Water, war (contd.), and our own salad! (20 - 26th April)

The weather this week

Another very dry week, exacerbated by mean winds coming from the east and north. Some days the wind was so insistent that it seemed to take on a malicious personality. A couple of light frosts and some beautiful, clear starry skies again.

Water

I didn’t think I’d be saying this so early in the year, but it would be great to have some rain. Many of the garden perennials, including the primulas and lungwort, are looking tired and have stopped blooming. The plants have had to rely on dew and a couple of mornings of pretty thick fog for all their moisture. I’m trying not to water anything except the tunnel and any seeds I plant, partly because I’ve been told it makes your perennials stronger and more resilient to make them find their own water, but also because our water supply may be threatened by a leaky tank.

All our water comes off the hill behind our house. We’re the sole users of this supply of spring water, which is wonderful, but when there’s a problem, we’re also solely responsible for the repairs. And so when I noticed an irregular spout of water coming from the side of our tank in January, I knew we’d be in for some costly times ahead. The tank in question is our holding tank - the last of three tanks progressing down the hill towards our cottage. It’s a massive brick and stone edifice jutting out of the hillside and is covered in moss, grass and other growth on the sides above ground. This thick vegetation hides a mess of old metal, discarded tools and rusty wire, and has clearly compromised the surface and caused a few cracks to form.

The week began with a visit from Barry, a local plasterer who is going to render the tank and stop our water supply from leaking down the hillside. Barry is a broad-chested Borderer with a booming voice and no fear of getting his hands dirty. He was only a year above me in high school but has gathered the kind of tangible experience and ability that makes me feel very much younger than him. Watching (from a 2-metre distance) his giant hands remove heavy, rusted manhole covers like they were made of cardboard, made me feel weak and pathetic. He seems hearteningly undaunted by the task and says he will clear the plants and mess to get a good look at the damage, then we can drain the tank to a level just below the cracks so he can render the old brick. Hopefully this will leave us with enough water in the bottom of the tank that we still have a water supply for the time it takes to fix it.

The war continues…

Our one-acre plot is roughly organised into 4 areas:

the paddock: a 1/2 acre semi-wilderness of gorse, black-grass, nettles, dock, grasses and wild-flowers, and a few larch trees,
the out-buildings: a draughty wooden barn, leaky woodshed, compost area, falling-down stable and a lovely poly tunnel,
other bits: grassy, messy bits of indeterminate use,
the house and garden: an area delineated by beech hedge, wooden fence and a line of windbreak trees to the south-west and within which we have a small area of lawn, fruit trees and flower beds.

Before lockdown and the arrival of Humphrey, myself and a friend worked hard to secure the perimeter around the garden and house. We installed new fence in some areas, and patched the old fence in other spots. This actually proved much harder to make good, as it involved frustrating hours of clambering into the middle of thick beech hedges, or sticking my head into thorny vegetation while trying to get ratty old bits of bent and rusty chicken wire to behave in the way I wanted. After considerable amounts of cursing and consolation beer, I felt the fence was finished and I could relax. This week I confidently planted out my precious sunflower-trees - grown in the tunnel from seeds I was given at UniSG in Italy - only to find them almost all eaten a few hours later. The culprit had nibbled the base and left the plants lying dead on the soil. So, back into the hedges I went, armed with more wire and determination. Planting out peas and kale later that day was a tense prospect, but three days later, no casualties were found. I don’t want to say it too loud, but I think I might have finally stopped the rabbits getting in.

Humph is as disappointed in this new fence as we are.

But the inner-sanctum of house and garden is also threatened with pests from within. Not only are there hundreds of mice who apparently cannot be stopped (although I do use mouse-traps in the tunnel and catch one or two every other day), but there is also Humphrey. Humph is grateful that I’ve taken the time to prepare flower beds for him to lounge and play on. These areas are far more attractive and comfortable than the wet, cold grass, particularly when they are covered by comfy hessian sacks or straw mulch. Last week Humph’s unwanted attentions towards my meagre growing space encouraged me to take drastic action, and early this week Jim and I braved a gale to erect an anti-dog fence around the whole veg garden. I only have 4 1/2 beds in amongst the fruit trees but outdoor growing space will be essential soon, so we used up our remaining good chicken wire, some old canes, electric fencing posts, and hundreds of bits of string, and made an absolutely crap fence. It will probably keep Humph out of the garden, but might also keep me out too, given how ugly it is. It kind of makes me glad we’re in lockdown and that none of my eminently more practical friends will see this pitiful attempt at DIY.

Planting out

Peas planted at the back of the strawberry bed, against the newly installed anti-Humph fence.

Planting out the first starts and seeds really heralds the beginning of Spring for me. I took advantage of the Humph fence and planted a line of shelling peas (Kelvedon wonder - my mum’s favourite), red mange-tout (Shiraz), and sweet peas that will hopefully climb and cover our home-made monstrosity. I also planted out a few red kale, calendula and alyssum which were bursting out of their trays. I’ve rather hopefully planted out some leek seeds but don’t really believe they’ll do anything. Planting seeds outside in Scotland never seems prudent, but I do it anyways in the hope that some magic will happen.

Actually, having said that, the seeds I sprinkled into the old raised bed have actually sprouted (along with the ground elder) and appear to be doing alright. Fingers crossed…

A horrible, semi-rotten raised bed, inexplicably shared by several willow trees and a lot of ground elder. Nevertheless, my seeds seem to be sprouting in there, and we shall see what happens.

In the polytunnel

Nothing nicer than freshly picked salad.

I can’t quite believe it, but we’ve already been enjoying hefty salads of oriental greens, red spinach, radishes, parsley, red mustard and chard from the polytunnel. We had a lavish lunch of our own produce on Sunday, followed by book reading and naps on the lawn - pretty great for April in Scotland.

Life returns

There was a real buzz in the garden this week with the currant and gooseberry bush covered in bees and wasps all engrossed in pollinating. The air has become noisy and busy with flying things, including some beautiful red-admiral and painted lady butterflies. I was also immensely happy to note the return of our house-martins who are nesting under the eaves. They fill the morning and evening air with happy chattering sounds and watch us from the phone wire just above the poly tunnel. The other welcome sound this week was the round, contented cry of the cuckoo on Sunday morning. Apparently one cuckoo does not a summer make, but it certainly brought a smile to our faces.

We have only lived at this house for 6 months, and most of that time was taken up with the leafless, grey months of winter. As spring returns colour and life to everything in our immediate landscape, it becomes harder to remember that cold time. I’m looking forward to months of greenery, growth and, hopefully, warmth.