Comfrey, basil, knitted swimsuits and the WRONG bike.

Hello Friends!

First, a quick thank you for all your kind comments and emails about Wednesday’s letter. I’m so glad that what I wrote resonated with so many of you. The work continues, and now, back to gardening!

The garden is fattening up and bursting forth. I’m getting a lovely chunky jam-jar of sweet peas every other day and I am LOVING the rain that has appeared…drumming down consistently. I’m a complete pluviophile, and rain always, always calms me down. It’s something to do with the sound, but also the fact that the garden can drink. I adore the lovely weather we had in May (and thank heavens for it, because it made lock-down so much easier) but there’s not getting away from the fact that May’s level of heat was WRONG. Climate change is REAL and yes, lovely weather is cheering and all that, but without any rain or coolness our gardens become parched. Watering is meditative, but there is a certain lingering anxiety underpinning it. 

Here are my five minute exploits this week…I hope setting them down here is helpful to some who may be finding the whole gardening thing too much to handle, or who don’t know where to start.

Monday

I’m really super-cross with my Rotter. There are many reasons (shall I go into them? Perhaps not) but the big one right now is that way back in time, at the beginning of lockdown, I asked him to get me an exercise bike. This is because one of the things that keeps me ‘sane’ is to get on a stationary bike and listen to my favourite American spinning instructors tell me that they love me (they don’t even see me) and that I’m worth it (they don’t know how awful I am) and that they want me on their team (they really, absolutely bloody well don’t). I used to run in order to get out of my own head but then my ankles began betraying me, and now the only thing I can do that gives me the endorphin thingy AND doesn’t mess up my ankles is being on a bike. My Rotter is one of those people who has an actual real live bike and goes off for hours at a time on it (I wonder why?), wearing a strange padded swimsuit that looks exactly the same as that worn by my Grandaddy when he would go swimming in the Irish sea. Here he is above on Rhosneigr beach with my uncle Edmund. Aren’t they handsome?

Okay so my Rotter wears one of these things, but his is made of lycra, rather than wool and his has PADDING underneath for unmentionable things. He got me a bike, but it wasn’t the bike I asked for…. I just want to listen to my sweet gay spinning instructor and to Britney and KNOW THAT I AM WORTH IT..I’m entirely uninterested in technique or WATTS produced…Of course, he bought the stationary bike that he wanted – the geek one, rather than the rather more commercial one that I requested and I am …well, I am PISSED OFF. The other thing about this bike, is that it lives in my shed…MY shed, friends. So there’s been a lot of LOVING and LOATHING going on…because it’s not what I wanted (a bike with a dial in the centre that could support me out of the saddle), but it’s possibly BETTER than what I wanted, because a bike that supports someone out of the saddle doesn’t echo real life, so in order to tap into the BETTER I have to do some work, and let go of some annoyance…and that’s hard. All this is to say that I love him, I love him so much, and he’s so annoying..and etc.

I refuse the bike experience and start sweeping…from the ‘top’ of the garden to the bottom…sweeping is marvellous…honestly friends, it’s MARVELLOUS … I’ve said it before, but just sweeping one small area will change most things. I think it’s pretty important to build sweeping ‘off’ areas into the garden, so that you don’t always have to do the dustpan and brush thing…you can just sweep the detritus into a flowerbed (where it will be broken down and add to the soil). This means that quick, emergency sweeping is possible too. 

Comfrey…there is also comfrey to be chopped. For those new to the concept of make-your-own fertiliser, I would urge you to have a stab at making a space for comfrey in your lives…here is the lowdown:

Comfrey is really, really good at tapping the earth for its nutrients, storing high quantities of nitrogen, potassium and phosphorus within its leaves and roots. It has been used for centuries, not just as a fertiliser, but also as a herbal medicine and salve. You can of course buy concentrated comfrey liquid for your plants, (and for a small garden, this is a great option), but if you have the space, then it’s definitely worth considering planting some in your own garden. The sterile cultivar so chicly named ‘Bocking 14’ is the one to go for here, as it doesn’t seed everywhere, but because of that, you’ll need to get hold of plants grown from root cuttings, (they are all over ebay). This plant can spread to 30 inches and grows to around 40 inches high – just the thing to conceal a compost heap or similar. It’s rather beautiful, in a relaxed sort of way, with very pretty flowers that bees adore. Harvest the leaves by chopping them about 3 inches above the ground. The plant will re-grow from the crown. Pack a bucket  with leaves, weigh them down with a brick, put a lid on everything, because it is going to stink, and wait. The resulting liquid, which you should periodically strain into a bottle, is the concentrated liquid feed, which you can dilute, (about 1 part feed to 20 parts water) and add to any and all of your plants for an instant boost. The other option of course, if you are sensitive to stink (and I am) is to put the leaves directly onto the ground as a mulch. They break down fast.

Tuesday

Three children at home all day today, and we wade through column addition (why is it so hard to watch small people getting stuff wrong? Seriously I would love anybody’s insight into this)…I have to prevent myself from combusting with rage as my six year old (soon-to-be-seven-year-old) struggles with simple addition. There is the worry behind the frustration of course…what’s WRONG with him? but there is also ALL the compassion because I remember being this age. I remember being involved with things entirely unrelated to mathematics (dolls houses probably, and how I was going to make a mould for plaster casted fireplaces…yes, I was THAT child) and thinking about those things, mid-lesson, and losing my way entirely. And I think the same thing is happening here…he is thinking about lego, and dragons, and how fast he can run, and STICKY PISTONS (which probably deserve their own post to be honest). 

We defect to the woods in the afternoon. We have some woods near us, that connect to Richmond Park. Being beneath that canopy makes the world better and we emerge better people than we went in. I am unable to resist dropping in to the newly re-opened big shed garden centre…completely deserted, as if it had opened for me alone. I imagine this must be what it’s like to be one of those Kardashians, for whom businesses close entire shops so they can browse in peace…recommended. I buy some sad old petunias…that’s all there is. I actually prefer calibrachoa, which are more floriferous, but beggars can’t be choosers, so I opt for these rather washed out pink specimens that I hope, with some good care from yours truly, will become gaudier by the minute. I plant them immediately, into two of my remaining pots, and I’m very glad about it too. I hook the pots up to my drip-feed watering system which I am ALWAYS glad that I bothered to set up (sponsored post made me do it). It has been a complete joy ever since. Recommended. The evening is punctuated by the disarming sight of my youngest emerging from the shower with only half an eyebrow. I feel physically sick at the thought of a razor so close to her eye and realise that I should probably still be supervising bath time.

I get on the bike, determined to hate it, and hate it, I do.

Wednesday

Tomorrow my little boy will be seven. I’m not sure what it is about seven, but it feels to me, as a mother, like a momentous milestone. Add to this how very much he was wanted (and the loss which preceded him) and one can’t help feeling entirely filled up with joy with this boy. He is not like the girls who are worldly and show a knowingness beyond their years…he is more child-like, completely in his own world and desperately sensitive to certain noises (we know that one don’t we friends!) I leave him to his lego and wrap up MORE lego as the rain thunders down reassuringly. 

I come downstairs to find the most enormous lasagne I have ever met sitting in the kitchen, along with a loaf of the most perfect sourdough, from my beautiful neighbour Fran (check out @cookbookfestiv1 where she is interviewing brilliant people every day). The lasagne is because Rotter helped her with her internet connection (this is why I MARRIED him, reader)…everyone needs at least ONE skill, and Rotter’s skill, is fixing the internet. 

I pinch out the basil seedlings, started a while ago, and ready now to be thinned and pinched. I love the way that gardening changes you…one moment you think that basil micro greens will be the only way you will EVER make it work, and the next, after a few years of doing it this way, decide you are ready to thin and pinch out, to create mature plants…that’s growth my friends, and it’s something you only get with age, and a few grey hairs. I love basil…we usually have a pot on the go at any time throughout the year, and I guess that means we rather spoil ourselves with it. It takes that type of nonchalance to chance ones arm and do something different…and so that’s what I’m doing right now, thinning the pot-full of basil and pinching out the tips, and next week I shall feed…see where that gets me.

I go and look at the bike and climb on it again. It strikes me that if I can do something different with the basil then I ought to be able to make it work with the bike. Rotter comes out to set me up with all sorts of tech that he feels will make the transition easier. He shows me how to ride out of the saddle (it’s not rocket science friends…you just bloody well pedal harder). He sweetly doesn’t say this, but I know it, and I remain cross about it…I have to work harder and experience discomfort! How very DARE he? 

Thursday

Small boy gets lots of lego and love. Dear friends let their children come over for distanced play in the garden, during which time I sandwich the quilt I’ve been making…starting from the centre and working outwards with the safety pins, attaching the three elements of the thing together, and wondering all the while how I will quilt it (my favourite part of the process)…I’m not a piecing person…I’m a quilting person. I love the slow steady process of a tiny running stitch. I contemplate a stitch-in-the-ditch technique on this sixteen-patch extravaganza but on closer inspection I realise this will never work…the blocks are spectacularly uneven…corners don’t match..it just ain’t gonna work. The children have an hour-long water fight which involves forty-eight changes of clothing and some tears. I leave them to it, laughing my head off at the truly furious cries of “I HATE YOU! I’LL MAKE YOU PAY FOR THIS!” and comforting the small people who come to me, soaking wet, before instructing them with my favourite tactics and ambush-instructions. 

Our beautiful neighbours come out with bunting to sing happy birthday to my boy. It’s hard not to cry, because these people have become so precious, and I am more grateful to them than I can possibly express. It’s not just about lasagne and sourdough…it’s knowing that a community is holding you in their minds and hearts.

I get on the bike again and swear my way through fifteen minutes of trying to get to grips with a new thing. Still hate it but HINT OF A SMILE friends.

No gardening

Friday

I climb up an a-frame ladder to tackle the clematis that is threatening to engulf my apple tree. It is raining and I slip, precariously on the top step, which gives me such a fright that I become scared of doing any more. These types of early flowering evergreen clematis need chopping in order to keep them within bounds, and that’s what I’m doing, a little late…but better late than never. I want to flag here, the very real and PERFECTLY OKAY desire to HAVE SOMEONE DO THE THING FOR YOU. Rotter will be dealing with this tomorrow, but if I didn’t own a Rotter, then I’d try to outsource the thing, because it’s not worth breaking your neck over this stuff.

I look at the garden and make a promise to myself that I will remove the struggling sweet peas that I planted into containers far too small…what was I thinking? They are fine, but, well, struggling and frankly not giving me any bang for my buck. They'll come out and be replaced with something rather more permanent thank you very much. Next year I’ll be planting my sweet peas into massive galvanised dustbins. 

Still furious about this WRONG bike, and I explain to Rotter that I must be ALLOWED to be furious for a while, that he must take it TOTALLY SERIOUSLY when I am cross about it, but that he must also know that I am going to work with it, and it will be FINE….but he must understand I am STILL VERY CROSS. He nods, smiling and I get on the bike and commune with Lady Gaga, and listen to the lady telling me that I MATTER. 

Here are some things (other than just enjoying yourselves) you might want to consider in the garden this weekend or next week:

Mowing – now that it has rained, I’ll be mowing again, around the edges of my lawn (I’m letting the middle bit grow long…a great way to encourage more wildlife into the garden and also the best way to avoid parched grass should the weather heat up again.

Staking – Staking is a bit like tying in…it makes the world of long-term difference to your garden. I’ll write a blog on this next week (god knows when), but essentially it’s all about preventing future flop, and involves anything from twiggy prunings to bamboo canes and string, plunged into the ground in order to support your plants. There is, of course also the Chelsea chop, which you can still carry out on many plants to delay flowering and make them stockier and therefore less needy in terms of support.

Box clipping – I started this endeavour rather early this year, but now’s a good time to do it, and also check for darstardly caterpillars of course.

Keep watering, deadheading, feeding and tying in…these are the most important things.

X Laetitia