Off The Edge Gardening

First strike: The night was a wild one, for all the wrong reasons. The rain hammered against the windows, the wind shook the house by the shoulders and sleep was patchy. The morning broke, a little stunned but dry. Although heavy thundery showers were forecast, I decided to risk it for a biscuit. As I loaded the car I chose to ignore some pioneer drops.

Second strike: My vertigo had reared its ugly head again overnight and wobbly-itis was corrupting my sight and balance. It was not too severe though, I was confident that it would improve as the day progressed and if not I could always come home again. A nice steady drive out to Lord and Lady Mantle’s estate.

Third strike: About a quarter of my way to work, with the downpour getting into its stride, there was a sign blocking my way “Road Closed, No Access to Combe Martin”. As I wasn’t going to Combe Martin how could this refer to me? So myself and a few others took a chance, it is always easier to break the rules in a pack! As it turned out this was an unwise gamble and soon we were about-turned and told to take the diversion via The Back of Beyond.

I went home.

So what do I do when I am feeling under the weather? I make soup. Today it was roasted garlic and butternut squash. I thought I would share it with you.

First cut up your squash and remove the seeds, don’t bother peeling. Size is directly proportional to cooking time. The smaller the quicker, the larger the longer. I’m sure you had worked that one out already, but there is always someone who gets a little confused (yes, that’s right, you in the corner!). Arrange carefully in an anarchic manner in a roasting tray. Don’t worry if some seeds make their way in to the pan, they make a nice and crunchy treat for the cook later.

Chuck in some unpeeled garlic cloves, as many as you dare and then one more. I think I used 7 or 8. Vampires beware!

Douse with olive oil, sprinkle salt and pepper and bung in the oven. I cook everything at gas mark 5 or 6, no matter, it will cook in the end. It will probably take about 45 minutes, or until you smell something heady and honeyed wafting from the oven and shout “oh my God, the squash!”.

Meanwhile fry an onion. It is the law to have an onion in every soup. Of course if it is onion soup you will need more than one.

When cooked, skin the squash (again no stress if a bit left on) and chop up whilst nibbling on the roasted seed. Add to King Onion, squeeze in garlic (now) paste. Cover and a bit more with vegetable stock. Simmer for a while to let the ingredients get to know each other.

Blend. In my house we have a difference of opinion. On many things. Blending is one of them. I am with the smoooooooooth and luscious party. OH is with the chunky and cheerful sector. Up to you, I would never come between a soup and its maker.

Check for seasoning. This step was only added because recipes always say that. I am sure it will be just perfect as it is.

Enjoy!

Subtle

You don’t always have to shout to be heard. This beautiful Gladiolus papilio proves just that.

Geum “Blazing Sunset”

That will warm your cockles!

Innocence

“I just wondered” Mr G slipped into the conversation “what are you like at shifting hay bales?” “I don’t know, I’ve never tried.” “Just popping out for a couple of hours, cover for me.” “Of course.”

Fire Eaters

For some reason I am noticing a lot of seed pods this year. This is Pittosporum tenuifolium and I don’t recall ever having seen fruit on this large shrub (with designs on being a tree). Perhaps in previous years I have been diverted by some exciting autumnal event, although I can’t imagine what that could be. The wall of death riders usually pop by in the spring and the fire eaters never get here until Christmas.

Second Time Around

Better than before? Perhaps more welcome.

Fire

We were stood up by the dregs of Tropical Storm Henri today, at the last moment he veered off to the east. This is definitely not a complaint, an unexpected dry day is a joy indeed. We celebrated at Max’s house by shifting piles of garden detritus up and down his garden’s steep slopes using wheelbarrows, trugs and arms. After much discussion with Max’s Dad and negotiations with the neighbours, we settled on a bonfire site for the brash, boughs and bad weeds, up hill from the piles. Then, a much easier decision, ear-marked a new composting area for the work in progress, again up hill. Lastly a place to pile the beautiful pin-up compost for immediate use, thankfully down hill. Then it began, the burning, the shifting, the tipping, the raking. We disturbed and relocated two frogs, one baby toad, a shrew and a slow worm. By the end of the day we had achieved all we had wanted and whole lot more. In the dry. My back is aching, my knees creaking, my arms heavy. It was a great day.

Darstardly

For someone who professes to love plants, I spend an awful lot of time digging them up. Last week my latest victim was crocosmia, probably that Old Devil called Lucifer. Any guilt is alleviated by the fact that it is nigh on impossible to rid yourself of these admittedly attractive plants. This is due to that dastardly demon, evolution. This South African member of the iris family produces a fresh new corm each year which balances on top of the previous years’ contributions. To avoid popping out of the soil, some very clever contractile roots pull the whole chain down into the ground. These replaced corms will gradually will fade away but not until they have hung on for a while, as an insurance policy. For occasions such as this. When I have spent a morning digging up their compacted, matted bulk. It is at this point that one of these old timers (or perhaps more) will gently drop off the bottom only to emerge again next year in full crimson glory saying “ha, foiled you!”. Such is my life.

Farm Force

I am generally a little sniffy about TV garden makeovers. To me instant gardening is the antithesis of what it is all about, in fact it may very well be one of those oxymorons. In fact I would go as far as to say that the words “instant” and “gardening” should never appear the same sentence. “Unrushed”, “considered”, “evolving”, “organic”, any of those adverbs would be much more to my liking. However sometimes needs must.

The other day Mrs G casually dropped into conversation the following nugget:

“Did I tell you about the wedding party that is arriving at the weekend? They are getting married at Rosemoor then coming back here for the reception, their marquee is going to be right in front of that long border. Do you think you could tidy it up a bit?”

I replied:

“Do you mean the border that has been ignored for the whole season as we were going to completely blitz it and redo it over the winter months? And do you mean RHS Rosemoor, the Royal Horticultural Society’s flagship for the south-west that is looking particularly splendid at the moment and where we will obviously be compared with? And do you mean NEXT WEEK!!!!”

“Yes, yes and yes.”

“OK.”

So myself and Slasher Sean cleared entrenched weeds, removed rogue trees, dug out invasive grasses, disguised broken bits, robbed from other parts of the farm and planted new specimens, before finally mulching with some luscious woodchip. In keeping with tradition we did a big reveal to Mr and Mrs G who I think were quite happy, although when they see the gaps on the rest of the site I am not sure they will be (only joking!) (or am I?).

The result of this challenge is that SS and I are thinking of a pitching a new TV programme to the BBC called Farm Force. It will have a similar format to other such programmes but we will bring a pig and a chicken with us. What do you think? It could work!