Here is a dahlia picture, just to brighten things up. I do grow other things, honest!
I have been trying to set up the webcam on this computer. Wouldn’t it be just brilliant to set it up at the plot and film our progress? I would have to speed it up for web viewing purposes, obviously. But it all depends on overcoming my in-built technophobia. I could be a while…
Charlie in front of the dahlias (Dahlia ‘Fascination’ planted with crimson snapdragons)
Because the allotment is so big, and because I will insist on cutting flowers from the garden, I have been allowed to reserve part of our plot for a cutting patch.
As a big fan of Sarah Raven’s books and arrangements, I’ve wanted my own florist patch for ages. There’s just no space in our garden for blocks of cut-and-come-agains.
the dilemma
One of the things I dislike about annuals – okay, the only thing I dislike – is the dead stage. You’re supposed to leave them to dry and brown and fester in order to collect the seeds in a proper state, which gives the garden some big old brown patches just when the sun is finally shining (ie, now). I have been in the garden today removing enormous sweet-pea wigwams and digging out wizened snapdragons, because I just can’t put up with their miserable dry faces any more.
the solution
Using the allotment for these plants will resolve this problem, since I won’t have to look out of my study window at the dead stuff, and I can cut to my heart’s content, filling (I hope) the house with flowers.
a place of magic
I am dreaming big. My cutting patch should, I think, be a place to sit and rest – as well as being enormously productive for 8 months of the year. I have instructed the deputy gardener to make me a bench and arbour from hazel wood (I know, I know, I am “SUCH a prima donna!”) so that I can sit beneath the perennial sweetpeas, after a morning’s cutting, and read books about flowers. (I have also suggested a wine pit, but this idea doesn’t seem to be floating.)
Anyway, deputy gardener is concerned by my flower dreams and keeps reminding me that the allotment is mainly for food. “Yes, yes,” I waft him away and carry on drawing tiny cosmos symbols. The brilliant thing is that I can sow lots of hardy annuals (the cut-and-come-again types) in September – giving them a nice warm start before winter freezes their growth – which, in other words, means that I am planning to devote my initial digging to the cutting patch, leaving deputy gardener digging a lonely furrow through his raised beds.
shopping list
My cutting wish-list is very long indeed – I want everything from echinacea to heleniums, lilies, gladioli, and – well, it goes on and on. I daresay I will only sow half of the seeds I order, half of which will be neglected after the exciting germination stages. But here are some of my must-haves:
Dahlias. I am in love with dahlias this year, and I don’t think this love will dwindle any time soon. I understand that dahlias have been untrendy for quite some time, but they seem to be making a come-back. As far as I’m concerned, they are wonderful for so many reasons. They are such glamorous, showy plants, producing huge flowers in rich and juicy colours. They come in different heights and with different coloured foliage. Best of all, they love to be cut and will carry on flowering for months on end. After creating a dedicated dahlia bed in the garden this year, I am planning to weave them through other borders to add late interest where the midsummer plants have given up. At the allotment I will be growing those which survive in the vase (as per Sarah Raven’s instructions), and searing the ends in boiling water to boost them a little more.
Cosmos. This floaty, generous, daisy-like annual is easy to grow from seed. It goes in the ground in late spring and flourishes with enough space, turning into a veritable bush. It actually likes to be snipped.
Sweetpea “Winston Churchill”
Sweetpeas. Winston Churchill and Matucana are my favourites from this year – the former a beguiling ruby-crimson (nothing like the podgy man himself) and the latter very heavily scented. I can smell a jug of these as soon as I walk into the room.
Nigella. Our paltry plugs from Suttons have done well since going into the borders, but I hope bulk sowing will produce a field of those pretty ballerina flower-heads. (NB: am boycotting Suttons since rude customer service woman put me off for life)
Snapdragons. In every colour and height – particularly the velvet red type that we grew this year for the borders. Combine with orange and deep purple.
Gypsophilia. Oh but this is slow! I am growing this perennial from seed, since — ooh, spring — and it’s about an inch tall. I do wonder whether it will be fully-grown by next summer, but here’s hoping – for the perfect, floaty background to my solid blooms.
Bulbs: For early spring cheer. Anemone coronaria (the taller type), Longiflorum Lilies, Fritillaria, and an array of Lily-flowered Tulips (even if they last about ten seconds in water).
There are still 9 whole days before we pay the first rent on our plot, so yes, probably. But the deputy gardener and are ambitiously planning to get the plot into production as soon as possible.
Very good, you may think; at least, you might think that until you actually see the said plot.
Not only is it huge (I mean six or seven times the size of our garden), but it’s also covered in weeds. For years, it has been a vast, devoted cabbage patch.
So yes, we may be overestimating our weeding powers. We are ridiculously keen at this point. Still, we have recruited a team of dedicated weeders and a fierce dog, and we’re not afraid of the Roundup gun, if it comes to that.
So we’ve been shopping. The idea is to prepare a couple of beds by the end of September, ready for sowing our first crops, and getting the plot productive as soon as humanly possible. Above is just some of the loot!
We also have a selection of seeds from the wonderful Heritage Library, the annual seeds for my cutting garden (which are in a box, in the shed, guarded by spiders), plus a few lettuce and bean seeds leftover from this summer.
Wish us luck – we’ll probably be back here in four weeks’ time with our heads in our blistered hands.
This is our new blog. I will mainly be updating it, with regular interceptions from the junior gardener and the destructive canine.
I thought I should explain the story so far. We don’t get our hands on the allotment until September, but we are counting down. We have already made some covert trips to the plot, tried to measure it by paces, and scribbled copious plans (which are currently lying all over the house).
A little about the plot we’re due to inherit. It is happily situated in the corner of an allotment field in a village in Devon, where we live. We are very fortunate to be inheriting this plot (despite the weeds) since it comes complete with its own corner gate, and a splendid car-port (ahem), even if this is presently inhabited by a rusty trailer and other junk.
The plot is on a south-facing slope. It is also subjected to a LOT of wind, and I’m not talking about the other plot-holders. It commands fantastic views (especially in winter) across the valley. There’s no water or electricity, but there is a chestnut-coloured horse living in the field behind our plot. I have no idea how these factors might contribute to or hinder our success, but they will definitely be blamed for all our failures.
Not from the allotment, but these are our first beans – EVER! They’re poetically named Mrs Fearne’s Purple Flowering Beans, and they come from the Heritage Seed Library, which conserves varieties of vegetable from the history books. We’ve grown them in a large terracotta pot on the patio – they were planted in April but are positively soaring upwards at the moment. I am watching the little babes carefully so I can pick and steam them the very second they’re ready.
The plants (two out of three germinated) are obviously late bloomers, so I’m hoping for a few months of cropping, and will try to take a note of the weight of beans we pick. These and the sweetpeas have done exceptionally well for us in the garden, so they will be emigrating to the plot next year – where we can grow more and worry less about ugly brown seedpods. Our cottage garden is too small to be swamped with beans!
