Grey Days

 As I write, the rain is beating against the windows and the view is of a cold and pretty soggy world. I haven't worked up enough `go' to take the dog for a walk and he has had to do with a ball thrown across the lounge (not a brilliant idea, since I now have ball-shaped splodges on the carpet, the wall, the door...) The weather is grim and the country-wide Covid news pretty grim too. It can be tempting to be downright negative! Fortunately, there is always something fantastic out there if you stop long enough to look.

The birds, for one. Despite the rain, my garden is absolutely teeming with birds. I put food out sporadically, but my neighbour has bird feeders (with actual food!), so I suspect I might be benefiting from his collateral. While neither birds nor neighbour seem to mind that I am cashing in, I'm enjoying every moment. There are still wood pigeons about,( mostly sitting mournfully and ridiculously in the rain) but a pair of ring-necked doves have become regular visitors to the lawn. My favourites, the blackbirds are taking full advantage of the fruit-laden crab apple tree, as are the blue tits. And we seem to have a sudden surge in the population of chaffinches. Months ago, I was terrorised by an especially territorial chaffinch who took umbrage whenever he saw his own reflection (car wing mirrors, windows, sliding doors, conservatory, any window...) and threw himself against all surfaces with great gusto. My car had bags over the wing mirrors for days and I spent a large proportion of my time shooing away the feisty little bird. I can only imagine that his territorial ambitions were realised, because I now seem to have more chaffinches about than I can count. I'm not sure what they will do when the weather gets colder, since I've never had the opportunity to notice before. Anyone?

The weather has limited my garden activities (yes, I know, I'm clearly not dedicated enough) but I have decided to try winter-sown crops this year. Despite spinach being a roaring success in previous years, the slugs have stripped every plant back to a few skeletal stalks. I never actually see a slug, so I must assume that these are very particular stealth slugs. No matter - they appear to not like kale, so I have something green and leafy to pick. I also threw in the last of the lettuce seeds and now have three lettuce plants that seem to be happily avoiding slug attention. The miracle butternut (the last survivor of seeds sown from a supermarket butternut) has produced two reasonably sized fruits and I am now just waiting for them to take on butternut colouring before I harvest them. The great excitement has been the planting of onions. I put them in about two weeks ago and there are already some strong stalks peeping up from the trenches  - so cause for optimism. I have also planted leeks, although I must admit to finding leeks a bit of a challenge in the past. They do grow, but are so much slower than I imagined they would be. And then my first crop was so gritty that it barely seemed worth the effort. HOWEVER, by being a lazy gardener and not pulling them out, I discovered that they create the most gorgeous flowers, which look lovely cut, even if they do smell a little oniony. The bees also love them. So I have to admit that the leeks are there more for flowers than eating - although I suppose I will think again when they are actually eating size.

Two chilli plants, grown from seed as a father's day present in June, seem to be doing well in the greenhouse - so maybe there will be some chillies soon. I had one pepper plant in my veg patch that was looking increasing miserable, so I have dug that up and put it in a pot in the greenhouse too. It remains to be seen whether I have killed it or not.

One of the nice things about the approaching winter is that it is the season to order (and plant) bare-root trees. I have cherry ambitions this year, but have been beguiled by advertisements of dwarf fruit trees that can be grown in pots. A lemon tree looks extremely tempting, with many boasting hardiness to -5 degrees. Hmmm - decisions.

So good things to look forward too, even if it is wet and cold.

Talking of good things: one of the positive outcomes of this really strange year is the way that so many communities have come together. I have to admit to not really being a community type. Although I have nothing against participation, I've never really felt inclined to join in, but this year has made me re-evaluate. In my rather small village, I have to give a shout-out to the pub. The Fox has emerged as the hub of our community. In the worst days of lockdown, The Fox took the initiative to open a community shop and has continued to offer online pub-quizzes, takeaways and, more lately, the ability to get out in a safe and regulated environment. In short - somewhere for locals (just family bubbles at the moment) to feel some sense of normality. They are even the initiative behind the socially distanced `pumpkin trail' planned for Halloween this year. 

I am sure that there are pubs, coffee shops and restaurants all over the country (and the world) that have become as important to their communities in ways that we didn't really appreciate before now. I know that right now, here in the UK, the hospitality industry is rising to the challenge of providing low income children with meals over the holidays. I take my hat off to every single establishment which, like the Fox, has held their community together over the last months.

Am I still a solo player? Well, I hope I am on my way to becoming more useful. I attended my local council meeting this month and hope to do so again. Not only could I air my own concerns, but it was good to see what is happening in my community over all. I appreciate that I live in a small rural environment, but I really think that everyone should do the same (at least every now and again). We all want a better world. I think we might need to participate more in the moulding of our communities if this better world is to be achieved.

So how's that for a cold and wet morning? Birds, veg and a soap box too!

And pumpkins!

( As an aside: we got our pumpkins from Hatter's Farm in Takely. They have a pumpkin cannon - fabulous fun!)

Stay safe, everyone!

Green tomatoes and red leaves

 A few days ago, I sent my daughter out to pick all the remaining green tomatoes. The season has ended quite abruptly and it was clear that no more would ripen. I watched her for a while. She stood carefully in the muddy veggie patch and tentatively picked a couple in full view. Irked, I joined her and picked all the ones that drooped on dropped stems and hid behind leaves.

`If we lived 200 hundred years ago, we'd be reliant on every tomato we could pick!' I preached.

My daughter picked another tomato. `We would definitely survive,' she said, in a blatant attempt to make me feel proud of my efforts.

Well, no. If my veggie patch was the difference between surviving and starvation, I don't think the odds would be particularly good. There is, however, something enormously satisfying about growing and eating your own produce. At this time of the year, this satisfaction is augmented by preserving.

A bumper crop of tomatoes have meant that I have been able to bottle several efforts of jam, pickle and chutney, the last of which was made from the afore-mentioned green tomatoes. The green tomatoes are a particular triumph as, without the effort of making them into chutney, they would have gone to waste. And wasting all that summer work in getting them to grow in the first place would have been really irritating!

Recipes for green tomato chutney are easy enough to find and equally easy to adapt. This particular batch is extra hot, because I couldn't find my frozen chopped chilli (don't ask) and so added ground chilli and black pepper. Then I found where I had put the frozen chilli...

Never mind, I am sure it will add some (considerable) warmth to many a winter meal. When it has matured for a bit.... and maybe mellowed.

In the last week, I have also had my usual October skirmish with crab apple jelly. As mentioned before, crab apples are absolutely delicious as jelly, jam and gin, but they are a bit of a faff* to sort out. The making of jelly requires patience, which I am notoriously low on. Which explains why I will shortly be re-boiling my `jelly' in order to have it set. And this is ok - because it has become a sort-of tradition in my Autumn calendar.

Despite the colder days, I love Autumn. I have a soft spot for trees and the change of seasons allows such a gorgeous display. My absolute favourite is when the sun breaks through and the red and gold of Autumn leaves shimmer against a dark cloud background. Beautiful.

My own garden has an Autumn wonder of its own. The previous owners (or maybe the ones previous to them) planted two Virginia Creepers - one that creeps over the workshop and back hedge, and one on a trellis near the conservatory. My gardening-guru friend tut-tutted knowingly when she first saw them, advising me that it might be best to pull them out. And, in many ways, she had a point. The Virginia Creeper must have been the inspiration for the triffid. It grows at an astonishing speed from Spring to late Summer, colonising anything it can get its tendrils on. I spend hours every year pulling off errant tendrils that have invaded the veg patch, crept between boards and tiles and thrown themselves into the water butts.

But in the summer, it creates a dense roof to the trellis - so dense that we have eaten dinner in the rain beneath it - while providing a cool spot and a place for birds to nest. In the Autumn, it is simply stunning.

Come Autumn
And the Virginia Creeper
Turns to flame –
Fire catching and falling
In a sun gone sparse.
Glorious,
It bleeds across trellis
And roof-edges,
Until the gusts
Send leaves sparking, falling.

(From: Virginia Creeper; Fieldsong; Mandy Whyman; 2020)

I don't know why, but I find Autumn extremely optimistic. Its when the preparations are made for the next year of sowing and growing. Its a time when we assess the year that is almost done (thank goodness, in the case of 2020!) and dream of all that we will do when the Spring comes again.

Happy October, everyone!

* faff - a great deal of ineffective activity