54 - Gardeners are peaceful people!

 Whilst the terrible news from Ukraine is dominating the media I am making plans to move the pallets from my risky gazebo to make my new composting heap.

My gazebo is demolished  

That sequence of  awful storms has not even left us, and the broken glass is still in some of the veg beds, and suddenly we are confronted with a war on European soil. Who would have thought this could still be possible in 2022? 

So, yes, I am naive. Megalomanics are amongst us, and the terrifying truth is some of them have access to nukes. I know, I know.

But my belief is that gardeners are peaceful people, so what the world needs is more gardeners!

People who sow seeds and plant greenery are people believing in a future, and who nourish the soil and cherish nature and realise the worth of taking care of the earth we share with plants and animals. Throwing bombs on other people is not in our DNA.

Or am I naive yet again?

Politics do interest me, but my days of marching are long past, and I tend to keep politics far from my blog and Instagram posts. And yet...

And yet I find I cannot keep quiet this time. I am outraged by Putin's nerve to think he can get away with invading Ukraine. And terribly sad at the same time. I saw an older woman in some nameless town there rushing across the street with her dog, trying to find shelter and crying out in panic "where can I go?" , and my heart broke for her. That could be me. That could be us. 

End of rant. I will turn to my garden for solace.

Today I broke down my half finished gazebo and turned it into two composting containers. And I used organic seaweed fertiliser on my blue-pink flowerbed. I will not do the other beds, so that I can see the difference. And tomorrow I will place my stained obelisks in situ, so roses can climb up them.  But: 'Anyone can love a rose,  but it takes a lot to love a leaf. It's ordinary to love the beautiful, but it's beautiful to love the ordinary.' (M.J. Korvan)

I wish you a lovely gardening weekend.

Read more about my gardens on Instagram@songsmith2962 

53 - Gales!!! And an angel on the roof of my greenhouse.

 The first was anon, the second Corrie, the third was named Dudley. The fourth Eunice. And the one today?

 Who cares what their names are? The sad fact is there were 5 huge storms within the space of one week. And if this is what will be our new normal the coming years, I don't think I will be able to fulfill all my gardening dreams but will have to rethink some of them.

Eunice especially was horrendous!

At home in my new built flat, all specifications ticked, everything moaned, creacked, clattered and I could not sleep due to the gusts of over 140 km/h screaming past my balcony. I could not sleep full stop! My greenhouse, my greenhouse, damn me for building that shoddy pallet gazebo in front of it, was all I could think about.

In 1990 I experienced from up close what a South-Westerly gale can do. I lived right on the Haringvliet then, close to where it ends up in the North Sea, and below the dyke were old poplars on a lawn, with trunks of at least a meter in diameter. Dogs need walkies, even during gales, so I was out with my old dog (who was then a very young dog), but could not keep to my feet on the dyke, so had walked down to shelter below it, and even there I had trouble keeping upright. Suddenly I heard a loud sound like a whip splintering wood, and to my consternation I saw that 5 of the poplars had been sheared off like match-sticks at three meters above ground level. Doggie and I ran back to the house, certain we would feel the next tree hitting us any minute. Needless to say we lived to tell the tale. But I have great respect for and not a little fear of the strength of wind since then.

So. There was a lot of damage on the allotments this morning, I saw entire greenhouses blown to smithereens, including that of my next door neighbour on the South side. Whilst I was fishing the shards of glass from my pond and garden, I decided that the gazebo has to go. I do not want another sleepless night worrying about it.

And this evening I will light a candle to the Greenhouse Angel who protected mine!

Although...yet another storm today...Sunday. I am quite sick and tired of them by now. Hope my greenhouse is okay, here we go again!

You can read more about my gardens on Instagram@songsmith2962 

52 - Chores, is there ever an end to them?

 No, fortunately not!

The edge of my plot

When my mother ordered me to clean the rabbit hutch, my 10 year old self moaned, but now that I have reached the age of a grandmother my heart lifts when it is time to visit my allotment garden, and I think of all the chores waiting there. It is like going to visit my best friend.

Topping up the frog pond, fun! Turning the valve of my water tank too far and thus topping up my boots with freezing water...not so much, but hey, it's all gardening, so it's part of my happy experience. And especially today, when the sun shows itself after a rare frosty night and the temperature in the greenhouse was high enough to shed my coat. 

Talking about that pond, some animal (cat?) had played around with my pristine pebbles, they were spread out in a no doubt pleasing pattern to them. I scraped them back to where they belong, all the while thinking about a quote by my favourite quote writer, R.W. Emerson: " The mind, once stretched by a new idea, never returns to its original dimensions". Ai, hope that does not apply to the mind of that cat (?), otherwise I can look forward to pebble art for the foreseeable future.

Ice, ice, baby!

Washing the greenhouse windows, rewarding! The old man who built it had whitewashed them before he stopped gardening, but that white coat had turned green with algae, not a pretty sight. I am slowly removing it, 3 windows at a time. So more splashing with freezing water involved, not that my already soaked socks minded. I am very grateful to that man by the way, for it turns out he planted many spring bulbs (as well as enough veg to feed the entire town). They are shooting up everywhere: around the greenhouse, under the apple trees, and in the verge of the ditch, next to the rhubarb which is sending up exciting red knobs.

Surrounded as I am by the 'We're Strictly Veg' allotmenteers, it's touching to see those cheerful flowers waving in the wind.

Narcisii a plenty

Last night's frost worried me (slightly), as I took a risk in planting up in my pond edge already, but everything looked fine this morning. And to be fair, I did pick flowers which look delicate but are quite robust, really, like campanula, violets and digitalis. I'll complement them with creeping geraniums as soon as they can be planted. Which in my country means after May 15th, otherwise you are asking for garden disaster. Or for Murphy to pay you another visit. I broke in to my own shed, by the way (SYM!), by means of industrial steel cutters.

More about my gardens on Instagram @songsmith2962 

51 - Being a crazy/genius allotmenteer

 Or plot, vegpatch, garden, fantasy, mistake...you take your pick!

I have written my last 40 or so blogs in my native language, Dutch, and kindly asked all you English speakers to use the provided translator button, but an English blogpost is called for, I think.

The reason for this is simple: this blog is an extra for my followers on Instagram, and 99% of those read English.

So....What's with the allotment and what's all this about my green yearnings?

I teach vocational college English for a living, usually with satisfaction, but I don't have to tell you it is a demanding and thus extremely tiring job. I also don't have to tell you repeated lockdowns have only made my job more exhausting, and my need for real lasting relaxation very urgent indeed! So I was ecstatic when I was number one on the waiting list for an allotment in June 2021, or a volkstuin as we call it over here. No water, no electricity, surrounded by grizzled old (but very sweet) geezers, but my piece of heaven all the same. And quite large: 33x10 m. It has a large shed and a large greenhouse, and when I took it over it was chockablock with beans, onions, potatoes, tomatoes and strawberries. Heaven!

Five days later I was launched by my darling doggie and broke my humerus (upper arm to you), and that was that. Straight from heaven to hell, bam! For it could not be set, and I was in terrible pain and could not sleep in my bed for months.

The veg rotted away before my eyes, awful to behold, but thankfully a colleague took pity on me and forked the potatoes and onions out of the soil.

By mid-August I was weeding with my left hand though and by September I planted my first perennials one-handedly.

My right arm is an only partially functioning pain in the butt to this day, but hey-ho, who cares, I have dug a frog pond with it (twice...) and am in the process of building a gazebo out of pallets. And what was a bare plot in October is now filled for 3 quarters with perennial flowers and shrubs, loads of them gifted by those old geezers.

My greenhouse is filled with seedlings, and I am cleaning the windows in stages, so my future tomatoes, paprikas, chillies and cucumbers will have plenty of light. I have renamed the garden Hunky Dory,  that has a so much nicer ring to it than plot 54A. And it is, or will be this Summer, Hunky Dory. A proper garden with flowers and veg. My piece of peaceful green, where my overheated mind can have a rest.

Okay, from my gale-blown Sunday to yours, have a good day.

You can read more about my garden on Instagram @songsmith2962