Down on the Farm- September 5th 2008

5th September 2008 - Playing Catch-up

It is the middle of April.

When we first arrived here were four small vegetable beds in the kitchen garden, which is no where near enough to grow enough for the four of us. It looks like there had been other beds at some point because you can see dips and ridges in the grass, but that seems to have been a while ago. It made sense to try and even out the ground – if there is something that can be tripped over, my feet will find it - so we started digging out the new beds where the ground was most uneven.

It's slightly odd that this garden has been allowed to grow over, it's in such a convenient position, right outside the mobile homes, but then I guess if you're trying to work 27 acres single-handed and with hardly any equipment, it would be a tough job. Anyway, hopefully, now that there are two extra pairs of hands, more will get done and we'll see this place start to flourish. At the moment, we're playing a tough game of catch-up – this should all have been done last year and it's now the middle of April; we should be planting, not just making a start on digging the beds out. It's going to be hard work to strip the grass, dig it over and get enough planted for this year.

The layout of the original beds is unusual. They are bordered with old scaffolding planks, which makes sense, and each is about 3m long, but they are only 1m wide, whilst the paths are 1.5m wide. Rikki (got to give her a name at some point) tells us that they aren't her work, but were made by her friend, Bill, and that the reason they are like that is because it made it easier for Bill to drive a ride-on mower along the paths. So, planning your vegetable beds around the convenience of a ride-on mower. Novel idea.

The ride-on mower in question is sitting, unused, next to the shed and going by the healthy stand of grass and nettles surrounding it, I think it's been there for a while. We've noticed wrens paying attention to the gaps and spaces, which look like they'd make good nesting sites. There are a great many wrens here, more than I've ever seen in one place, and we see them often, scuttling about in the undergrowth and looking very much like little brown mice. They have surprisingly loud voices for such tiny birds.

The mower doesn't work. The story goes that Bill was riding the mower at speed, went off the path and rammed it into one of the wooden edging boards, bending the front axle out of shape. Until the axle is unbent, we'll have to use one of those old push mowers. There is one, too, but the front roller is missing – not Bill's fault this time, it was free and came that way. As the paths are very uneven in places, it's not an easy job because the blade digs into every bit of path that isn't flat, which means most of it. Karl reckons it will become easier in time because, as you can't avoid scalping the uneven bits, eventually he'll have scalped them away altogether and the paths will flatten out.

We get stuck in on the job of making decent-sized beds, marking an outline and then skimming off the grass with spades, taking up slices of turf, making a huge flat-topped pile, like a giant’s bed. One end is slightly higher than the other, as if a bolster has been added. We cover it over with a layer of thick, dark brown horticultural fabric and leave it to rot down.

It looks so inviting that we can't resist climbing on to lie down on our backs. The fabric has warmed in the sun and is soft and smooth. We lie there listening to the planet, looking for shapes in the clouds and watch a group of buzzards lazily circling a thermal in the distance.

Chaffinches are calling their repetitive mantra in the hedgerows and then we pick out the trilling of a robin and hear the sweetest, most beautiful bird song I know of. I lie there smiling, visualising that bold little person, perched half way up a tree, chest puffed out, head held high, beak wide open in song.

A robin has been following us all day, watching us from fence posts and jumping down to collect the worms and grubs we turn up. One time it sat on the handle of my spade and crapped on it, leaving a little runny blob. Thanks, robin. Just as well I was wearing gloves, eh.

A breeze wafts across our faces, gently lifting our hair, lulling us. This giant's bed is somewhat lumpy but it would still be easy to drop off. But, as so often happens these days, hunger calls us and the rumbling of our stomachs becomes louder. After 15 minutes we call it a day and go in for tea.

© Copyright Miranda Hodgson 2008