Friends in High Places

In the first of a very occasional series, we will take a critical look at onion patches around the world, with particular reference to depth, spacing, weeding regime and any vernacular cultivation techniques. Here we have Mario's Cipollini in the Tuscan uplands.

Mario has a fairly loose spacing, although he may have been thinning by harvesting in the green alla moda italiana. He has an even row width over the whole patch, which can make for difficult access and risk of trampling, al Dowsoni. Cleanliness of patch is a fairly neutral wH6.7 on the weedmeter, although as usual I didn't bother calibrating it properly so the result is just for the purpose of putting some numbers in the report. Curiously, Mario chooses to grow his onions in narrow ridges with his swellings not exposed, but perhaps he's cares little about the size of his bulbs - these would be best served up in a tight bunched finish. One must assume this technique is an essential aid for watering in these dusty environs because it looks molto faffo. Despite all this, you have to give him credit for a valiant effort on this mountainous stage. He offered to rent me part of his land for £10 euros a month but I thought it was a bit steep.

Extreme Gardening

Less than a week ago, the day temperature failed to reach 7 degrees. This week we've had 26 degrees in the sunshine that appeared spontaneously for the arrival of the WSP coach tour. The seedlings that sprouted in the March heatwave have until this week sat stunted not knowing what's going on. Fifty days since our first excited cut of asparagus, last night we managed a second one. All in all, not a great time to go on the annual seed-buying field trip sometimes known as a Mediterranean holiday. Yes, it's cooler there than here. I am up at 4am to do a last watering of my onions (it's already light!) because, as you'll know, if you want swell onions this is a critical time for growth, especially if someone has just stood on them. Here is my latest time lapse shot. Note the wide open spaces where things haven't germinated or I didn't bother sowing until this week, and also the absence of leaves on the ash trees. On our return, it will look very different but will the garden have burst into life or be fried to a crisp?

All hands on deck

There's a lot more out front these days. The decking I meant

Field work manager (right)

Now that the weed season is in full swing, you need all the help you can get. Labourers are being coached in from all parts. Unfortunately some deckhands are more useful than others, and if you are really unlucky you'll end up with someone who tramples on your onion patch and spends the rest of the shift on the phone. Still all is forgotten over a chard & spring onion pizza and rhubarb upside-down cake watching the sun go down over the northwest highlands. Next field trip and onion disinterment training course now booking.

Cheekbones like Geometry

It's time I took that snowy image off the top of the blog. So here is still shivery but now squelchy one to replace it. Everything has stopped growing, the asparagus tips have rotted, no point sowing anything too fussy really. However, the plot looks at its cleanest at this time of year. The bare soil shows up its high cheekbones, with the crisp lines of all those triangles, rhombuses & trapezia. This is gardening at cute angles, making use of all those cosines learned at school. The clean look won't last though. The chickweed will turn it straight back into a carpet of green. I'll put up another picture from the bedroom window in a month's time to show the passing of the seasons - a sort of laidback time lapse photography to whet the appetite for the webcam that will never happen.

Blanket on the Ground

Seems like only a week ago the barbecue was out, The Snab was a dustbowl, my neighbour was gardening topless and casual comments were made about what a short benign winter we had. I'd like to say, deep down, I wasn't fooled into sowing anything too early. And there is nothing like a bit of snow to show up the layout of the garden. It'll be interesting to see whether the early flowering damsons will go on to produce any fruit while I guess tonight's asparagus on toast may have to be postponed. Otherwise, I think no harm done and a spot of working from home is always good for the soul.

The emergence of the first asparagus tip brings a degree of excitement unmatched in the gardening year. You can go looking for them every day, but its appearance still somehow comes as a surprise. It is s harbinger of spring, its rubbery pinky flesh contrasting with the brittle woody stumps of last year's ferns. But more than that, there is a nurturing aspect to asparagus growing that comes with no other vegetable. You have to provide the right environment and education in their infancy, make sure they not keeping undesirable company with the local weeds, and exercise immense patience. They will then mature into rewarding and undemanding adults. These spears are the result of my 2009 sowing when we didn't even have any land, or any chance of any and so this is their fourth season. I'm so proud that they have made it through to their graduation day. The key to the finest asparagus on the plate, is to boil the water before heading to the patch with the knife at breakneck speed . Remember and practise that and you can't go far wrong, served with a knob of butter and perhaps a poach egg. In retrospect, perhaps don't put the patch at the far reaches of your acreage like I have. Those valuable seconds lost could ruin the meal. But I had an excuse, the crowns had to go in and it was the first thing I planted back in March 2010 along with my rhubarb. Here's a photo from the archives.

Jerusalem in the Spring

Spring has certainly arrived here since my last post. This is traditionally a difficult time of year for living off the garden. Stored potatoes, neeps, kale, cabbage, broccoli and winter salads are all going strong but carrots and celeriac are gone and it'll be a while before there's anything to freshen up the repertoire in the kitchen. Bring on the hard-as-nails jerusalem artichoke which could easily feed the five thousand from sowing one tuber... although they might not eat it.

I'm yet to be convinced about its merits. Some eulogise about its flavour but it is blessed with high concentrations of the tentatively identified compound, inulin [C6H11O5(C6H10O5)nOH], which most people can't digest. For once I am in the majority and it can lead to a most unchristian flatulence. But there is nothing holy about this root. It is in fact a tuberous perennial sunflower (girasole) from North America, getting its name from a mangling of a foreign language not seen again till I did italian at O level. It is a good samaritan in the garden, oblivious to weeds and providing, ironically, a good windbreak but you will need a Herod-like determination to root out those baby tubers to stop it evangelising in soft fruit patch. For all its virtues, if you're looking for the promised land to provide something at this time of year, for me it is the leek that shall inherit the earth.