Thinking ahead

The Organic Gardening Catalogue arrives in the post from Chase Organics and provides me with a pleasant half hour of reading. Apparently, they are part of the Ian Allan Group, better known to my eyes as publishers of transport books. Strange diversification.

Plenty of delights to think about in the catalogue, although I might not buy from them. The spuds look enticing, particularly some of the names. Is there still a real-life Lady Balfour and does she mind being described as having ‘moderate scab resistance’?

I’m going over in my mind what I’ll be planting next year and where. I’m unsure at the moment where the spuds will go or indeed whether I will have first earlies, second earlies or maincrop. Decisions, decisions.

Always look on the bright side

Many everyday activities are impossible for me as I continue to shuffle around with my bad back and the garden is horribly neglected.

I am reading Philip Ziegler’s The Black Death to cheer myself up and came across this passage today about the helplessness of 14th century medical scientists:

“Ibn Khatimah approved of fresh fruit and vegetables but no one else  agreed. Gentile of Foligno recommended lettuce, the Faculty of Medicine at Paris forbade it. Ibn Khatimah had faith in egg plant, another expert deplored its use.”

In the 21st century, there seems universal agreement that vegetables can only be good for you. The debates that take place centre on GM v non-GM, organic v non-organic. When did our attitude towards veg change, I wonder?

Talking compost

News arrives that my local council has 200 tons of compost to give away to people who live in the area.

They’re doing it in a town just a 10-minute drive from where we live and I am sorely tempted. But Susan disagrees.

Her three points:

1. She isn’t driving the car with a load of shit in the back
2. She ain’t humiliating herself by joining a queue for shit
3. In slightly different words: Is it a sound trade-off for the environment to drive that distance in the car to get the stuff?

To which I must add that you have to take your own bag. Knowing us, we’d probably take the one with a hole.

What turned out to be an attractive offer is now dead in the water as far as we are concerned. But all this does underline the fact that I need to attach more importance to soil preparation. I’m guilty of overlooking it during my first year of vegetable growing and I think the crop has suffered.

Looking around for compost bins to buy, I notice the cheapest of the ‘subsidised’ ones on offer from the council is now £22 + £5 delivery. Susan reckons that’s extortionate and I seem to remember it’s not so long ago since they were £17 with free delivery.

Farewell, my friend

My Cherokee Trail of Tears beans are finally on the wane as autumn gathers pace. The leaves are turning yellow and some have dropped to the ground, I noticed today as I hobbled around the garden, still suffering from back pain.

I was intrigued from the start by the name and their history and they have turned out to be a good crop. It has been a real pleasure watching their progress from a dodgy start, when I thought they would never grow. Thanks to my mate Steve for sending me the seeds.

Not with my back

Not long returned from three days in Northumberland, I come late to a piece by the Observer newspaper headlined 'Vegetables are the new sex'.

It's an interesting idea and there's no doubting that vegetables and the art of growing them is going through a renaissance at the moment. But the new sex? Too far, I think, but how else are you going to fill those chunky Sunday newspapers?

In any case, I have done my back in scrabbling under the computer to sort out some wires. The pain is shocking and it has ruled out most activity for me at the moment. In fact, I can barely move and will probably pay when I try to rise from the chair after typing this.

There are many things to be doing in the garden - weeding, green manuring, picking beans - but I am incapable for the time being. Susan will pick and water the tomatoes for me, still going strong and producing a good crop.

For me, it's any tablet I can get my hands on and also any drink. Painkillers and whisky - just what the doctor would order if asked.

Is it a jar of chutney or a jar of pickle?

There's been an autumn nip in the air today after a few days of sunshine and it seemed appropriate weather to be indoors making pickle with my Red Russian tomatoes.

This variety of tomato is a real whopper and I think the weight has contributed to the fruit splitting on the vine before reddening. A better and more experienced grower than me would undoubtedly have a technique to deal with this, but I decided the best thing would be to harvest them now and turn them into pickle (or is it chutney? What is the difference?)

I've grown quite fond lately of browsing old recipe books produced by churches, Women's Institutes and the like and the latest to come into our house is a booklet published by the Hick Lane circuit of Methodist churches in Batley circa 1955.

It's thanks to those church stalwarts of half a century ago that I spent a happy couple of hours today in the kitchen cutting up and boiling tomatoes, onions, garlic, apples, sultanas and spices. Mind you, the very strong smell of vinegar in the air brought a few complaints from Susan and Dorothy.

I think they knew what they were doing all those years ago. I only hope I have done the cooks and their recipe justice today.

Trail of destruction hits veg

It's been pretty windy here for the last few days and on my tour of inspection in the garden this morning I discovered that a tangle of Cherokee Trail of Tears was hanging loose from one of the wigwam poles. Winding it back up the pole was out of the question so all I could do was tie it tightly at the top. Hope it holds.

The crop, by the way, continues to be impressive and the product excellent to eat - far better tasting than the runner beans. Mind you, the French beans with lemon sauce I cooked the other night failed to find favour with Susan. She thought I'd put too much lemon juice on it, she's not a big fan.

I have decided I hate slugs. What's to like about them? Nothing. They have butchered another of the Red Russian tomatoes that was just coming ripe. In fact, one of the buggers was still on it when I got up in the morning. I might cut my losses with the other Red Russians and make green pickle out of them. I'm glad to say, though, that the other tomatoes seem to be going on well.