A year in growing stuff

I was reminded that other day that there's only a couple of weeks and then we'll have been in our house for a year. Which means the anniversary of our allotment passed me by without realising it. It didn't feel like a year while, at the same time, feeling like forever. In a good way. 

To be truthful, it was a year where we did no more than harvest the berries that were growing freely and the chard that has, miraculously, survived and is into it's second growing season. We kept the grass down and covered some areas over to kill it off so we could dig it over for planting this year. 

And then the chaos of moving house, adjusting to life together, work lives that suddenly got busy and a social life that just wouldn't quit, not to mention my 2 bouts of ill health that really knocked the stuffing (not to mention the ability to walk at one point) right out of my boots. 

Luckily, that seems to have all settled down now and the past few weeks have been really rewarding up there. Potatoes are doing their thing under ground, the chard threatened to bolt so found itself harvested pretty smartish, the courgettes are in and the Great Bean Space is flourishing. I've made a start in marking out the fruit cage area. Next to cover up will be the asparagus bed, ready for planting next year. Then we'll start on the orchard area. It's all pretty damn exciting. 

So what have I learned from plot holding, albeit half-heartedly, for a year?

1. Little and often. Can't say this enough. Dig a little, weed a little, dig a little more. Plant one thing that will bring you joy. Little and often.

2. Don't get put off when things don't work, or you have a spell where you can't be up there as much as you'd like. This is an experiment, a pastime, a hobby. It's not a job. 

3. Know what you can manage. I cannot manage things that are high maintenance because I can't be up there for great stretches every day. 

4. Grow only what you really want to eat, not what people think you should grow. 

5. Don't accept a plot that looks like it has never been tamed. I did and it can be off-putting to even go up there, let alone do anything. Took me months to see any progress. 

6. Make it part of your (almost) daily routine. Finish work, visit allotment (10 minutes: watering, pulling weeds, looking around), go home. Keep wellies in your car if needs be. 

7. Visit on a Saturday or Sunday morning and everyone will be there. Talk to your neighbours. Be nosey, ask what they're growing, how they made their soil less like something you'd throw pots with and more like an actual growing medium. Take cake and share it. Offer extra raspberry canes if you've got too many. Ask to buy some honey. Your 'lottie neighbours are your allies and you should cultivate them like an asparagus. 

8. As you plan what you want to grow, plan the equipment you'll need and buy the best you can. The clay soil I work with saw off 2 forks before I cottoned onto that. 

9. Find out what grows well and what doesn't from your neighbours. For instance, on ours it's no good planting carrots or sweetcorn because the 'lottie badger will dig them up. So I grow those, lettuce and tomatoes at home (the latter 2 because I want to eat them regularly - see point 3)

10. Plant some wildflowers. Actually, just plant some flowers in general. The bees will thank you, which means your crops will thank you. We have wildflowers about to burst forth and our orchard area will also be a cutting garden area for flowers because I love them in the house and our home garden isn't big enough for the big blowsy peonies and roses I crave in shops but can't justify the price of. 

And finally, 
11. Ignore all of the above. Ignore all the books. Do what you want. Do it as often as you want/can. It's your plot. Make glorious muddy mistakes. Overtire yourself and then rest and then come back to to try again. Lie on the grass and ponder what the next step is. Take chairs up and sit, with a bottle of wine and a sandwich, just thinking. Have some fun with it. 

All the Small Things #1

I donned my painty top this week, to paint more shelves at work. Amongst the ubiquitous white spatters, there are flashes of yellow, pink, green and even a smudge of teal blue. I can track my house moves and life changes on this fabric.

Not Standing Still

According to my calculations, we are now 7 weeks into the lockdown and I'm back in the office 3 days a week, overseeing (from a responsible distance) some essential repairs and not-so-essential decorating at the museum. Once we are able to reopen, we'll be ready for the hordes of people topping up their culture levels.

Once in, my time is split between a deep clean of the collection (yay cleaning, I have said never) and painting the shop area. My painting talents lie in getting the paint on the walls fast and getting it all over myself at the same time. Hair, glasses, nose, clothes, feet and most definitely hands are spackled and spattered liberally within just an hour. 

I've cycled in every morning, legs and knees making very loud complaints about all this exercise so early in the morning. Last Thursday, after a cocktail-based WhatsApp gathering of friends last night, they complained even more loudly than before, while the wind threatened to blow me back to yesterday. But the roads are blissfully free of traffic and it feels like a different world.

That different world is sometimes scary. Walking through empty streets feels a little 28 Days Later and voices echoing suddenly from an alleyway make me jump.

Walking along the towpath, the smell of cow parsley, lilac and hawthorn reminds me strongly of walks down country lanes with my Dad, tiny pudgy hand in his, little feet safely encased in Clarks shoes. Walks, in fact, that I repeated with my own child, 25 years later. 

Said child is now 21 and living in a nearby town with his boyfriend. When I messaged him on Monday, I received the following response "yeah, will do. Oh, and I'm in hospital lol". Lol? LOL?? Thank god it turned out to be to do with his kidneys rather than anything else, and he's home now, but still, that was a wobbly moment when I suddenly became very aware that, were the worst to happen, I wouldn't have hugged him for over 7 weeks. I'll stop now before I wibble again. 

Today is VE Day, 75 years since victory in Europe, which feels a little hollow given the rhetoric we were subjected to prior to the pandemic. Both my grandfathers had very different wars. The paternal one, a rear gunner, shot down over Italy, interred in a PoW camp (Stalag IVb) and forced on the long march by the Russians, hated it, refused to talk about it and would have retreated, were he alive today, to his greenhouse to think quietly among the tomatoes. The maternal one, posted to India, had a fine old time racing around on motorbikes, developing a taste for hot curries that never left him and charming anything female in a 5 mile radius. He would have loved today, bunting and medals out, high tea and saluting the flag with a glass of his shockingly bad homemade wine. I miss them both.

I was awake a little before 6 this morning, so retreated to the spare room, what I call my "woman cave". I've always been an early waker but slow riser, so a room to retreat to where I can read, practise Spanish, draw, daydream and idle away a couple of hours without bothering anyone, or shivering on the sofa downstairs is a bliss I never thought I'd get to have. By 7.30, I was bored of being inside, so headed to the allotment to check on the plants and give them the watering I'd been too tired to last night. 

Oh my, the wisteria on a neighbour's allotment is a sight (and smell) to behold. Draping itself decadently over their shed like a 1940s screen siren, its fragrance whispering husky nothings to your nostrils, it's another kind of wonderful. 

On my plot, no shed but the happy sight of 3 rows of potato tops looking furry and contented above ground. 3 of the 4 squash plants are happy enough but the 4th is pulling a massive teenage sulk and suffering from snails as a result. The courgette plant - of the 10 seeds I planted, only 1 germinated which was more than a little frustrating - has 6 blooms about to burst open. It looked exuberant in the early morning sun. 

I'll be back there later with wine and cake as the plot holders are all having an appropriately distanced VE Day celebration. My best 1950s frock will be on and I'll remember a blanket to sit on this time. There will be no digging for once.   

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go look at the irises in the garden, which are just starting to unfurl themselves. Whatever you find yourself doing this weekend, enjoy. 

This week, I'm...reading Dear Francesca, watching This Country, listening to Childish Gambino's 3.15.20. 

All About the Books

As April settled in and the lockdown began to bite, I found myself desperate for an unchanging world where everyone knows their place, a gentleman's wardrobe is impeccable, butlers butle efficiently and there is a definitive ending where the bad person Gets Their Comeuppance.

So I turned, with a deep sigh of relief, to Dorothy L Sayers. Oh, she is magnificent and Wimsy is a delight...
"'Well! Consider first of all the anomaly of the man who buys his razor from Endicott's and yet wears the regrettable shoes and mass-production millinery found on the corpse. Mind you," added Wimsey, "it is not a question of expense, exactly. The shoes are hand-made - which merely proves that a dancer has to take care of his feet. But could a man who is shaved by Endicott possibly order - deliberately order - shoes of that colour and shape? A thing imagination boggles at."
'I'm afraid,' admitted Harriet, 'that I've never managed to learn all the subtle rules and regulations about male clothing. That's why I made Robert Templeton one of those untidy dressers.'
'Robert Templeton's clothes have always pained me...'"

I also attempted a modern-day crime, a rare foray for me. A Mankell, in fact. I don't get it. I don't get why there is so much fuss over this dour man with his complete lack of sympathy, manners or charm. What disconcerted me even more was the fact that the plot line pivoted around Jim Jones and the Jonestown massacre. Not a comfortable read. 

So I shifted my gaze to Lucy Mangan's wonderful Bookworm. An exploration of childhood reading and growing up, navigating the changing childhood world via books. I laughed out loud, I remembered authors and books I'd read but long forgotten, I ordered some via Hive, I cried and recognised myself. "I didn't just want to read, I needed to read." Her complete incomprehension in the face of her peers evolving behaviours, the playground politics. The frustration when faced with adults who would peer at her, laugh and say things like "you've always got your nose in a book!" as if it was some massive character flaw. Did Mangan inhabit my childhood as well?

Anyway, that broke my crime run and I settled into the beautifully meditative The Morville Hours, followed by the fascinating Barbara Pym biography and I managed to squeeze in the Half Hour Allotment, which I kind of wish I hadn't. It's so bossy...

On the subject of a place to sit in your allotment? You won't have time! You're only here for 30 minutes! Stop being lazy!
On the notion of planting things you want to experiment with? Don't be stupid! Of course that won't work! What were you thinking?!
On the crazy idea of, you know, just enjoying yourself at the allotment? This isn't for enjoyment! This is serious work! Get to it! Stop malingering! 

Raspberries to that. I will malinger as much as I choose. Right now I'm gliding into May with the Secret Garden, Tom's Midnight Garden and Letters from a Faint-hearted Feminist. I am mostly okay.

When this is all over

I'm finding that life at the moment is made immeasurably better by thinking about what I'll do when things get back to normal.  Nothing too big, nothing silly, just something positive to look forward to. What are you planning to do when life returns to normal? Or our own personal versions of normal!

I'm planning...

A big long walk in the countryside

A trip to Ikea to buy lampshades. We've owned this house for nearly a year, we need some damn lampshades. No, I don't want to order online, I want to browse and eat meatballs.

Painting "my" room. I need paint. Paint is not being delivered. This will have to wait till we're all out and about again

A visit to a garden centre AND a farm shop. Truly, these are wild and crazy plans

Planning our holiday next year: Paris to Bordeaux where a friend of ours lives. Can.Not.Wait

Those are my feet, as I contemplated possible wall colours. 

Tray of seedlings on top of the wardrobe... 

Good things this week? Both Ed O'Brien and Laura Marling have released albums of thoughtfulness and grace. The Hive online bookshop has both supplied me with books I'd like to read and donated a percentage to the local(ish) independent bookshop of my choice. I managed to score some rhubarb for a crumble and some asparagus for a pasta with goats cheese. The boyfriend had a fit of unaccustomed energy and defrosted the freezer. I now have a hose long enough to water the entire allotment without the need for trudging to the tap and back with a medium sized watering can. There are seedlings everywhere. 

March Reading

Yes, I know we are very much not in March any more, but given that it took me two weeks to realise that I hadn't changed the calendar over, I think a little time slippage can be forgiven. 

March was full of really chewy subject matter in my reading. I'd been after a copy of The Five for a long time but I have an aversion to hardbacks (they're too heavy to read in the bath!), so had to wait a whole year for the paperback version. Totally worth the wait. Utterly brilliant: soundly researched, compellingly told. I finished the book both heartbroken for those poor women and furious that their story has been so manipulated by those with a ghoulish and/or financial interest in Ripper mythology.

Continued the feminist theme with Difficult Women. A disclaimer: Helen Lewis grew up in my city and I wanted her to come give a talk at the museum (oh happy days of event planning before the virus!), so I broke my No Hardback rule for her. So damn glad I did. She thoroughly rejects the idea that difficult women should be airbrushed out of history: their achievements should be celebrated with a full and comprehensive understanding of their characters As A WHOLE, not simplified to anodyne goodness. Real women, interesting women, are complicated and yes, dammit, difficult. 

Then to complete the trio, a rereading of Why Be Happy When You Can Be Normal by Jeanette Winterson. Read it years ago and, because she grew up not far from where my Nan did, I can hear her mother in my head. Luckily I get to close the book and not have years of psychotherapy afterward. Astonishing what a person can achieve despite their upbringing. 

Wilding was a gorgeous evocation of what can be done to bring back the biodiversity and truly green spaces we need (freely admit to skipping the bits that got too science-y). A Murder of Quality practically flung itself off the shelf at me as the virus began to bite outside and I needed something well written, read before and short to distract me. Le Carre is always good. 

Beatlebone. Hmm. I brought the boyfriend this as he has a massive Beatles obsession. That shouldn't mean I have to read it too but apparently, according to relationship rules, I do (these rules also apply in reverse, so he's currently reading Wilding). Anyway. I did not care for Beatlebone. I did not care for the characters. I did not care about the ending. It will not do. Here endeth my foray into fiction that "takes you to the very edge of the novel form." 

And finally, Calypso. Oh David Sedaris, why are you not my strange uncle? Hilarious and moving. And a relief to find someone so open about his own unsympathetic, borderline unpleasant, personality traits. If you think he's brutal about others, you should hear him talk about himself. And the nonsense the world thrives on. 

Disclaimer: all of the links I've provided are to the Hive website which supports independent bookshops by giving the one you nominate a percentage of the sale. For goodness sake, let's kick Amazon to the damn curb, shall we? I like proper bookshops: they make towns and cities look nice, and they pay their taxes properly. 

And here enedth my lesson. What are you all reading? Or has your concentration, like a good friend of mine's, been completely shot, so you can't. If you can, what genres are you escaping into?

How are we all?

Well my dears, how are we all? It seems I can't move at the moment for news of the virus, advice on how to avoid the virus or tips on how to spend my time during the virus. To paraphrase Hermione, "fear of the virus increases fear of everyone who wants to see me self-improve during the lockdown". 

Toadflax. Only found out this week what it is. Pretty ain't it? Just sitting there

on the wall like it owns the place.  

As a natural introvert, this is pretty much my idea of bliss: enforced staying in, no contact except with those I love. I'm happy to wake up at my usual time and, in lieu of my 20 minute walk to work, read for a bit longer. Or start work earlier, so I can knock off similarly and then spend the extra time at the allotment. 

So far I have:

• read an inordinate amount of crime fiction, because I find this soothing
• planted 4 rows of potatoes at the allotment
• sowed many seeds at home, which I regularly stand over, raising my hands, saying "grow my pretties, GROW"
• made cinnamon buns and focaccia
• chatted to family via video call
• invented quizzes to keep people I work with occupied with my nonsense even when I'm not physically there
• weeded the front garden
• started learning Spanish (once started, long abandoned)
• bent myself to a benevolent yoga goddess and practised most days (even if only for 20 mins at a time)
• eaten too much chocolate, crisps and bread but I don't care
• cycled near-empty streets

Rosemary at the allotment. The bees are loving it. 

This really is a time for finding pleasure in the small things and that's always been my forte. I get an intense pleasure from things like clean sheets, cow parsley on the tow path, the smell of bread, proper coffee, cutting my own fringe (been doing it for years now), lying in a patch of sun with a book, listening to the cat purr, watching the crochet blanket grow under my fingers. 

I have so far resisted the temptation to make my own sourdough starter, but that is surely only a matter of days away. And to be fair, sourdough is my favourite type of bread, after soft white sesame seed rolls, which have a long held treasured taste memory for me (my Nan used to toast them and serve them with real butter and marmalade. Eating them now, I'm 8 years old again, swinging my legs at her kitchen table, eager to get out across to the farm opposite for a good long explore).

Picked up a pen and started drawing again - with mixed results. Some of those birds

are quite disturbing. Slow growth of the crochet blanket. 

Podcasts rumble on in the background, under the clatter of my fingers on the laptop keyboard as I work from home. Shedunnit, Backlisted and In Our Time. 

Ah work. I am lucky in that I've not been laid off, my job isn't zero hours and I'm not front-line in the care sector or NHS. That said, it has felt harder than usual. My head hurts by the end of the day and my back is stiff. I've decorated my little "office" and filled it with plants, but still there is something lacking. People. I miss the volunteers and my colleagues, all of whom are now furloughed. There is a sense that I'm what the museum is relying on to see it through, and the responsibility is a little overwhelming. It's also slightly lonely.   

My office. Succulents, flowers from the canal path, 

some research and tea, old tin pen pot resisting attempts 

to make me use a proper pen pot

And I miss my son. He not long moved into his own place and was loving working with adults who have mental and physical disabilities. Yes, he is in the front-line of the care sector, but is treating it all with his usual sanguinity (is that a word? I say yes, spell check says no) and messages all end with his standard "lol" that makes me want to slap a thesaurus in front of him. I find I am better if I don't think about it and just check in with him every couple of days. 

"How are you doing kid x"

"Yeah, good thanks lol"

See what I mean?

So far, I have not:

• started a podcast
• repainted the house
• started a couch to 5k
• become an influencer
• mastered the art of cordon bleu cookery ("sandwich for dinner okay, yeah?" "yeah")
• put all my "content" online - mainly because I have no content
• started any of those challenging books people say are good for lockdown situations. James Joyce, I'm looking at you
• written a blog post about all the things people should be doing or how they could improve themselves during this time.

Life is weird, do what makes you feel good. And you don't need me to tell you what that is. 

Robin with a beak full of flies, sitting cheekily close 

when I took a break