Plant food pong

The after work gardener, Wednesday 15 June

Why didn't someone tell me just how nostril noxious plant feed made from nettles would be?

Having been inspired by Kate Bradbury's Gardeners' World Blog on Growing giant sunflowers, and her tips on making nitrogen-rich nettle plant feed, tonight was the night that my bolstering brew came to fruition.

The recipe: Part fill one bucket with nettles, weigh down nettles with a stone and cover with water, simmer for 2 weeks.  To serve: Dilute 1 part nettle to 10 parts water, and watch plants blossom and bloom.

So...following on from my post at the beginning of June where I blithely joke about nettle stings and cheap gardening gloves, today is the day I blithely joke no more.  Nettle plant feed virgins take note - this stuff stinks.  When instructions say mind the smell, take heed, linger on this word, fully appreciate the aromatic implication of its meaning.

How did I not know that this nauseating nettle mix would smell so shocking? Why was I not aware of the retching repulsiveness of this stinking stew?  Why did I omit to Google search this loathsome liquid's obnoxious odour, and why was there not a warning that following a fetid feed an entire garden would hum like a stagnant pond?

I am labouring this putrid point somewhat, but it is simply to offer the naive gardener advice.  Only with the wonders of hindsight do I now know to change out of office clothes before embarking on such a stomach-churning chore.  It is only after half an hour of scrubbing floors (thankfully not carpeted) that I can advise to remove gardening shoes before walking around a house, leaving a faecal footprint trail.

However, as I type, with the enduring odour rising from my over scrubbed finger nails, I count my whiff-free blessings that at least I harvested the lettuce, radishes, spinach, mange tout and parsley, before coating everything in this obnoxious substance.  I take stink-free solace that I enjoyed sitting in the early evening garden sun before the rotting aroma ruined the chance of ever leaving the house again, and I thank the stench-free stars that I didn't, as I might have done, water the entirety of my house plants with this loathsome liquid.

So, I may wake up tomorrow to a scene from the day of the triffids, or perhaps complaints from my neighbours that my garden smells like a cesspit - who knows? I just hope that this nitrogen fix will boost the vegetable plants.  My seed grown tomatoes are distinctly stunted and lacking in flowers, my peppers look like they'll never fuel a stir-fry, and I can't imagine my tiny little aubergine plants ever producing a polished purple fruit.

Maybe the garden stench will scare next door's cat away, or perhaps attract even more to the garden?  Maybe I should have used cumfrey instead - would it have smelt as bad?  What ever the answers are - nettle novices out there beware.  Wear gloves, wear a toxic suit, peg your nose, and have home-grown lavender at the ready to alleviate your assaulted senses - one thing's for sure, this home-made stuff stinks.

Woks at the ready

The after work gardener, Wednesday 8 June 2011.

Having enjoyed the positivity of penning two posts free from death and destruction, it is with a sorry familiarity that I return to this theme.  Following the excitement of Saturday’s freshly grown feast and Monday’s home grown side-salad, it is back to the harsh reality of vegetable gardening with the final decline of my dishevelled courgette – unfortunately all the will in the world, and my careful binding with carpet-tape, just wasn't enough to save this poor little plant cruelly snapped in two by last week's high winds. 

As time gradually ticks onwards I find my skin slowly thickening to these regular losses, and I am learning not to take each failing so personally.  However, in more preventative endeavours to mitigate further botanical blunders, I have become an avid follower of the Guardian Gardening blog.  A recent post on Lettuce for lazy gourmets which - without putting my simple side salad too much in the shade - has entirely opened my eyes to a higher level of salad snobbery.  With the recommended 'Seeds of Italy' mix, and the distinct lack of effort involved, I could be harvesting the Holy Grail of my five-a-day in just one little line of leaves, impressing friends with a home-grown lettuce mix to envy the pre-washed, polythene packets sold in the supermarkets. 

Now, as good fortune would have it, it is through my new found Guardian Blog browsing that I have also managed to learn, from Jane Perrone’s comments, that not all is lost with courgette kind -  even at this late stage, there is still time to sow seeds straight into the warm summer soil.  Therefore, dressed in my regular gardening outfit of pyjamas, dressing gown and slippers, I have now diligently performed this simple task.

However, the joy of today's news is even better than the Seeds of Italy mix coupled with the hope of another courgette plant, today I noticed that to cap the re-sprouting rhubarb, the cresting radishes and the glorious glut of strawberries - I am now the proud owner of my first Mangetout, pictured here complete with little white socks. 

The smell of a vegetable stir-fry is perhaps still lingering slightly in the distance, but with the appearance of this first friable ingredient my stomach now prompts me to think that perhaps I need to start planning a few more nights in, and days working from home.  

So my new worry is - as the vegetable garden becomes more and more prolific - how on earth am I going to ensure that I stay on top of eating all this freshly farmed food?

My 'Good Life' moment

The after work gardener, Saturday 4 June 2011

I would just like to take a minute to luxuriate in my own little glorious 'Good Life' moment.  Usually starting my blog with tales of death and destruction, it is with an amateur gardener's glee that I am able to regale you with the delights of feasting on food produced from my very own veggie plot. 

As pictured left, I have just devoured a homegrown lettuce and spinach sandwich - on rye, with a perfectly crunchy side-helping of hand-reared radish, washed down with an effusive infusion of personally planted marvellous mint tea.  Now, if only the bread had been homemade, and the mint tea had been boiled in rainwater from a solar-powered kettle, then my self-sufficiency would be complete - but for now, sat on my Argos bistro garden set, staring out over my little veggie patch, reeling from living the dream - I truly feel like Felicity Kendal in my own little 'Good Life' moment.   

Of course, at the back of my mind I am waiting for Margo to materialise in a haze of floral chiffon and a cacophony of "Jerry" to berate me for nibbling around the slug bites on the radish, and ignoring the crunch of badly washed lettuce.  But for now, in this moment of homegrown bliss, all is good in the world, and indeed, if the truth be fully known, in a second of blind euphoria I have even stroked next door's cat - something I know I shall live to regret. 

So perhaps it's the afterglow of the fabulous champagne afternoon tea I have just enjoyed at the Charlotte Street Hotel, further compounded by the fact that maybe I'm not seeing straight - but the garden is actually looking very good.  And contemplating my toils in the soft focus haze of the late afternoon sun, it brings a smile to my face to see that since I last checked, my little family of beans and peas have blossomed into flower - ruby red ones on the runners, little lilac ones on the french beans, and wonderfully white ones on the mangetout - and to top it all, my second crop of radishes are cresting. 

I think I might finally be getting the hang of this.

All quiet on the north-facing gardening front

The after work gardener, Thursday 2 June.

Today I breathed a huge sigh of relief.  The wicked spell that had been cast over my vegetable rearing powers by a malicious and evil aphid has been lifted, and following this evening's 8pm plant inspection I am very proud to report that since last weekend there have been no more fatalities on the north-facing gardening front.  However, if you could all join me in silent prayer for my very sick courgette plant - snapped in two by freak high winds - it would be very much appreciated.

From reading Pippa Greenwood's crushing, but undoubtedly true words, in her Gardeners' World blog discussing dishevelled courgettes, I fear the worst for my little Squash related friend. Pippa explains how high winds and lack of rain can be one of the courgette's worst enemies.  However, having lasted in its present state since Saturday, and having also bravely squeezed out another little side shoot - albeit sadly shedding all other leaves - I am sure if we all wish hard enough, the courgette might just make it through the weekend and off the critical list.

I also want to take a moment to pay final tribute to my sacrificial strawberry. Today I have been discovering that everything has its role in the garden - rampant weeds that grow like triffids, once pulled up, have their part to play in fuelling the compost heap - and likewise, this sad little strawberry played her part, by offering up her red and fruity life in sacrifice to save her sugary sisters.

The major success of my garden so far has been my harvest of strawberries, and only this evening in need of a desperate post-swim sugar fix, I feasted on 4 ready and ripe relatives of my sacrificial strawberry, reminding me that withstanding my many failures - success still tastes sweet.  Miss Marples amongst you will be better at diagnosing how she met her grisly end,  but I am guessing that joining the aphids, the snails and the cat, is our new friend the caterpillar - or is it a slug?

After this evening's 8pm plant inspection, I watered the garden, and in one of my many attempts to remain environmentally friendly, I have been shunning the hose in favour of the watering-can.  I lose count of the amount of times I trudge back and forth to the kitchen tap in my thirst quenching duty, but judging by the collection of muddy footprints on the floor, I'd say more than 10.  I have flirted with the idea of a water butt to prevent future filthy floors, but cursed by a drought of appropriate gutterpiping, I still hold out hope for a  birthday treat of an outside tap.

Now, whilst recovering from my 30 minute watering-can workout, I had a quick check on my homemade nettle nitrogen plant food - quietly steeping in a bucket of water. Having secretly gathered the nettles for this brew from my local waste ground (no nettles in my neat little garden) I was smugly pleased to experience only one sting during the process.  Alas, one day later, and I am constantly reminded of my now rather prolific end-of-finger nettle-burn by my tingling typing on the keyboard.

Nevertheless, there is a silver lining to my stinging story.  A previous incident with a pair of secateurs, using these implements to do a job for which they were not designed - to trim the edge of my lawn - left me with a distinct lack of feeling in the end of one digit.  However, following my nettle harvesting, I am pleased to report that I now have full tingling feeling in the end of all fingers.  May my nettle feed bring equal replenishment to the plants of my garden.