High Summer 2020

A fresh spring garden, all bright green and friendly, became a lush summer solstice one which is now becoming a glorious mature profusion but not surprisingly showing signs of wear and tear. Watering, weeding, and deadheading will prolong the abundance for a while.

There are three large pots of orange/yellow calendula and deepest blue lobelia, all sowed from seed, throughout our garden. They did need to be sprayed with sulfur to combat a fungal disease called calendula smut. And they may need to be dosed again in order for them to continue flowering all through summer.

For years now social media images of a pot on its side spilling out lobelia visually simulating a small stream intriqued me, and this was the summer I finally got around realising this clever concept.

The 'stream' flows amidst cannas and dahlias. I love it so. It was just a matter of burying one quarter of the depth of an empty pot put on its side, filling it one thirds with soil, and planting by laying the roots laterally with the flowers placed beyond the pot's opening before topping up with more soil. 

It is now the fourth summer that this fragrant tuberous begonia has graced a small sous sol window sill. I hope it will bloom yet again in 2021.

Pots of miniature roses have found their home in a large tub along with a blueberry bush. In this way, not only does the display look full, when the roses are watered/fertilised so is the blueberry!

Hydrangeas are now fading into glorious subtle tones/texture and by autumn will become much like silver lace which always is a treat to behold.

The ivy topiary heart is being shaped gradually.  I just love it! Sculpting greenery is fun and gives so much joy. The structure on which it grows is a thick honeysuckle trunk that gave up the ghost nearly a decade ago. Requiring both patience and decisiveness makes topiary quite a learning experience.

Beets are putting out foliage which when thinned are added to minestrone.

Green beans are flowering. Soon tiny pods will appear and in several weeks they will be ready for picking.

À la prochaine!

Jogging Toward Summer Solstice 2020

There's about two weeks left before summer officially rolls in. Chez nous, the crop method is the preferred one and not succession planting. There's a push now to get all of the vegetables planted before the longest day arrives. To cheer me up as I sieve compost, wield spades/forks/rakes, and keep recently sowed beds moistened, I recall with great fondness of all the produce already harvested and processed since February such as asparagus, rhubarb, peas, and strawberries waiting to be included in delicious meals for the coming months. Sometimes I take a break just to check out crops getting closer to being picked to ensure I don't miss the best time to harvest, like blueberries. Lovers of acidic soil that blueberries are, they wouldn't flourish in the slightly alkaline earth in our garden. Instead, they do their blue thing in large pots filled with an acidic potting mix. Keeping one of them company is a cobalt blue, hand-blown glass fishing float which most likely made its way from Spain and got put on display at a flea market in France, specifically in Grenoble, where we became happy buyers. One of the highlights of my twilight garden exercise romps started when lockdown first began and which I still do is bending down here and there, sampling a blueberry, a raspberry, and a strawberry.

This berry-festooned branch is just one of many.

Below photo: the green beans are in and covered with horticultural fleece to prevent them from being eaten by birds.  The parterre with bushy plants directly in front of the beans is one of our two potato beds. The two unkept ones in the foreground will eventually be planted with strawberry runners and carrots. The silvery, boxy thing in the lower left hand corner is one-half of the coldframe we got at Lidl just before the Covid-19 lockdown. The splash of vivid red in the lower right are volunteer poppies.

The heat-loving, purple osteospermums were potted up last autumn and brought indoors. Two out of three plants survived the confinement and are flourishing in the front garden. This winter they will go into the coldframe, watched over judiciously, and if needed, brought indoors. But this time, I will put the pot on wooden slats placed over circular trays filled with water to provide humidity. Though they get enough light in our living room, the central heating is a stress. Hopefully these two specimens will continue to over-winter through the years.

Calendula were sowed in flats early spring and kept in the cold frame until it was warm enough for them eventually to embrace the big, wide wonderful world. Their hardening off started when the frame was first propped open during daytime for a week followed by the seedlings being outdoors for a few hours over a period of several days leading to spending an entire day before being transplanted into the big pot where they will spend their time until autumn. Having never grown them before, I wonder if maybe I shouldn't have pinched the young plants in the hope they will be less leggy when mature as I might have ended their flowering capability. I won't relax until I see their wonderful orange blooms!

The beets were sowed the other day. It is such a pleasure to work our veggie beds as the soil has been so much improved over the last ten years with the additions of compost, leaf mulch, wood chippings, grass clippings, and green manure. It's fluffy and a lovely shade of brown. Yes!

Turnips and carrots are the last two vegetables needing to be sown. Carrots have a specific set of challenges which when met will yield a most satisfying crop. Like all homegrown veggies, their taste has a depth of flavour that is incomparable. That paper cone holding up the seed packet in the below photo is a DIY tiny seed sowing device. The seeds being quite small means that too many may get planted hence becoming crowded as they grow in size which requires thinning. As they are thinned their distinctive fragrance will attract a certain species of low-flying, white butterflies who then will deposit eggs which become larvae burrowing down into the edible root completely destroying its comestible value by leaving it riddled with brown tunnels. This destruction is carried on out of sight, therefore it is only when the crop gets pulled out of the ground, the cruel realisation hits, that after all that hard work, there are no carrots to eat.

To ensure that a nice steady stream of seeds are sowed, wet ordinary paper, like from a notebook, rolling it into a cone with a narrow opening. Press the outside edge to seal while still wet so it won't unravel. Moistening the paper and letting it dry roughens up its texture, slowing down the flow of seeds. If any thinning is necessary, the late afternoon is the best time as the butterflies are not around too much at that time. Another approach is to cover the thinned seedlings with horticultural fleece for about a week so their scent would have dissipated. In addition to keeping them free of larvae, they like loose soil which is as stone/pebble free as possible. Our bed is spaded and forked well, but it is not obstruction free so the only variety that I have had any success with is Carentan which has a mid-length and stout top half. If its growth gets forked by a stone, there's still enough carrot for the pot. Keep in mind during the several weeks it takes for the seeds to germinate, the soil must be kept evenly moist. A hose nozzle that makes a fine mist is a way to water without bunching up the carefully spaced seeds. Last year's harvest is still feeding us at the moment; I am guessing that it will supply about eighty percent of our annual needs. Hence just a few months of supermarket buying will suffice to get us to this season's harvest. 

Besides getting all the crops in before the solstice, I also try to get any desired cuttings from existing evergreen stock started. After getting dipped in growth hormone, planted in small pots, and thoroughly watered, they are drapped with clear plastic bags and kept under the pergola. When new growth is detected then they will be placed in the sun. If they do not reach nursery-bed transplantation size before winter, then they will go into the coldframe. All that condensation inside their little plastic homes is a comforting sight because it means until their roots form, they will still receive moisture through their leaves. A ton of laurel and heather cuttings already have been propagated leaving Leyland cypress, ivy, and rosemary to be done. Whew!

À la prochaine!

The Pea Whisperer

Growing garden peas is a mad (is there any other kind?) passion of mine. It has to be since growing them in southwest France with its long, hot summers which often begin mid-May pose a challenge of perfect timing. The crop needs cool temperatures but also around ten weeks from sowing to reach a maturity suitable for harvesting meaning those purty little seeds have to be in the ground by the first week in March so they can be plucked before the heat hits in earnest. But the soil temperature must be around 60 degrees F or else they will just sulk or rot or be nibbled by birds. Even if our climate provided a more generous growing window, harvesting them at the peak of sweetness would remain exacting. The pods can seem full and yet inside the peas can still be too small, therefore not yet developing the sugar which turns them into green candy. Or the converse, they are obviously too full, bulging with peas which marched right past their sweet glory into starchy stodginess.  Thankfully, the pods are translucent when held up to the sun. If the peas are just touching each other, the pod goes into the basket. This season I got in three beds of peas! Not the one or two I have been toying with the last ten years, but three whole whopping beds! 

The pea variety beloved by me is the dwarf one. No staking is required and they can be eaten raw from the pod. The other common type is a vine sporting wrinkled peas that must be cooked before eating and also can be left to dry in their pods while still on the vines enabling them to be stored in the cupboard.

Best time to remove the pods from their plants (carefully detach them so as not to uproot the shallowly rooted, still producing mother lode) is in the cool, early morning. If they do have any residual field heat then they first will have a dunk in cold water before being dried, placed in a plastic bag, and put into the fridge awaiting processing which takes place within a week. Harvesting which lasts several weeks has to be done at least twice weekly to encourage more pods to form. In my three-bed case, I pick pods from one bed every day, rotating through the series of three. The total number of pods picked were fifteen litres which amounted, once shelled, to two and quarter litre of peas. Not any peas, but the most pampered, tenderest, sweetest ones, such that a smaller quantity than usual will pack a huge taste punch in our favourite dishes such as minestrone, chicken pot pie, shrimp fried rice, creamy shrimp pasta, and a side of peas and carrots to our pot roast of lamb leg. En bref, a little of these wonders go a long way.  Ok, I am justifying my labour, but they are stupendous. I am guessing our harvest which has been frozen in appropriately sized ziplocked portions will last from four to six months. Processing consisted of boiling them in a large pot of water for two minutes and then shocking them in an iced bath. I spent a day in making the ice as there's only one small tray chez nous. Precious ice diamonds. Next time, I will freeze water in plastic containers and plop instead a few of those into the bath.

The shelling took place under our ivy-covered pergola.

These are the kind of spent shells with which I can live.

The most common number of peas in a pod are about six to eight. Sometimes there a niner (as in the below photo) or even a tenner.

When they become too mature, they lose their roundness and resemble a set of teeth or a row of corn kernels. The few overgrown ones reluctantly got discarded. Looking forward to spring pea madness in 2021, hoping for three beds again, and who knows, maybe four?

À la prochaine!

Gardening In The Time Of Covid-19*

I have felt a deep affection for our garden during the past ten years, so it's challenging to express how much more I presently love it as France completes its third day of lockdown while spring makes its much awaited appearence.

Foreground: off the patio white sweet alyssum, red tulip, abelia, irises, ivy-covered pergola pillar; background: lawn and that wide, brown smear is the asparagus bed.

Our larder and freezer is well stocked allowing us to refrain from food shopping (which is permitted but only if carrying a self-signed certificate printed from the government's website) which is mutually beneficial for us and others. But fresh can't be beat and the seven-year-old asparagus bed has begun in earnest last week popping out spears. Though their delectable taste lessens each day of storage, cutting off the woody ends (trimmings can be used for making stock), placing the asparagus upright in a jar with 2.5 cm (an inch) of water, and covering with a plastic bag keeps their flavour longer. In this way enough can be harvested to make a soup.

Rhubarb will soon be on its way.

In about a week, pea shoots will be ready for picking. Ah, fresh greens!

In about two months, raspberries born on last season's canes will be ripe. Once harvested, those canes will be cut almost to the ground, and new ones will grow enabling a second crop for September.

Strawberries will be ready by beginning of May.

I haven't planted any new tulips last autumn and hope what is in the ground will do their thing soon. Presently, there are single show stoppers like an Apeldoorn Darwin Hybrid bud peeking out in between an ivy-covered fence and a Leyland cypress hedge . . .

. . . and this sprightly Seadov Triumph tulip sprouting on the compost under a rusty pole . . .

. . . and finally this Purple Dream lily-flowered tulip gracing the front garden.

A sizable expanse of low-growing, evergreen periwinkle (Vinca minor) just off the front entrance staircase is full of their lovely blue blooms. 

À la prochaine!

* Yes, Love In The Time Of Cholera by Márquez inspired my post title!

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Autumn Advances

Days are becoming shorter and colours more sombre. Nearly two months of steady rain have also contributed to the lessening of light where it seems each day is just one premature, sustained gloaming. Semi-evergreen penstemon with their claret-coloured blooms are still going as they have been since early summer therefore making themselves especially valuable for smaller gardens like ours where every plant must work harder and longer in providing visual interest regardless what season. In larger gardens, the gaps resulting from short-lived displays don't dominate as much because there's always something of interest somewhere. Root veggies, planted just six to eight weeks ago, are getting closer to harvest. Their lush foliage is a welcomed contrast to withered and falling leaves, but I must say I enjoy the satisfying crunch of dead leaves underfoot!

Violet turnips are gleaming like huge amethysts. 

Carrots need another month to become mature.

But until then, the small, tender carrots which are thinned out to allow others to grow larger will have to do. And they do very well indeed when they are briefly simmered in butter and a bit of water. The water evaporates leaving the carrots with the most scrumptious glaze made by the butter and the sugar naturally occurring in these garden-fresh baby carrots.

The strawberry bed has put out many runners; twelve of them have been potted up in a recycled shallow container. The rest of the runners have been clipped and put on the compost so as not to choke the original plants' growth. Strawberry plants become less productive with each passing year, necessitating propagation every season. This coming spring, these runners will have developed enough roots to be transplanted into a bed which haven't had any strawberries planted for several years as strawberries are disease-prone and must be rotated. In early summer, four-year, hardly productive plants will be removed after harvest. As the bed empties through time, other crops are planted  Strawberries are worth all the trouble as our freezer can attest: container after container of slightly sugared, delectable berries waiting to be put into smoothies, cobblers, and more simply, served in their own syrup and dressed with vanilla-flavoured whipped cream.

Autumn is an excellent time for planting new arrivals and relocating existing ones. Sixteen laurel plants which came from cuttings of established laurels on our property were transplanted from their three-year-old nursery bed. I did one most days. The steady rainfall kept the soil at the right moisture level throughout the three-week period so not only the holes could be spaded easily but also sieved compost from our pile could be incorporated readily with the dug-up earth. The newbies will lengthen the existing hedge to completely flank the back garden's eastern boundary. The splendid but self-seeded and rather large rose of Sharon which has pressed itself against the fence presented a problem but my solution so far seems to be working. After digging a few trial holes, I could see no competing roots. I did give the bush's expansive branches a good pruning so I could work around it, digging and transplanting. The 'hedglings' are positioned around ninety centimetres (three feet) from the wire fence so as to allow an alley where I can go to clip and trim behind the hedge. 

Across the back garden, along the opposite boundary fence, the five Leyland cypress trees which were planted last autumn, mostly developed roots this season, reserving energy so they can grow an astonishing ninety centimetres (three feet) next year. They will fill in the space left by the much slower-growing ivy which has covered the majority of that fence and all of a cement wall. As with many serendipitous pairings, as the ivy became more and more of a background for the red rose already planted there I slowly realised that one of the most spectacular colour combos is a floriferous cloud of red roses being framed by a tall expanse of stalwart, dark-green ivy. The cypress will elaborate further on that theme.

The trees grew only thirty centimetres (one foot) this summer. But once they get going, they need at least four trims per year or else there will be a dark, brooding forest on that side! Therefore I use them very sparingly as they gallop away with growth before you can locate your shears. Since neighbours seldom appreciate being shrouded in gloom and gigantic trees are not able to be felled with clippers, it is not uncommon for these lovely trees to be the basis for legal disputes.

The potted bougainvillea has started to present their true flowers, tiny white blooms in the centres of gorgeous crimson sepals. That cheery yellow around the pot's base is provided by perennial snapdragons which have self-sowed in the cracked patio and have decided to perform a second show after their early summer debut.

Giant lavender which has been blooming since August is holding onto some of its flowers. A peony's burnished foliage complements the bluish spikes.

À la prochaine!

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Fresh April green here and there has morphed into verdant lushness all over. The first fig crop is forming while the second and more substantial one will happen in autumn.

Little fuzzy olive-green eggs are dotting the peach tree.

The strawberry harvest at present is enough for making a strawberry banana smoothie every other day. Peak production will be reached in several weeks.

Rhubarb is being picked now, the peas will be in a few weeks, and the potatoes at end of July.

The soft green of fennel (the herb, not the bulb) cosies up to flowering sage.

Comfrey is putting out young leaves and buds. It's an amazing plant for other plants as it is used as a fertiliser tea and a compost accelerator.

The weigela's flower-laden branches are draping the front garden in crimson.

The peony is continuing to set just a few blooms as I suspect the last couple of winters were too mild to give it the cold required for abundant flowering.

Hardy miniature gladioli loves to self sow where I dare not to as in smack up to this ivy-covered pergola pillar.

The Ferdinand Pichard Bourbon rose is paying no attention to Dirac the Cat napping in the southwest sous sol window as all of its blooms are leaning directly towards the south to get as much sun exposure as possible.

À la prochaine!