Sowing the seeds of a busy year

Such a mild winter and warm start to the year has meant that many people have started sowing earlier than usual. Beware the cold nights though – temperatures dropped to 3 or 4 Celsius around here last night. Tender plants need to be covered with fleece if outside or kept under glass.

I for one have been transporting a tray of tomato and chilli seedlings out to the greenhouse every morning and back in the house come the evening. Best not to take the risk of losing them.

In other news, the seed sowing is taking on epic proportions. Aside from a backlog of RHS seeds I've been meaning to get sown for a couple of years (let's hope they're still viable), I've also been hedging my bets by sowing lots of salad and veg seeds in case a certain project came through. And then it did.

So, come June this year, I will be planting out an 'Edible Patch' at none other than the Gardener's World Live Show at the NEC in Birmingham! The teaser bit is here on their website. Most of the other beds seem to be from allotment associations, so that sounds like they have a group of people growing the plants that will form the display. There's just lil' old me to produce mine. Hubby is lovely and supportive (and will definitely be roped in for all the heavy lifting come June) but his strengths just don't lie in seedling tending...

Outfoxed

When we first rehomed some ex-bat chickens in 2010, there was no shortage of people telling us that we'd lose them all to foxes. Even living in a fairly suburban area you would expect there to be some foxes in the immediate vicinity. But we saw no signs of them around our garden and no sightings were reported by our neighbours. 

Earlier this year however, rumours began that foxes had moved into our street: late night sightings of a family group trotting around local roads, relaxing in the sunshine on a neighbours lawn and the characteristic screaming in the dark of night. So, we weren't too surprised when they finally revealed themselves in our garden, showing a healthy fox interest in our feathery pets. 

What came as a surprise was how bold them would be – no skulking around in the shadows for them, waiting for night to fall. No, they turned up, confident as anything, at all times of the day. Usually it would be the chickens who sensed them first, setting off loud squawking calls of warning and panic. Thankfully we have a very secure Eglu coop and run, which when closed up is fox-proof, so although the chickens can have some fresh air and a bit of freedom, but remain safe from physical attack.

The following photos were taken one morning in July, when the chickens loudly announced the presence of an unwelcome intruder in the garden. From an upstairs window, I could at first see nothing, but after a couple of seconds, saw this striking animal amble calmly out from behind the shed and sit down in the veg plot. Call me paranoid, but he/she seemed to look directly at me apparently unaffected by the commotion in the (firmly secured) chicken run only a few metres away. The fox made itself comfortable, posing for photos for upto 10 minutes, before slowly raising to standing and trotting out of sight again.

Since then the (same?) fox has visited numerous times, sometimes during the night where it gets tangled up in the tall nylon fence, which keeps the chickens contained when they are allowed to free range, sometimes during the day when we have witnessed it jumping around on top of the coop and run terrorising the chickens within. It was on the second of these occasions that our little flock was badly affected. Although we know the fox can't get at them, that fact clearly isn't as obvious to a panicked chicken – especially when a snarling fox is leaping around only centimetres away. After chasing the fox away, we brought all 3 chickens inside the house to calm them and remove them from further stress, but it had all become too much for Snowflake who had what I can only guess was a heart attack as she sat in a pet carrier on the kitchen floor. Her companions were left shaken and nervous for a number of days and are only now growing back feathers they lost. I am told that this is a stress response, to simply shed feathers in the advent of an attack as it makes escape from the jaws of a predator possible – the attacker is simply left with a mouthful of feathers but no prey. We continue to allow the remaining two chickens as much freedom as safely possible, while still seeing the evidence of night-time visits of our foxy foe.

Uchiki kuri

Also known as onion squash, this lovely curcurbit finally decided to produce fruit for me this year. Just the one mind you. As a plant it takes up much less room than a butternut squash or traditional pumpkin, so I would recommend it if space is an issue. It produces the familiar long yellow flowers of the squash family, followed by a matching globular fruit, that swelled to the size of a honeydew melon. 

It showed off its beautiful range of glowing colours as the skin ripened in the sun before I moved it to the greenhouse to finish the curing process in a dry environment.

 It now resides in the kitchen where I am deciding what to do with each and every 749g of it. A big roasted stuffed squash maybe? A sumptuous soup or a rich sweet risotto? A small part of me wants to just admire it rather than break the spell by cutting into it. I makes me wonder what those gardeners who grow the champion vegetables for competition feel like when the time comes to consign their prize specimens to the pot. At least I won't need a fork-lift truck when the time comes!

Hop to it

It has to be said that Humulus lupulus 'Aureus' is much easier to grow than it is to pronounce. Since learning of the golden hops, I now delight in spotting it in domestic gardens, public parks and even as an escapee by the side of roads bordering residential areas.

The almost chartreuse colour of its leaves brighten up the darkest of corners and add an early season vibrancy that contrasts well with the blossoms of spring flowering shrubs. 

My plant took one season to really establish its roots before bursting into vigorous growth this year, twirling its multiple stems ever higher to clothe a metal arch that roughly divides the productive and ornamental elements of my garden.

Its virtues are not singular. As well as a visually appealing plant from spring through to the onset of winter, it provides a generous habitat to a range of insect life. Admittedly, not all these insects are desired or enhance the plant for periods of time, but such is the circle of life in a garden. Early in the season when the growth is very fresh, aphids cluster on the supple stems, drawing on the vital sugars within to drive a population explosion unmatched elsewhere in the garden. Their honeydew secretions are usually heavy, encouraging a bloom of sooty mould to develop on the leaf surfaces. If you are not a advocate of spraying to treat this, it is advisable to have a nearby plant in dramatic flower during this time with which to distract any visitors to your garden!

At around the same time, you may notice that some of the leaves undergo attack by caterpillars. In my case, this happened only on the lower leaves and the stronger the plant, the less overall impact this has as the base continues to send up increasing numbers of stems, generally disguising the less than perfect leaves with new growth. And you can take heart in the knowledge that you have provided for another generation of butterflies in your garden.

The third and final insect life I spotted on my plant was most welcome and was a direct result of the first invasion. The presence of aphids had attracted ladybirds to lay their eggs on the underside of the leaves and by early July, the plant was host to a new generation of ladybird larvae. Often mistaken for plant pests due to their somewhat ferocious, if minuscule, appearance, these carnivores will munch their way through thousands of aphids on their short journey to becoming a fully grown ladybird.

And while they're busy hoovering the last remains of juicy greenfly from the plant, your hops plant will quietly send forth one last burst of energy that results in the most delicate of flowers appearing from wispy terminal shoots. These are the hops flowers we might recognise from the brewing process, but if you're not planning any homemade beers, you can enjoy the pendulous flowers right through the autumn as they catch the sun and slowly turn the rich buttery colour from which they earn their name. 

You say tomato, I say passata

Every year, without fail I pack my greenhouse to the rafters with tomato plants.  Tomatoes are one of my least favourite foods, in fact I don't really like them at all. But I love growing them, hubby likes eating them and I like making passata to store in the freezer for winter pasta dishes.

I had some Franchi seeds (San Marzano and St Pierre) left over from a previous year and also 'rediscovered' some seed swap varieties hidden in the bottom of my overflowing tin that I had yet to try out. So I sowed 4 varieties in February – my new varieties for 2013 being Cuor di Bue (Ox Heart) and Tigerella.

Space is really an issue in my little concrete-floored greenhouse, but with a bit of grow-bag jiggery-pokery, I can shoehorn 8 plants onto my restricted floor space, leaving the staging surface clear for chilli plants and smaller plant propagules in trays. 

The very late spring meant that it was early June before I moved them outside, my final planting tally being 2 each of Cuor di Bue and Tigerella and 1 each of San Marzano and St Pierre. The wonderfully warm weather in June and July brought the plants on well and they flowered strongly. But pollination seemed to be an issue for some of them (despite tapping the plants regularly to distribute pollen and leaving the greenhouse door open as often as possible). 

The Cuor di Bue crop has been the largest in terms of fruit size – huge double or triple fruits with a very 'meaty' texture and few seeds.

The Tigerella crop was wave upon wave of small juicy fruits, which is continuing still well into September. According to those who have tasted them, these are the sweetest tomatoes I've grown so far.

Of my 2 Franchi varieties, St Pierre has been a moderate harvest with some nice sized fruits but San Marzano was certainly the worst. A single plant produced fewer than 10 fruits, none of which exceeded 5 or 6cm in length. Quite disappointing really, compared with other years. 

But all the tomatoes have been regularly collected as they've ripened and roasted as a mixture to form the base of my pasta dishes for the months to come.  Now that's how I do like to eat my tomatoes!

Redcurrant jelly - a recipe

First watch in early spring as green leaves unfurl from what looks like a dead twig stuck in the ground. Water well if Mother Nature decides not to bother and add a suitable feed to boost production.

Step back in amazement as not only does the dead twig seem to be alive after all but by mid June it is fully clothed in leaves and adorned with racemes of tiny flowers. It cannot be denied that I've seen more colourful flowers, but they have a charm all of their berry own. (see what I did there?)

Harvest resulting berries when they have ripened to a translucent plumpness, wash thoroughly and add to a pan with water. Heat rapidly, squashing the berries with a potato masher.

Pour pan contents into a jelly bag to drain overnight. Measure volume of liquid obtained and add sugar (450g sugar per 600ml juice).

Start over a low heat, then increase heat skimming any surface scum as you go. Check for setting after reaching jam point (a quick internet search will give you this info if you're unsure). Add resulting tiny amount of jelly to a sterilised jar and once set, proudly display to anyone who passes by. Ignore husband's first comment of, 'Is that it?' 

A cuckoo in the nest

A moral, if one were needed, on the importance of plant labels. (And putting them on the right plant)

I sowed my curcurbit seeds in April and tended them carefully as any good veg gardener does. I kept them in the warm, I watered them sparingly and I talked to them kindly. I always sow more seeds than I think I'll need, just so I have replacement plants if any wither before their time. And this year I had a bumper selection of curcurbit seeds, from stripy courgettes to yellow ones, from butternut squash to acorn squash – the suburban veg plot had never seen the like of it before! Having so many different varieties also meant I'd needed to write up some new labels for the pots.

As the weeks passed, I potted up the growing plants and moved them first to the greenhouse, then to the cold frame as I prepared them for life outdoors. I had to write up more plant labels at this stage as I'd sown them 2 or 3 to a pot. Upon selecting the plants I wanted to keep, I potted up a stripy courgette for my mum (a now annual tradition) and also gave her a spare butternut squash plant to replace one that had died in her garden. My own plants were planted out into the raised beds and daily protected from the onslaught of slugs that May brought with it.

Come the middle of July, my mum mentioned that her courgette plant had started to produce fruits but her butternut squash was yet to get started. I checked on my plants and found that although there were a few male flowers opening, neither of mine had started any fruiting yet. But I couldn't shake the thought that the courgette plant looked a bit different, maybe a bit on the, I don't know, pumpkiny side...?

The next week I got a call from a very puzzled mum. Being a newbie veg grower she often rings for advice on seedlings or plant spacings, but this question was not one I was expecting. Her butternut squash plant had finally started to fruit – but it seemed to be producing a courgette!
I just couldn't come up with an explanation for that – that is until the next time I was surveying the veg plot and discovered this little fella hiding under a leaf on my 'courgette' plant.

It's a good thing my mum likes courgettes.... And maybe I'll give her one of these once they've ripened.