hens for extra shelter during the rain. (Or, if Mrs Slocombe has her way, a purpose built rat hotel.)
And the chives, mint and clematis are starting to sprout in their pots, the bluebells are nosing up in the front borders, and there are little tiny leaves appearing on the rose bushes.
Spring is here. At last.
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