Growing on the Atlantic fringe An occasional column by Christine O'Sullivan. Will have some pictures soon to illustrate the articles.
November 2004
Autumn is blending into winter and as the last leaves valiantly cling to the trees I find myself in reflective mode upon the summer that was.
Readers may recall that this year I experimented with biodynamic principles in the vegetable plot. This rather mysterious system of ‘gardening by the moon‘ involved sowing seed, tending and harvesting upon predetermined days linked to the moon and other celestial bodies. This system of gardening took a bit of adjusting to, and truthfully I found it difficult to stick to the rigorous time schedules imposed by our cosmos. As the summer ran away with me I found myself less ‘gardening by the moon’, than ‘gardening with the moon‘ - for company! Night after night I scurried around in the darkness trying to get jobs completed and hoping that this obsessive behaviour was not raising too many eyebrows amongst my more rational neighbours. However, my most precious crop of all, tomatoes, were raised strictly to biodynamic guidelines and this year I had a stunning crop. In fact I am still picking them as they ripen in the poly-tunnel - not bad for November! Lack of organisation also meant that these plants received none of my usual comfrey ‘special brew‘ which makes this crop appear even more remarkable.
In drawing conclusions from this (very unscientific) experiment, I would have to acknowledge that aside from the tomatoes I had many ambiguous results with other plants. With so many variables involved in the gardening process I cannot report any striking disclosures, yet the success of the tomatoes has given me a tantalising appetite for more. I find myself with a tentative sense of optimism that biodynamics could well represent some forgotten wisdom lost to us in the modern world. The problem was adhering to a schedule - organisation and discipline are required to garden in this way. Still, I do feel that there is something inspiring about the whole idea and after this initial flirtation I couldn’t possibly discard all this new knowledge very readily. So yes, I shall be ordering a biodynamic calendar for next year, as, after all, I keep telling myself next year I will be so much more organised!
This summer will go down in the annals as ‘The Year of the Pests’. Weapons of mass destruction may have been rather elusive in other parts of the world but here in south west Ireland Mother Nature’s arsenal was very much in evidence. The first wave of attack came in aerial form with a family of blackbirds mounting daring raids upon the strawberries in the poly-tunnel. Annoyance soon dissipated when one day I glimpsed the reason for these cheeky missions - a fat chick waiting in the wings with an insatiable appetite for this delicious ‘fast food’. A parent’s got to do what a parent’s got to do! Then came the ‘Attack of the Killer Cabbage Whites’ (butterflies, for those that don‘t know). The yellow and black caterpillars established multiple colonies on the broccoli, just too many to get ahead of by simply picking them off every day. Eventually I gave up and left them to it.
Next came rabbits, eating the carrot tops and gauging slices out of my red onions. With an ideology of prevention rather than cure, I invested in some light nylon fish netting to cover the raised beds, only to find one of the creatures caught up in the stuff and half dead from strangulation. Of course the only thing I could do was to cut the new netting and give it back its freedom. This second shot at life was not wasted and by some sort of ironic karma my kindness has been rewarded by the multiplication of its number in the boundary hedge. Now I have to contend with its progeny munching my winter crops. Aphids on the tomatoes, blight on the potatoes and those ubiquitous slugs (which consumed an entire crop of sweet corn seedlings) just about confirmed that the garden was under siege.
At this point, enthusiasm was seriously starting to wane in the face of all this horticultural adversity. Then, just as my eyes were raised halfway to heaven in despair I noticed a little pair of eyes watching me from the undergrowth. I had noticed that the slug population in the poly-tunnel was lower than in previous years, and lo, here sat the reason calmly blinking back at me! So delighted was I to have a frog take up residence that I determined to make his stay as comfortable as possible. A makeshift pond was made from an old plastic container which he availed of during the day, gathering his energies for slug hunting at night. All visitors to the garden were introduced to our new companion, with some squeamish ladies refusing to go anywhere near this harmless friend of the gardener. Maybe our prying eyes got too much for him as he departed some time in August, and his presence was sorely missed. Another saving grace was an abundance of ladybirds amongst the carrots, each of which was abducted and delivered into the tunnel to do battle with the aphids.
Gardeners differ in their approaches when it comes to pest control. At one end of the spectrum are those who reach for the chemical armoury at the first sign of trouble, intent upon annihilation of the ‘enemy‘. Conversely, at the other end of the scale we find a more relaxed ’live and let live’ attitude often adopted by organic gardeners. Accepting that some sacrifice is inevitable in order to garden in a more harmonious way with nature is a common theme amongst organic devotees. The determining force of these different approaches stems from every gardener’s level of tolerance. Tolerance is ultimately rooted in an individual’s personal philosophy regarding respect for wildlife, environment and man’s right to claim precedence on this earth.
Personally I find that as with most things in life, the answer lies in achieving the right balance. In practical terms this means accepting some loss of the crops I grow, but in fairness these losses have never been devastating. It seems churlish not to concede a few plants in the wider interest of biodiversity.
When dealing with insects like caterpillars and slugs I remove them by hand for disposal. While this is certainly more labour intensive than dusting the plants with insecticide or sprinkling slug pellets on the ground, I can rest safe in the knowledge that my homegrown broccoli contains only natural goodness untainted by chemical residues. This to me is something that cannot be compromised and definitely worth the extra effort. I can enjoy the sight of the (increasingly rare) song thrush in my garden, knowing that this patch at least is a safe haven from the threat posed by slug pellets. So this year the caterpillars got ahead of me, but so what? The broccoli crop was not affected as damage was limited only to leaf defilement.
I am not advocating that any gardener stand by and watch his crops disappear before his eyes out of some misplaced ‘respect for nature’. I know the bitter taste of disappointment when hard-earned crops are devoured by marauding invaders. My point is that chemical sprays and poisons do not have to be the first line of defence. Methods such as physically protecting crops with netting to deter rabbits, birds, even butterflies; collars around the base of plants to thwart root flies and traps and barriers to combat those voracious molluscs are all effective. For the gardener with a bit of cash to spend there are biological pest controls available in the form of nematodes (parasitic introductions which will attack a specific host pest). Sprays to combat aphids and their ilk are available made from natural ingredients such as garlic and pyrethrum. Natural predators such as hoverflies and ladybirds can be encouraged into the garden by growing flowers amongst your vegetables. Also a good cat should help in controlling rodents and rabbits, an otherwise unpleasant job for a human. The basic organic principle of starting with good soil enriched with plenty of organic matter should produce more robust plants better able to resist, withstand and recover from attack. Supplementing with a natural liquid feed made from nettles, comfrey, seaweed or manure will also help to produce healthy, prolific plants.
When considering these matters, a favourite children’s story comes to mind. In ‘The Selfish Giant‘ by Oscar Wilde, the giant banishes the children he finds playing in his garden with the words “my own garden is my own garden and I will allow nobody to play in it but myself”. How truthfully these words speak of our own attitudes, maybe more than we would like to admit. Perhaps this tale contains a message to us ‘grown ups’ that we are not too old or wise to heed. Viewed from a different perspective, a willingness to share our gardens with the natural world may be seen less in terms of petty losses but rather in terms of long term gains. Encouraging a wide biodiversity within our gardens leads to a more natural equilibrium of pest/predator populations. This balance may take a couple of years to establish in a new plot - perseverance, however, will be rewarded. When this level is achieved in the garden, the aforementioned ‘live and let live’ attitude becomes easier to employ. Organic methods are better for the environment, better for wildlife and of course, better for you. And, take it from me, your precious harvest will taste even sweeter when enjoyed with the clear conscience that ‘being organic’ brings.
So maybe it is time to take down the ‘trespassers will be prosecuted’ sign from the front gate, knock some holes (even if they are small) in those figurative walls guarding our gardens and allow nature to slowly creep back in. Who knows, we may even enjoy the company!
June 2004
June is a wonderful month. It’s a busy time here on the farm, but work is no hardship when the weather is fine and the birds are singing. There is a tangible sense that everything is ‘as it should be’. All seems well with the world, at least the world within the microcosm that is our farm.
The cows were turned out of their winter housing at the
beginning of May and since then have been gorging themselves on fresh luscious
grass. Their bovine palates become jaded by months of relentless silage at every
meal and the fresh grazing must be like strawberries and cream after a winter
menu of bran flakes! They certainly look a picture of contentment right now,
relishing every mouthful.
The bull is keeping a close eye on his harem and, I must say, is most
conscientious about fulfilling his responsibilities. It is interesting to
observe his etiquette in these matters. He conducts a perfunctory courtship
which has become a well-practised routine. The first stage is a ‘getting to
know you’ phase, where he becomes a devoted companion to his intended,
lavishing his attentions solely upon her, grooming her and making her feel
special. You can just imagine his whispered sweet nothings into her be-tagged
ear – "I swear, the others meant nothing, you are the only cow for
me", then when the deed is done he’s off to the next gullible
cow-in-waiting. He’s a class act for sure.
This bank holiday weekend was devoted to shearing the sheep, all sixty of them were shorn with traditional hand shears and not a scratch to show as evidence – on either Paul or the sheep! This really is backbreaking, dirty work but extremely necessary. It is vital to relieve the sheep of their thermal lagging jackets in the summer heat, not only for their own comfort but to prevent what is known in the trade as ‘fly-strike’. Bluebottles are attracted to the hospitality that a thick fleece offers; a dirty, sweaty incubator just perfect to raise a brood of seething maggots who don’t have far to travel for dinner. Once struck down with maggots, a sheep or lamb will become weakened very quickly, seeking cover in undergrowth, which of course makes it harder for the farmer to spot. In a bad case death can come within a week. Vigilance and early shearing are of prime importance for the organic farmer who does not rely on sheep dip to combat this pest. The hills were alive with the sound of bleating once all had been shorn: incredibly, lambs do not recognise their mothers after their makeovers and bleat mournfully until reunited.
The vegetables are coming on well, I am still adhering to biodynamic principles but I simply didn’t get around to sowing a whole range of crops like maincrop carrots on the correct days during the moon’s waxing period. It is getting late but I shall chance sowing them in the waning period when the cosmic forces are supposedly streaming away from the earth. In theory this should be detrimental to the crop, but I have no choice. All my transplants are now out in the vegetable garden: all that remains is to keep the whole lot watered and weeded. The watering is taking up to two hours every evening due to a frustrating lack of water. Our supply here in West Cork comes from a spring on the hillside which has always been plentiful and reliable. But of late, it has become temperamental. The hosepipe begins with a gushing fountain of water which gradually withers away to become a strangulated gurgle of choked-up spittle. Thankfully, the cause is probably technical rather than due to water shortage, but it has served to remind me just how much I take the availability of water for granted. In darker moments of pessimism over global warming I envisage a future scenario whereby this life-sustaining natural resource falls into corporate hands and becomes valued as a commodity akin to gold or oil. I believe that we may be the last generations here in the West to recall the luxury of unrestricted water use. Maybe we should respect this freedom a little more.
On that happy note I shall leave you, dear reader to ponder a
while upon these dire predictions. As for me, watering duty beckons…….
Saturday 22nd May 2004
In this third installment, Christine, describes her baptism with basil
and explains why she sees herself as a stage manager for Mother Nature
As the ancient Chinese proverb goes, all great journeys start with a single
step. When I started growing my own vegetables I did so completely unaware
that this undertaking represented the first step on a personal journey that
would ultimately change the way in which I lived and thought.
It all started with a few basil plants and as any gardener will confirm, the
thrill of the first taste is a precious memory indeed. That crop will never
be surpassed in my eyes, recipes were created in its honour! I watched the
seedlings grow with incredulous wonder, so delighted that they actually
resembled the picture on the seed packet! Feelings of incredulity were soon
supplanted by immense pride at having produced my own food. With the
benefit of hindsight I can now see that this was the initial high that got
me hooked on gardening and I've been under the influence of its earthly
charms ever since! The next season I grew every vegetable I could get my
hands on and surplus was sold at the gate. That is where I find myself to
date, growing primarily for home use but also supplying an ever-increasing
base of appreciative customers.
Aside from the obvious health advantages to eating home grown organic
vegetables there was an altogether more understated reason why 'growing my
own' had such an appeal. It gave me independence - I had taken a step out
of the loop of dependence upon others to supply my food. It put me in
control and I liked it! With the increasing dominance of supermarkets over
our food supply our young people are gowing up with a dazzling array of
exotic fruit and vegetables on offer at almost any time of year. It sounds
wonderful, but are the next generation aware of factors such as the
environmental impact of transporting these goods half way around the world
to facilitate this great selection? Please do not presume any note of
condescension here; before I became aware of these issues myself I took the
supermarket's wares so much for granted that I didn't even know I took it
for granted (now work that one out!) Never before have we been so divorced
from the origin of our food, which is a shame because local foods form a
part of the heritage and uniqueness of a place.
One of the most rewarding aspects of selling my vegetables direct is showing
people around the garden and seeing how genuinely intrigued and beguiled
they are to see vegetables actually growing on plants (for some this is a
novel concept!) Cucumbers hanging from the vine are ususally of interest, I
suppose they look quite naked without the cellophane wrapping that clothes
thier supermarket comrades. Many visitors to the garden are so full of
praise for my skill at producing such a cornucopia that I have to admit to
feeling a bit of a fraud; the fact is that whilst it does take some hard
graft, I feel very little skill is needed to produce good results. After
all, it is the plants themselves that provide the real miracle in bringing
fruit from a tiny seed, all I do as a gardener is to set the stage for
Mother Nature to do her thing. I would say to anyone thinking of giving it
a go themselves to do so without hesitation. There really is no mystique
involved, a little work and determination will reward you with gifts that
last long after the last lettuce has been eaten. You may also find, like
me, that the experience becomes an empowering, educational and enlightening
journey, one might call it a truly organic process!
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Wednesday 12th May 2004
This second week, Christine faces a dilemma with
her too-successful plants, braves the 'Scaraveen' and finds deep solace in a
tunnel.
I faced something of a dilemma last week. Seedlings which had been sown at
the most auspicious astrological times had literally grown too big for their
boots, or pots I should say. They clearly needed a bigger place of their
own, but the time was not right to let them move on. In keeping with my
experiment into biodynamics, the next opportunity to pot-on would be about
two week's time. Resentment at being stunted at this tender age could last
into maturity and reward me with lower yields as revenge! Yet to concede to
their demands would nullify them as subjects for this experiment.
Eventually the nurturing instinct inherent in all gardeners prevailed - it
goes against the grain to see a healthy plant flounder. There will be other
candidates for the experiment and so the courgettes and peas were re-housed
into more comfortable accomodation where they can flourish and make me so
proud....
The garden received a severe buffeting from storm force winds earlier in the
week that burnt foliage and stole fruit blossoms from the trees. Local lore
says that we can expect these 'Scaraveen' winds from 15th April to 15th May
(how precise!). I watched in amazement through the kitchen window as an act
of supernatural theatre unfolded when the rotary washing line was hoisted
into the air and hurled at the garage wall. I must confess to feeling a
little self-satisfied at this point that I resisted the seductive charms of
the late spring/early summer sunshine and did not transplant any seedlings
outside. Been there, done that and lost the plants to prove
it!
As the saying goes, we live and learn and I have learnt to
watch and wait for these
cold, hard winds to arrive like an unwelcome visitor, suffer their company
for the duration and rejoice upon their departure!
In such changeable weather the polytunnel really comes into its own, and I
do not mean from a purely horticultural point of view. My motivation levels
to go outside are index-linked to the temperature, so in last week's cold
spell the tunnel became my haven. The sunshine between showers was
sufficient to create a pleasant heat - perfect for 'pottering about'. For
anyone considering buying a tunnel, I feel I should point out here that the
big selling point is always omitted in the brochures. To me the most
beneficial aspect of gardening under plastic is the great therapeutic value
to be gained from spending time in one of these marvellous structures. Over
time my tunnel has evolved into much more than a place to cultivate plants;
in a way it now cultivates me! There is a special healing of the soul that
comes from gardening, and when enclosed in one's own private plastic bubble
this healing energy seems even more potent. So often I have sat down on the
edge of a raised bed after a stressful day with the sincere intention of
weeding, only to become lulled by the warm peace into an almost meditative
state. Half an hour later I realise I've done absolutely nothing but feel
so much better! It defies any scientific explanation why the cultivation of
plants, something so intrinsic to mankind's evolution and survival, has this
positive effect on us. What a wonderful example of symbiosis it is that
whilst we are tending our plants, they in turn are tending us! So, the
advice is, take your troubles to 'mother' nature, immerse yourself in
foliage and let the healing begin!
Feeling my way in biodynamic gardening
Monday 3rd May 2004
So many jobs to be done right now. The moon is waxing and I am
caught in
the middle of a horticultural hurricane! Let me explain. After three years
producing small-scale vegetables on our organic farm here in West Cork, this
season I decided to try biodynamic gardening. Guided by a
specialist calendar, I am raising plants in unison with the phases of the
moon and constellations. Sounds slightly cranky I know, but consider the
moon's influence upon our planet; obvious phenomena such as tidal patterns
but also subtle effects that some would say can be observed in people - note
the origin of the word lunatic, a derivation of lunar. My intention is to
at least experiment in my own limited way with this interesting theory
before forming any definite conclusions.
Implementing the biodynamic system has meant a major adjustment to the way I
have previously gardened in respect of adhering to set times for sowing and
planting. Gone are the days of embarking upon these jobs simply because the
sun was shining. With biodynamics all sowing and planting should be
undertaken during the moon's waxing phase (approximately fourteen days).
This time is sub-divided into periods of about three days each relating to a
specific plant type: root, leaf, flower or fruit. Imposing this degree of
conformity to my unfettered and somewhat impulsive gardening spirit has been
a struggle, but the logistics of simply getting everything done within the
timeframe has been difficult, at times impossible. For comparison purposes
I have grown a range of plants at both the most and least beneficial times.
As the season progresses any differences, if they exist, should become
apparent.
This has surely been a busy week. Green manures were dug in (Phacelia and
Winter Vetch), peas, tomatoes, peppers, aubergines and cucumbers were
planted into their final homes in the tunnel. Successional sowings were
made of all the summer staples, Rocket and Lollo Rosso being good sellers.
My small tunnel (45 x 15ft) is packed to capacity with trays of seedlings at
various stages of growth housed on everything from old coffee tables to
ironing boards to evade the omnipresent slugs. The new herb garden received
it's first transplants of the common culinary plants, plus a curious plant I
picked up recently known as 'Scurvy Grass' (Cochlearia Officinalis) which is
grown for it's salad leaves high in vitamin C. Also new to me this year
will be the 'Tomatillo' - a violet hooded tangy tomato used to make salsa,
and a cinnamon flavoured variety of basil.
As the moon, and with it my frantic activity, begins to wane, I know I will be
left with mixed feelings of satisfaction, yet frustration, at tasks left
untouched. However, this experiment has initiated a more profound awareness
within myself of how the interconnectedness present in our natural systems
here on earth extend far beyond our own planet. The cyclical nature of the
moon, it's presence embodying constant death and re-birth brings with it the
attendant optimism that accompanies new life. And so for the next while I
shall enjoy the comparative rest with duties limited to tending, tidying and
weeding.....for the next nineteen days at least!
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