Planting the Spuds

While in the vet's yesterday with our little Holly dog and in the midst of a waiting room of maybe 15 canine companions, the vet called for Spud next, please. Spud turned out to be a fairly capable and sturdy Doberman, not quite as his name might suggest - I was thinking small and cheeky looking Terrier. Anyway, in the midst of all that fur and aroma of canine, I got to thinking about spuds, and I got to thinking that the word itself - spud - and the sensory evocations that come with it is such a truly Irish tradition. 

March snow keeping us on the move

Of course, another Irish tradition is to have the spuds - the earlies - in the ground by Paddy's Day. Well, we missed that - not for want of the impatient spuds being chitted in the front room for the last month, and not for want of any eagerness on our part. The delay was 100% with the snow and the frost that has been following us around for the last of March. We woke up Wednesday last to another snow scene - it's lovely really once you don't need to go to a meeting with your manager say, an hour's drive away. Ho Hum. We got out for a walk in it before any dreadful white knuckle driving. And Holly frolicked in the snowy woods. The snow is still lingering on Irish hills and the more northerly extremities on this terminal day in March but we decided to dare it to defy our will, and yesterday we got down and dirty and planted the spuds. 

Spuds to the ready for planting

Of over 120 potatoes now shivering in the March attacked soil, we have 40 earlies - Orla variety, and 40 Setanta and 40 Sarpo axona, the latter two being maincrop. Now, to be fair, there is a particular 'spud-speak' and potato lingo that takes a little bit of getting used to, so let me explain. Even I, daugher of a mother whose father grew fields of spuds for a living, am just getting the hang of it in this, my fourth decade on the planet. The earlies are the early potatoes - fairly self explanatory that, and usually ready for the eating when Wimbledon is on and school exams are over (June for those not in this general area of NW Europe). These are usually deliciously sweet, smallish spuds that ask only for a bit of butter and sea-salt, a sprinkle of parsley and a spray of freshly cracked pepper - these simple delicacies are more gourmet than masterchef itself. This was the crop that my parents looked forward to every year - they are still lovers of the British Queen variety - and every spring there were trays of spuds chitting under our childhood beds. I never understood what was going on, and why, but now I do. It's a little bit like a rite of passage when you start to buy your own seed potatoes and you start to talk about your own preferred varieties. Weird in a good way. The maincrop spud is usually in the ground until later, harvested in autumn and can be overwintered for use for as long as you're storage technique allows.

Our own experience has been pretty mixed. The first year (2011) we were supplied with seed potatoes straight from one of the key scientists that is co-ordinating spud breeding for blight resistance in Ireland. Thanks Denis ;) We had spuds that year from June to the following April - stored nice and dry in the front room and delicious to boot. Then last year (2012) - well, let's not speak of the blight. Our over-zealousness and lack of experience led us to losing the guts of our own British Queen, and Duke of York (both early) crops, and the Roosters and Golden Wonders (main crop). What a disaster, and how depressing to see the stalks black and rotting away. 

As pretty as a potato flower can be 

This year is going to be a great year - in more ways than one. Despite the cold spring, we have three sure-thing blight resistant varieties currently nestling in the good earth of the Holly Cottage garden. And all the weather prophecy men say it's gonna be a scorcher of a May, a mixed June, a wet July and a sunny August. I'm just glad to see sun mentioned in the mix at all! Onion setts are in the ground - red and white onions this year for all that red onion jam, yum ;) There's peas and broad beans sown in the greenhouse that survived the December storm and one or two other things - all slow to stir in the March winds. Poor daffodils are struggling this year, but they are braving the snow storms and their bright yellow is such a vivid delight in contrast to the pure snow white. And there are tantalising signs of tulips in the making ready to brave those April showers, and sun - we hope. 

Happy Easter to all - as I write I am perched at the kitchen table - cold wind is outside, spuds  are warm in their perfect drills and no need to go out into it save for the late walk in the woods with Holly - it'll be bright until 8pm tonight. AND, I am currently being treated to the aroma of a Wilkie's Organic Hot Chocolate in the making. Now, it doesn't get much better than that. Easter Bunny go get your own! 

A Bit of a Pickle

Let the magic begin

The weather has us on a go slow in the Holly Cottage camp. Two weeks ago we were breaking our backs getting the good earth ready for planting, clearing the shed of two year's cumulative rubbish and basically clearing the decks to prepare for the sowing season. There was even talk of let's build a patio the sun was shining so well. We'll park that one until we see it again - the sun that is. Since then, we've had at least two days blanketed in pure white snow; another three being blown out of it by northeasterly gales and at least five days being pounded with hailstones the size of frozen peas. Hailstones big  enough to hurt when they ricochet off the corner of your forehead as you endeavour overdue walkovers of your summer field experiments ;)

Holly Cottage hot stuff ;)

Better we get it now says them in the know. Better now than mid June, when you might be glad to sand the rust of the BBQ grill and have an extended evening in the midsummer sun. Despite the inhospitable weather though we've been keeping it hot indoors ;) 

Last weekend was for making more pickledy stuff. Chillies were gathered from the plants in Cappaduff and further investigations to continue the evolution of the Holly Cottage pepper sauce species (there's been a few trial  runs - all good, all extremely hot) were conducted;  a Lime pickle started in January  was retrieved from the darkness to test and taste; and some vanilla pods were put to the test in a creme anglaise. We seem to have experimented a lot in the last year and a quick look in the crowded fridge tells a few tales indeed. The beetroot relish was polished off last week. That was a sad day. The sweet tomato chilli jam  from the start of October never really had enough time to call this place home - it was better than any sweet chilli sauce and streets ahead of anything I've tasted since. The green tomato chutney is still with us - only because we had so many unripened tomatoes in the autumn - the casualty of that cold and wet summer. A few other trials the last few months involved reduced balsamic vinegar flavoured with orange, more tomato relish - this time approaching the Ballymaloe style, and of course the sweet mint sauce that seems to have gotten tastier since its birth last November. 

Let's jam!

And then there's just the plain old jam. Such a small word, that belies sweet comforting and tastebud sensational sticky goodness that brightens up any corner of dry bread on an otherwise ordinary morning in March. I know I've raved about the strawberry bounty last year, and I will until I die! We have just one pot of strawberry-raspberry-rhubarb jam left and that will have to get us to June. Eek ;) Jam has to be the simplest thing in the whole world to make and yet we seem to rely on those dreadful, ultra processed versions that parade around on supermarket shelves as very poor imitiations of the real thing. They don't even have bits of fruit in most of them so it could actually be just flavoured jelly coloured to deceive us of an impostor! OK, I'm being somewhat over-dramatic. But ever since I made my first batch of blackcurrant jam back in the 90s - and somehow won a medal for it at the local harvest fair - I've been a homemade jam champion. A pound of fruit, a pound of sugar - take it to the magical setting point over bubbling heat and you're done. We tend to mix it up around here - whatever's going at the time. The rhubarb and strawberry mix was the biggest hit though. Do it ;)

Now that's a lime pickle...

And so, a bit of pickling and plenty of lounging indoors is keeping us busy these weekends. Some work to be done today though and a nephew's birthday cake to be shared this evening in Cappaduff. We're missing a Mornington extraordinaire birthday lunch for work today, so that's not good. But I know that they'll be having a feast sensation if Anne O'Hara has anything to do with it! 

I hope wherever you are that you are relishing in the drama of the March winds and looking forward to the sunshine of April to come. Happy birthday celebrations to all in Mornington and Cappaduff - let those birthdays just keep on coming!

The Good Earth

It's back to the beginning for us in the garden, back to basics. And how better to get there than a fine March spring day with my two favourite gardeners ;) Well, granted Holly does just lie back in her various yoga poses while we battle with the tools of the trade...it's a dog's life indeed..

July 2011 - still a work in progress ;)

There's something deeply primitive and intensely satisfying about digging the Holly Cottage garden soil. I guess it's because, for us, it's been just two years since we first turned the sod on the otherwise rock hard and tree-root ridden earth that pre-dated our arrival. It's hard to believe it, but when I look back on the photos, I think wow - we did that. We transformed a blank canvas to a 3D kaleidoscope of  food and floral bounty. Deeply humbling that those amazing plants and flowers and fruits and vegetables actually grew where we asked them to grow. And without demand, for the last two years. 

In the beginning -
that's me in the corner :)

The first year (2011), we just took a chance. About a week solid of digging a small patch not more than 8m x 6m, and then we trusted in some hard earned experience of veteran gardeners. In broad daylight (!) I raided the chicken coop of the Cappaduff farm and loaded with a bag of chicken poo, stole my way back to the Holly Cottage garden and spread the golden (stinking) gold dust. 

March 2011

We hadn't a clue really and we just followed instinct and the back of seed packets to guide us in our baby gardener steps. That first year - we had broccoli that would give the giant oak trees a run for their bark, giant sunflowers with  over 15 heads, peas to feed an army and spuds to feed a hungry couple for at least until the following spring. All from nothing. But nothing comes from nothing. 

The ground that had once been home to several leylandii trees - OK to look at but not much nutritional value - was just waiting to supply us with veggies and fruit for the year. That's the magic. That's the Good Earth. That's the soil that might well be one of the least understood systems on our planet. That's what Tony Juniper in 'What has nature ever done for us?' tells me. We rely on the soil - from Africa to China to inner Ireland - for over 90% of our food. It's a thin layer of so-called dirt - a derogatory name that beguiles it's power to make or break the non hunter gathering state of Homo sapiens. About a tablespoon of arable soil is home to more bacteria than there are people on earth...and those bacteria comprise representatives of some 20,000 species. One tablespoon. One tablespoon of soil. Mind blowing. Forget Mars exploration - let's get back to the ground beneath our feet. Surely it's worth understanding better what we are losing annually through soil degradation, erosion and pollution so that we can appreciate it's magic better and sustain food production for the 7 billion or so of us that are here today? And let's not forget the extra 2 billion set to join the growing global table by mid-century.  

July 2012..bigger and better

Anyway. Back to the ground outside our own door. Last year was a bit of a let down for us, easy to blame the weather - it did play a big part - but we certainly learned about blight (no famine thankfully), wind burned peas and disappointing Brussels sprouts. Slug anyone? Bumper crop there ;)

2013 is going to be a great year, I can feel it in my optimistic weather sensors. And this year, there was no back breaking digging, no endless picking of stones and rock from previous owners, and no digging of pesky tree roots. The soil is ready for planting - a perfect loose brown crumb, with last year's recycled food compost dug in along with a generous spread of chicken manure. It's beautiful. Not a plant in sight except for spring broccoli and hidden garlic bulbs waiting for the sun, but what a start and what a promise. This Good Earth just keeps on giving.