The Cottage Smallholder

Photo: Flowers from the garden. March 2009

I suddenly realised that I hadn’t posted “Flowers from the Garden” since Christmas. I have been picking flowers. Mini bunches of bulbs and Wintersweet in January. Hellebores and winter flowering honeysuckle in February. And now the garden is bursting into song with a background of flowers and unfurling leaves.

Even though I don’t buy flowers anymore, I’m often tempted. This evening there were early scented white sweet peas, knocked down to 79p in Waitrose. My bargain hunting antennae whirled with pleasure until I remembered that I’d managed not to buy flowers for over two years, so why throw away that challenge for a small bunch of forced Sweet Peas? But it was hard to turn away – they looked so fresh and innocent.

Jalopy and I rumbled home with a front seat piled with fruit, vegetable and bread bargains.  While the kettle was boiling, I picked these hellebores (Helleborus foetidus – Stinking Hellebore and Helleborus × hybridus Harvington red). I indulged in some flowering twigs from the gorgeous chrome yellow Forsythia (Forsythia × intermedia ‘Lynwood Variety’) that covers the fence just beyond the kitchen window. I found the delicate narcissi resplendent in a large pot in the greenhouse. I stuffed my swag into a vase planning to arrange them later.

When Danny returned from the post run he glanced at the table.
“Oh I’m so pleased that you’ve bought flowers. There weren’t any marked down at Tesco.”
He stepped forward to examine them.
“These are gorgeous. Waitrose?”
Sometimes he forgets my challenge.
“No, these are all from our garden.”

Flowers from the garden do have an individual magic that knocks the spots off bought flowers. They don’t last as long as they are not sprayed with chemicals. But they are free and somehow bring that spirit into the cottage. I used to spend £10.00 a week on flowers. These arrangements gave me enormous pleasure. Giving up buying flowers was a big challenge. Especially as my attention had been tuned to the vegetables rather than flowers in out garden for the past few years

Now I cultivate far more flowers. Two years on the herbaceous borders are prettier and much more interesting. When I find enough for a decent bunch the joy is immeasurable as these flowers hold the imprint of a place that I love very much indeed.

Photo: Salad spinner

Recently we bought a dinky little salad spinner from TKMaxx (Swiss – Zyliss, reduced from £20.00 to £7.99). A perfectly engineered addition to the kitchen. I have a horror of wet salad leaves but have always avoided those cumbersome salad spinners that take up loads of space and aren’t very efficient.

I’ve been through the gamut of most alternatives. Whirling like a dervish with the salad leaves in a clean tea towel. Air drying the salad leaves on the drainer beside the sink. Padding the leaves with kitchen roll. The tea towel option worked the best. But it was never quite enough.

When I spotted the mini Zyliss spinners, my heart jumped. I sped home to consult D.
“I’ve found a compact salad spinner that is operated with a ripcord and has a button marked Stop. Can I invest?”

D’s eyes lit up with the thought of dry salad leaves.
“Of course.”

I wanted to put all the names of the people who left comments on last night’s post  in the salad spinner and pull the cord hoping that the natural winner would float to the top of the pile.
Danny was indignant.
“Let’s independently choose the five best comments that make us feel good. And then compare notes.”
He raced upstairs to the Rat Room. Ten minutes later he reappeared with his list.

Two names – Michelle NZ and Ruthdigs appeared joint top of the aggregate points total. As Ruthdigs already owns the book, my copy will be slowly winging its way to New Zealand. We’ll find a worthy consolation prize for Ruthdigs.

Thank you everyone for leaving comments. Much appreciated as always.

Photo: Cloudy Sky

“Why don’t you spend the day in bed if you’re feeling off colour? The Min Pins would love it. I’ll bring you a hottie and breakfast in bed in half an hour.”

These past few days I’ve been feeling really odd. Light headed and detached. Not wanting to go to work and longing to stay under the capacious duvet.
“I was planning to get out into the garden.”
“But it’s pouring with rain!”
So I finished the fascinating book I’ve been reading this week. What The Animals Tell Me by Sonya Fitzpatrick. She’s a real life Doctor Doolittle, born in England and living in America.

When I read the last page and closed the book, sunshine suddenly burst through the window. So I dressed quickly as sped down to the garden.

I’ve been digging the bindweed from the fruit cage borders beside the chicken run. Just 45 minutes when I return early enough from work. Now that the clocks have changed to British Summer TimeI can spend an extra hour in the garden. I finished digging over the fruit cages, planted two rows of shallots in the kitchen garden and as I started to tackle the main herbaceous border, I was entertained by the sonorous carousel of the annual frog bacchanal. I finally came into the warm kitchen when it was too dark to see a weed. Feeling clear headed and far more positive.

Gardening is a truly therapeutic activity. Particularly when you are growing your own food and flowers. I read a book three years ago written by a man who was suffering from depression and started to tend an allotment with his friend. The book is good. You see the man’s life gradually opening like a flower. Yet this  is a gritty belt and braces book,  describing the challenge of taking on an allotment with little gardening experience. Allotted Time by Robin Shelton  literally inspires  me every time that I want to retire to under a warm duvet and withdraw from the world.

If you would like to win my copy of this book, leave a comment on this post.  You could be the owner of a hardback book that I found inspirational and that has really helped me tackle my blacker moments.

Photo: White sprouting broccolt

The taste of really fresh purple sprouting broccoli from the garden is only beaten by the flavour of sweet white sprouting broccoli. John Coe gives us broccoli plants each year in July. They need to be covered with nets or the birds will strip the young leaves clean within a few days. They also need to be protected from the cabbage white caterpillar.  Apart from those two key rules they are easy to grow as long as you know that they will not produce their delicate spears until April of the following year.

A lot of my clients have planted them and dug them up at the end of the summer as they didn’t read the seed packet carefully enough. Broccoli takes at least nine months to produce its succulent spears. 

Luckily, John Coe explained how long they would take to grow. He was extremely enthusiastic about growing our own.
“Apart from being very expensive, the stuff that’s available in the supermarkets can be bitter as it’s often not super fresh. Grow this, Fiona. It’s great to harvest at the end of the winter. You’ll never regret it. I can guarantee that once you taste it, you will cultivate brocolli every year.” And we have.

I must admit that I was dubious. Like every newcomer to growing vegetables I wanted results within weeks. But as we’d been given the plants I said nothing. They sat on a large patch of ground, looking interesting and unproductive.

But when April came we tasted the spears and fell in love with this vegetable. We’d now never ever consider dropping it from our vegetable repertoire. Thank you John Coe, home grown sprouting broccoli is the ultimate treat at the start of Spring.

We never know whether we are being given white or purple sprouting broccoli plants by John. I did mention last year, well hinted actually, that we prefer the white sprouting broc. When he brought the plants this summer, I didn’t like to ask whether they were white or purple. But was delighted a couple of weeks ago when I saw the white florets coming through.

First mini feast this evening. Snap the floret at the top of each plant to encourage the plant to develop loads of side shoots. Pick like mad from the top, as the more that you harvest the spears the more the plant will produce. If you are on the ball on the picking front, you could have a harvest period that lasts six weeks. Sprouting broccoli also freezes well, if you have a glut.

White sprouting broccoli plants are smaller then purple sprouting ones. The cabbage white caterpillars agree that they taste much better. They are so easy to grow so why not try some in your garden this year?

Photo: Jackdaws

I was walking back to the car at dusk this evening and passed a very smart building with two smallish standard trees either side of the large front door. I spotted a neat nest of twigs in the branches, and a glimpse of a tail feather. A pigeon was sitting on the nest, she looked incongruous like a miniature partridge in a pear tree on a noisy, dirty road in Newmarket.

We have two similar nests of twigs in our garden built by the wood pigeons. More Laura Ingalls Wilder than chic Frank Lloyd Wright, they are still beautifully made and seem to withstand storms and torrential rain. Einstein’s nest was in the willow tree at the front of the house. The other pair of cottage woodpigeon nest in an apple tree in our tiny orchard.

I love seeing nesting birds. With one exception. The jackdaws that return each year to nest in the chimney over our wood burning stove. The chimney is so high that It would need a brave man with a crane to put a cowl on the top. When the jackdaws do successfully nest they drop 8 dustbin liners of twigs down the chimney. Thousands of hours must be spent on the wing, collecting the materials for their nest. It takes the guts of a day to clear it when they finally leave in September.

This year we have got so into our wood burning stove that we were primed for their return. A slow fire is almost constantly alight in the stove. When it dies down between the hours of midnight and five am they return to drop twigs down the chimney. It’s a battle that I’m determined to win this year. We now use this chimney for smoking our bacon and ham. And beside this, I love a warm fire in the evening when I return from work.

So at the moment we are at war. I hear them chatting and the occasional clunk of a twig dropping down onto the plate above the stove. Mrs J sits on the television aerial while Mr J collects the footings for the nest. Meanwhile I light a fire below. The twigs that they toss down make great kindling. We’ve been battling for three weeks now and I haven’t seen them for a couple of days. I hope that they’ve finally got the message that their B&B has been replaced by a working fire and home smoking zone.

They are welcome to set up home in the second chimney – we won’t use the inglenook until the autumn – but they are sniffy and won’t even consider it. Despite it being rent free with no smoke or even council tax.