Water Torture

And then the sun returned. After the wettest winter, last weekend saw some bright and fresh days that resembled something like spring. Getting back on to the allotment to dig in the winter top-dressing of cow manure was rewarding – but hard - work. Now that the downpours have abated a little, the perpetual wind has been quick to dry off the surface; but that only masks the heaviness of the soil less than half a spade’s length down.

For two months, the less quick-draining corner of my plot has been saturated; torturously, this was where the rotation plan had led the overwintering garlic to be planted. It may have survived its aquatic gestation but I am not counting on it: this week I am digging some sand and shingle in with the cow muck on a corner of the higher ground, and putting in some new Cristo garlic cloves. It could be worse: the fruit farm where I have my allotment is estimating that it will lose 1,000 trees as a result of the roots’ prolonged submersion in standing water.

February is, of course, when the sowing and planting begins: broad beans are already on their way in large-celled seed trays in the greenhouse; I have not planted straight into the soil in an attempt to foil those light-fingered field mice. Seed potatoes are quietly chitting in egg boxes in the shed: I have gone for Foremost as my first earlies and the ever-reliable, rose-red Desiree as a main crop. And Sweet Million tomato and Cayenne chilli pepper seedlings are starting to show their tips on a bright, warm windowsill indoors. Next up is more back-breaking digging, followed by the strangely enjoyable donkey work of planting potatoes and onions.

The Rites of Spring

With snow still on the ground, particularly in our garden where the kids’ sledge has compacted last weekend’s fall into an unshiftable and potentially lethal version of the Cresta Run, it’s hard to imagine that winter will ever end. Despite most of the landscape looking and feeling like the tundra, I have known for a while now that spring is just around the corner; and I know this because my seed potatoes have been chitting in the shed for over a fortnight and that means one of the rites of spring – potato planting – will soon be upon us.

Chitting is the process of sprouting the eyes of the tubers before planting. It simply involves putting them in shallow, open trays or boxes with most eyes facing upwards. They need plenty of natural light – a shed with windows, a porch, a greenhouse – and a cool but not frosty temperature. Chitting takes 6 – 8 weeks, or until the sprouts are an inch or two long. Each of these sprouts will produce loads of potatoes, thereby contributing to the miracle of the multitude produced by one innocuous-looking seed potato.

There is a school of thought that you don’t need to chit seed potatoes but chitting does seem to produce an earlier and larger harvest. Last year, I didn’t buy any seed potatoes until late February and, by the time of planting in March, they had been chitting for barely three weeks. As a result, my crop was slow to grow and the potatoes small in size; and holding off the harvest for as long as possible resulted in getting caught by the blight of early autumn.

Determined not to be wrong-footed this year, I took an early trip to Lime Cross Nursery (support your local independent!) between Herstmonceux and Windmill Hill where they sell seed potatoes loose so you can mix your crop up a bit. I went for two varieties I have grown before and know to be reliable: Pentland Javelin for first earlies and Maris Piper for main crop; and I went for Charlotte as my second earlies. Earlies and main crop refer to the time of planting and lifting: earlies can be planted in mid-March, main crop in early April; earlies need 16-18 weeks before harvesting, main crop 18-20 weeks.

Now I’m hoping that I might have a sight of the soil soon so I can start preparing; but with the temperature four below zero as I write this, even if I cleared the snow I don’t think it would take a spade just yet.