Gardening Time

 That’s my first day of jury service done, and as everyone should know, the first rule of jury service is – you do not talk about jury service. Today involved a lot of waiting around – and in the end, I wasn’t one of the chosen few. Phew!

I’m let off for tomorrow, too, which is just as well because Kerry Sister is Up North, and I will spend some time with her. I'm looking forward to it.

With her visit in mind, I had ventured out to the polytunnel on Sunday - my first proper working day there since Storm Eowyn ripped the cover off the middle bay. I wanted to tidy up my overwintered perennials in the hope that she’d take some off my hands.

Bert was working there too, and as usual was telling me about all the jobs I could be doing.

Those Sweet William could do with being planted out.

That honeysuckle needs cutting back. You could do that.

He always does this. I told him he was overwhelming me. He said I just don’t like being told what to do. I disagreed. However, after giving it some further thought, I realised we were both right - I did feel overwhelmed, and I definitely don’t like being told what to do.

How's Bert?

Bert and Jess

How's Bert, asks Mr B who I hadn't been speaking to in ages. It was an online conversation and while it was going on, Mr C chimes in on a separate convo. Earlier in the day, I'd commented on a picture he'd posted of a butterfly on a bush. I was trying to be smart and wrote,

Very nice, Vanessa atalanta on Buddleja globosa.

I do like showing off my binary nomenclature.

Then Mr C reminded me that I'd given him the buddleja. It was grown from a cutting taken from my mother's garden. Matty's buddleja came from a cutting taken from my garden when we lived in a previous house and that bush was grown from a cutting taken from Clint's father's house in Tullygarley over thirty years ago. It sure got around.

While all this was going on I spotted the Bert photograph on the Mr C's timeline. I think it answers Mr B's question.

Rusty and the Broad Beans

Free to good home, one crabbit kune kune pig. he took advantage of a thirty-minute window, squeezed his fat ass down a ditch and up through a hole in the hedge and into the polytunnel. He wasn't spotted until he was standing on the new lawn pondering crashing through my borders. We had a visitor, Richard who remarked,

Is piggy supposed to be in the garden?

Oh, Christ!

I said, and...

I bet he's been in the polytunnel!

And while Richard and Bert tried to drive him off the garden I rushed to check on the vegetables in the tunnel.

It was my sobbing that interrupted their efforts and they left Rusty to see what had happened. The broad beans, all three beds were destroyed, the sweetcorn ploughed through and the beetroot plugs I'd carefully planted this morning were all trodden into the ground.

While Richard comforted me (Bert was useless) and helped me repair the damage to the sweetcorn, Bert went back to deal with the unruly pig only to find him in our actual home interfering with and overturning all the dog bowls. Eventually, he managed to get the rotten pig into his pen but it wasn't easy.

It was so disheartening. All the work that Zoe and I put into growing vegetables and that fucker can ruin it all in a matter of minutes. Getting pet pigs is probably one of the biggest mistakes we've ever made. They're only cute for about five minutes.

I'm all for fencing the vegetable area but Bert is not one bit supportive of that idea. He is very opposed to fencing for some reason which is why the pigs can come and go as they please in the first place!

I spent ages last week repairing the damage to the beans from the first pig attack and manage to save about half of them. A waste of time.

So, yet again, does anyone want a pig? Still free but also ugly, unmanageable and probably doesn't even taste very nice.

The Night Before Norfolk

Well, here we are - the night before I leave for deepest Norfolk. I didn't plant the daffodil bulbs or rack the wine. I think it's safe to assume that both of these tasks can be postponed for ten days or so.

I did plant the garlic though it wasn't a straightforward task. You see there is this little white hen who can escape her enclosure even though the surrounds are more than eight foot high. I think she flies onto the branch of a tree and from there launches herself over the fence. From then on she does fun things like root through the compost heap, lay eggs in secret, private places, nibble Nelly's chard and uproot her leeks.

Evie finds the secret nest (photo by Zoe)

So I planted about half the garlic and went back to the house for more cloves and a wee coffee. And when I got back there was the little white hen who had unplanted it. So a job that should have taken an hour took nearer two for then I had to build an intricate cage around the bed to prevent further incursions. The little white hen tried to blame the damage on the polytunnel robin but I knew that was a lie. Little robins couldn't do that much mischief in so short a time.

Today I started packing and when I got bored with that the girls and I went out to pick damsons. I thought they were over but the Wee came round (just back from four weeks in Vietnam) and informed us that he'd spent the morning making damson jam. Of course, I'll not be making jam as wine is far nicer. We got about six pounds from the tree. Enough for twelve bottles of wine.

Martha picking damsons

From tomorrow I'll be away from the keyboard. I haven't decided if I'm going to take my iPad. Maybe not. A week away from the internet might be good.

The Daily Photograph 14

Freezing cold day. It is supposed to be Spring dammit! My poor Thalias were cruelly buffeted by Arctic winds and blasted with sleet. Needless to say I did not do much in the garden except a bit of watering in the tunnel, a bit of basil potting on and, as always, made a list.

The pigs were only out for a few hours. They hate cold weather and would far rather lie snuffling in a bed of straw in their cosy warm shed. So no photograph today.

Just tunnel pictures. Here they are...

Kale. Going to seed. We feed it to the cows when it gets like this.

 Honesty. On Zoe's bit of the tunnel.

 Peach blossom beginning to fade. The pollinators were in so fingers crossed for a better crop than last year.

List of recent sowings.

Zoe's bit. The willow twigs are to keep cats and dogs off.

Bad Books

It's been a bad week for books at Nellybert's. The first casualty was White Teeth by Zadie Smith. This book has been languishing in my Must Read pile for ten years or more until I decided it might be a good idea to keep a few books in the polytunnel and the tree house (my outdoor rooms) just in case I happened to be in either place and fancied a relaxing read. I've yet to bring books to the tree house but I did gather up White Teeth and took it to the tunnel. It wasn't the slightest bit what I expected and although it is a slow process I'm rather enjoying it. But the tunnel isn't the best place for books. It gets hot in there and pages curl up. No matter. I've decided to compost it when I've finished it. It has been a week now and I'm only half way through it. The book has been thoroughly watered several times and it looks a state but still readable. Note to self. Don't bring books I want to keep to that dirty, hot and humid place.

Keep Well Watered

The kitchen table isn't a safe place for books either. Especially if Bert is around. The other day I found him using one of Martha and Evie's favourite books as a plate to spread plum jam on toast. I snatched it from him before any harm was done.

Avoid Plum Jam

And only today I left How To Grow Food In Your Polytunnel All Year Round on the table after checking the correct spacing for planting sweetcorn plugs. When I returned from my planting task I noticed that the book was covered in breadcrumbs and bits of cheese. I dusted it off and went to put it away. It was then I saw the two cuts in the cover. Someone (Bert) had sliced a fresh crusty loaf on it. We do have cutting boards but I expect the book was handy. He (Bert) is in my Bad Books for that volume is my gardening bible and it cost me £10.95! Bert is every bit as bad as Joffrey Baratheon that time Joffrey used his Valyrian steel sword Widow's Wail to slice to shreds the rare and precious volume that his Uncle Tyrion had just presented as a wedding gift. Well maybe not quite as bad as that.

Not A Bread Board

Not A Book Lover

The Horticulturist's Apprentice

Martha takes her duties as trainee horticulturist seriously. Here she is testing strawberries. She also tested blueberries but we don't have a photograph as we were too busy testing them ourselves.

Martha surveys the vegetable plot. She likes to confuse the senior gardeners by switching labels around. She thinks that if we can't tell a turnip from a carrot by now we should get ourselves another occupation.

She casts her eye over Bert's clematis to ensure that they are ready for selling on.

Here we find the little gardener potting on some of Great-granny's house plants. This job was seriously overdue and it took Martha's encouragement for Granny Nelly to get a wriggle on!

A Morning Cuppa

A morning cuppa
Originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

You know how boys like to sleep out in summer in tents on the lawn?

Last night Bert decided to do that. But why bother erecting a tent when he's already got three big permanent tents otherwise known as polytunnels.

It's not the first time he's slept in a polytunnel. One lovely summer day a few years ago he curled up for a nap in a cosy nest of horticultural fleece. He was awakened some time later by the nudge of a sensible laced up shoe (not Ganching's.) He looked up to see a concerned looking, seventy plus, potential clematis buyer looking down at him. 'Oh thank goodness,' she said 'You gave me a scare. I thought you were dead.'