Check Out That View

I went over to the garden centre today as it was so lovely and saw these lovely daffodils in the grounds. I took a picture, much to the dismay of the people in the car behind me ( I had pulled over). I thought I would post it for this week's Check Out That View, which you can link to by clicking on the button below.

My hubby and I have spent a busy day outside - watching our son play football and winning through to the final of the cup, then lunch with my father in law, then gardening. I have renewed the cover of my little greenhouse and planted primroses in the front garden. All in all it has been very satisfying!

Allotment, March 2015.

I have had my allotment for a few years now. It started as a piece of wasteland, covered in nettles and couch grass and over the years it has become a proper vegetable patch. Some years it gives us plenty of fruit and veg. Other years it ticks by. Last year was a quiet year. The weather was grim and I wasn't inspired. This year though, is different. Having had a year of keeping the allotment tidy and ticking over I plan on growing lots. The thing with allotments is that they take a lot of work. Little and often is a good idea.

allotment

 Since I started with my allotment it has been interesting to see people come and go. Of the 12 plots on our site there are only 5 of us who have kept going. Four of the allotment holders have been there longer than me and the other seven plots have been taken over and given up several times over the last few years.

rhubarb, garlic and fruit bushes

 If you start an allotment you need to realise that its a long term commitment... Once the initial enthusiasm has worn off you need to keep plodding along. You never stop learning and some years are better than others.

onions

I went up there a couple of times last week, planting garlic and onions. I have Charlotte potatoes chitting in my kitchen, ready to plant this week. I love having everything neat and tidy and there's nothing better than having veg fresh from the ground.

When the weather gets warmer I shall plant pak choy, lettuce and beetroot, as well as French beans and cabbages. I shall start reading through my books too, to give me ideas as to what I might fancy trying to grow this year.

At the moment my rhubarb is starting to sprout... All is good!!

rhubarb

My Little English Garden ...

When I was a little girl the garden meant nothing to me. At least, when I say nothing I mean that the upkeep and general hard work of a garden meant nothing to me. When I complained of having nothing to do my mum would offer me the chance to do the weeding ... a chance I always declined.

Our garden was big and sloping, dotted with fruit trees that gave us heavenly apples, pears and plums each year, with the the top of the garden hidden away from the house by a screen of trees. Behind those trees was my favourite part of the garden ... at the end of a narrow, shady pathway lay a secret vegetable patch.

I remember lazy days alone in that secret garden, making stables from long, dried grass for my toy horses and lying under the fruit bushes sucking the sweet insides of gooseberries until my tummy was full and my fingers sticky. My imagination ran wild up there and in my memory it was always summer ...

That garden is gone now, bulldozed to make a swimming pool the long hot summer of 1976. Our garden was still lovely, with the added bonus of free swimming every day, but it had lost its magical quality.

I forgot about gardens for a long time. They were the haunt of old people and I did not understand the complexities of planting or weeding... And yet that garden of my childhood was always there at the back of my mind ... the secret club house in the depths of the laurel tree, the golden rod, alive with bees, and, of course, that vegetable garden, now buried under tons of white, chalky soil.

It may be because I am heading towards being an "old" person, or it may be that I am trying to recreate the feeling of calm and beauty that the garden of my childhood gave me. Whatever the reason, gardening fills my life more and more... whether its my postage stamp of a back garden or my allotment, my time at both is time spent happily.

I am not a brilliant gardener, but I read and listen to people who are good gardeners and, as if by magic, plants grow. There is nothing more beautiful than to sit in my garden on a balmy evening, glass of wine in hand, nibbles in a bowl, watching the blackbird hopping about the wet grass searching for worms.

I love the butterflies on my buddleia and the bees around the lavender ...

Its difficult to put into words, but if you are a gardener you will know ... There is order and tranquility and a feeling that everything is right with the world.

A little patch of Paradise.

For years now I have walked along a certain road and at a certain point my stride has slowed to drink in the joys of a beautiful garden that nestles behind a clematis covered fence. Through rain and snow, sun and cloud I have marvelled at the care lavished upon it by its owner. Its not attached to a spectacular property, rather to an ordinary looking semi-detached, but its lawns are manicured, its flower beds perfect and I have admired it for a long time.

Yesterday I was wending my way home, slowing once again to gaze over the fence, when I saw an old man going in through the gate. Our eyes met as he turned to shut it and I smiled and asked if this was his garden. He grinned back and said that it was. When I complimented him on its beauty and said that I had admired it for years he asked if I would like to have a tour! Well, I quickly summed up the chances of this nice old man being a psychopathic axe murderer, rapidly dismissed them and pushed open the gate ...

I spent the most lovely half hour wandering around with him in the sunshine. What a wonderful man! He told me that everything in the garden has been nurtured by him, mostly from seed, some rescued when other people thought they were dead. He has at least six greenhouses dotted around the garden, each filled with seedlings and young plants waiting to go out. And never has he bought a greenhouse! Each was taken in payment for work done, or rescued from gardens where they were unwanted.

His lawn was dotted with Japanese maples and acers. Dahlia tubers waited patiently to be put out into carefully prepared beds. And around a corner he showed me a little patch of paradise - his vegetable beds! Call me old fashioned, but it was like being in Mr McGregor's garden. Potatoes poked their heads up from beds of straw. Carrots pushed their way through rich dark soil in specially built brick raised beds. He told me he shows his carrots and leeks and grinned as I ran the soil through my fingers - like black gold!

Cabbages and cauliflowers grew protected by mesh cages and stakes awaited his prize dahlias to grow inbetween the vegetables.

In a corner by his crystal clear fish pond he had a table weighed down with bedding plants grown from seed. Wind chimes clinked in the breeze.

You can imagine the joy of that half hour for me. I have never seen such healthy looking plants. There was not a yellow leaf, a wilting stem in sight. Each one was plump and green and ready to spring into greenery and blossom. I stood as he told me the stories of his trees as his wife sat in the sunshine on a straw bale, nursing a cup of tea and a biscuit. I felt so privileged to be given a glimpse into his little corner of Heaven and his enthusiasm and quiet happiness bathed me in contentment.

After half an hour I left with thanks and goodbyes and the invitation to bring my husband to visit too. All that joy because our eyes met over a garden gate and we took a chance of talking to a stranger. Its one of those experiences which will stay as a golden memory forever!

potato beds