Counting leaves...

An explanation as to why there is no blog post today…

I have lots of ideas for blog posts, but today I’ve decided not to write anything. I decided this as I walked along Oxford Road this morning counting the leaves as they fell to the ground. I’d counted about forty-seven when the idea popped into my head not to write today. Well, why should I? It’s not like I’m getting paid for it or anything.

Crossing the road as the fifty-sixth leaf hit the ground I wondered why I bother to write at all. It’s not as if anyone’s life depends on it. Fifty-nine hit the ground as I ticked off the subjects I could, but wouldn’t, be writing about today. Why would anyone want to know why I haven’t yet got a tattoo on my right arm, even if it does look a little empty and could benefit from decoration, anyway?

A dog, a little further along the street, chased a piece of paper as the sixty-first leaf hit the tarmac just as I decided that I wouldn’t be writing about why various male Christian names are used as words to describe quite another male thing. Nor would I be writing about how our first names aren’t always that Christian at all, nor should be.

Seventy-eight and Chocolate Week was put on hold until another more inspirational day.

Eighty-one hit as two crows in the big tree at the end of the road seemed to look down at me as if I were a tasty snack. Slowly they decided to take off, flapping their big black wings as they gently disappeared into the distance whilst I gazed at eighty-eight, two fat ladies, swirling down in an eddy of wind, slowly drifting to land on a black bin with its handles turned towards the wall. Leaf ninety-six was crushed under the wheels of the recycling lorry as it turned the corner to pick up the bin which, no doubt, was full of empty wine bottles. Ninety-seven, ninety-eight, and ninety-nine followed swiftly.

There was a slight gap in the leaf dropping as the breeze seemed to die for a moment. I stood still listening to the noise of wine bottles hitting metal as the bin was emptied by a tall, running man in green overalls and a beard that seemed to be trying to dodge the drops of rain that had just started to fall.

I gazed up into the rain-filled air and in the tree above saw the one-hundredth leaf detach itself from its holding twig and float towards the ground. I hardly had to move my outstretched hand as it dropped towards me. A little step to the right, a readjustment of my half-clutched fingers, and it was in my palm. Palm, it made me think that perhaps I might write a post about Twin Peaks - but not today.

I lifted the leaf to my nose, taking in the sweet, coppery, late season vegetation smell and then carefully folded it away, tucking it into my pocket. For a moment as I held it I considered writing about what I was going to do with the leaf. But as I’ve already mentioned I’m not going to write a blog post today.

And that is why there isn’t one.

Not doing my tax return…

I think I got in just before the real autumn arrived. You know the one. The one that brings scudding clouds, wet rain, chilly starts, damp mushy leaves, and condensation on the glass when you pull back the curtains in the morning. The real autumn, the one the poets don’t write about; the walking to school with a heavy heart autumn.

But enough of that, it’s been years since I walked to school.

I want to tell you about what I did on Sunday before the real autumn arrived. And what a sun day it was too. It’s hard to believe that since then it has hardly stopped raining. Still, it’s good for the garden and that is what I want to go on about today.

On Sunday I awoke knowing that I wanted to do something but not at all sure what it was. There were plenty of things I didn’t want to do – tax returns, tidying up my corner of the kitchen, putting the ironing away. But on such a lovely day it seemed wrong somehow to fritter it on things not at all frivolous, so I decided to spend Sunday avoiding doing the things I’d avoided doing the Sunday before and indulge myself a little.

Of course fun is in the eye of the beholder, and one man’s fun is another’s torment, but fun can quite often mean a spot of gardening; at least it can for me. So it was off to the nursery just off the M60 with a crumpled twenty-pound note in my hand.

In the spring I like to grow my plants from seed, but at this time of year with only a few pots to plant, I just buy some. Call me a purist but I try to avoid the Garden Centre experience with its restaurant, ornaments, furniture, and Christmas decorations, preferring a place that simply sells plants.

Three trays of yellow, purple, and cream pansies, a couple of trays of orange and mauve violas, four shades of pink cyclamen, a dwarf conifer, an ivy, and a couple of trailing variegated sages later my twenty quid had been well spent.

Back home I emptied the going-over summer bedding from my tired pots and basket and replaced the root compacted compost. I find it hard to throw plants away, so anything that might overwinter was planted in my back yard – just in case. My twenty quids worth of plants filled the basket, four good sized pots, and (because I had plants left over) four or so smaller planters. I even tucked some dwarf narcissus and crocus into the compost of each.

So that’s it. The autumn and winter planting done with even a touch of spring ready to come through in the New Year. I’m looking forward to watching them grow - all very satisfying.

I still need to do my tax return though.

Evidence of autumn...

Well it seems to have arrived right on cue. There was a real chill in the air this morning and that, along with crisp emptiness that makes the birds sound like a tinny recording of themselves when they sing, seemed to say ‘autumn is here’. I wouldn’t call it mellow fruitfulness though. It didn’t quite feel mellow and if there was fruit to be had I couldn’t see it. Maybe autumn wasn’t here after all, as they say ‘one swallow doesn’t make a summer’.

Evidence is what I needed, evidence of autumn.

Creeping out of the yard gate and into the deserted entry I wondered what I might find. Would autumn be everywhere as if someone had flipped the autumn switch overnight and plunged us into a world of mists and bonfire smoke? Of course I was hoping to find spiders. You know, the big hairy ones that are everywhere this time of year apparently, real monsters big enough to eat a chicken whole. But the only spider I saw was a tiny pinprick of a creature sitting in the middle of his dew free web. I couldn’t even find one of those orange autumnally bloated slugs that seem to appear just after the summer has left as if they had sucked up the last of the sun and were storing it in their gooey bodies to get them through the winter.

Yes, perhaps the report of summer’s death and the arrival of autumn had been grossly exaggerated.

It was then that I spotted what I was looking for. A little further along the alley tucked up against a neighbour's back wall was a neatly swept pile of leaves. Now these weren’t ordinary leaves, and they weren’t M and S leaves either, these were definitely autumnal leaves. It was their colour that gave them away.

Mind you nature can be tricky, and she makes some leaves red and brown all year around without the need for autumn. So to be sure I picked up a handful to check for the rustle factor. The leaves felt dry and crisp in my hand and when I scrunched them they made a very satisfying dry rustle. These were indeed the first leaves of autumn. I bent to scoop up another handful and as I did a huge brown arachnid, one of those fabled spiders I’d read about in the papers, leaped towards me and clung to my hand.

That was evidence enough for me. So gently flinging the huge thing off my hand (I am not afraid of spiders you understand) I beat a hasty retreat to my back gate and safety once more. I had found autumn. That pile of swept up leaves was just the harbinger of things to come. Watch now how quickly the leaves will turn.

Mid-September yard...

September already and, despite the sunshine, there's a hint of 'to come' in the air. The yard has been tidied, the overgrown tumble of colour cleared away, and now I am ready for the leaves to fall.

What a difference a dry month and weekends away makes. Only a few weeks ago my yard was lush with growth, but without rain or regular watering that lushness soon turned to shrivel. 

Oh well, next year will be here soon enough.

End of the season...

I think that we might be seeing the last of the warm, sunny, days. With the autumn coming quickly now, and the wet weather it often brings, I took the opportunity today to bring in the last of the summer's veg and start the tidying up process ready for the winter.

I was surprised just how much there was left to gather in and the beans and tomatoes, even one of the courgette plants, are still going strong. But the remainder of the white onions, carrots, turnips, cucumbers, parsnips and shallots needed to be harvested because, knowing myself as I do, if I don't do it now they will rot on the stem and in the ground.

Not a bad crop. I managed a pumpkin, although not a very large one, but the purple sprouting broccoli and sweetcorn were a dismal failure. The beetroot, which I thought had also failed, actually turned out to be fine and my peas, long gone now, were pretty good as well. But it is my beans that I'm happiest with, both runner and French, and some variety I'm not sure of but which taste delicious.

So that's it for this year bar the shouting. I'm not going to bother with a few things I tried this year next time, but I'll definitely grow beans, tomatoes, onions, and carrots.Anyway, that's it for my veg reports for 2014 (I think that I hear you all sigh with relief) and now it's time to make a stew.