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A true stalwart in our winter garden

It is perishingly cold today, after a brief respite of warm and sunny weather that saw our bees flying (from all four hives), the rate of egg laying increase among the hens and shoots start to unfurl. In that few, blissful, days I got the wisteria pruned, the dogwood and ivy hacked back and our standard willow trees clipped to severe little balls of twigs ready to shoot again in a few weeks' time. Richard also managed to cut the grass, and the waterlogged sludge that has been our garden for the past few months finally dried up.

Now there is a blast from the arctic and the ground is frozen solid. We have had to chip out some leeks to make tonight's supper, which needs to be filling and hearty.

However, throughout all of this bizzare weather one particular plant has flowered its heart out. It started  at Christmas and is still throwing up spears of beautiful blue flowers. The individual in question is Iris Unguicularis. We inherited Iris with the house, so I do not know the variety/cultivar, but would recommend her to anyone who has the right growing conditions. These are - an alkaline soil and a dry, sunny situation. This translates as at the foot of a sunny, south facing wall where the wall is built of limestone, which is absolutely what we have in this part of France.

I have divided our Iris Unguicularis up so that we have several clumps dotted along the front of the oldest part of the house. You walk past it on the way to the front door after having parked the car - so they offer a very cheery welcome home at this time of year. They are to be recommended, not only because they flower when hardly anything else does, but because they are easy to look after if in the right spot. Simply cut back the leaves after they have flowered and then give them some cosmetic attention in the autumn before they start to throw up the spearheads which go on to flower so prolifically.

Iris Unguicularis makes a welcome change from snowdrops and crocuses. I love both of these, of course, but they are very over-written about at this time of year and it is fun to be able to discuss something different.

See below the results with the ivy and dogwood. Both are hugely vigorous. The ivy needs pruning now to stop it from completely submerging our terrace under a sea of green leaves and the dogwood needs a good third of the oldest stems removing each February so that it keeps throwing up beautiful new red stems each year.

Incidentally, supper will be leeks and eggs under a gratin made using blue Wensleydale cheese. All very home grown (the cheese came back with us from Yorkshire last month). Off to prepare it now.

TURNING OVER A NEW LEAF

A lot has happened since the last blog, which helps account for the lack of any news

1. We have a new little grandson Fred. I have been to the UK to meet him and he is wonderful; trips to France are already being planned - so look out for blogs about how to make gardens child friendly and which plants are poisonous!

2. I have a new job. I have changed the agency I work with (as an estate agent) and now work with Maxwell Storrie Baynes. It is a big job as I have the agency for the Garonne valley territory and will be specialising in selling non-vineyard chateaux (Karin Maxwell and Michael Baynes look after them) and prestigious country houses to international clients. I hope some of them have fantastic gardens which I will be able to take lots of photographs of.

So I am turning over a new leaf, as it were. Hence the photograph below. This is a Virginia Creeper which is currently putting on a real firework display on our barn wall.  

The Latin name for it is Parthenocissus Tricuspidata, and it is is the best member of the Parthenocissus genus to choose for growing up a wall. P. Tricuspidata is not to be confused with Parthenocissus Quinquifolia which has a different leaf shape and a different habit. As the name suggests P. Quinquifolia has 5 distinct leaflets to each leaf whereas P. Tricuspidata's leaves look more like those of a maple tree. P.Quinquifolia will not cling to a wall very successfully and whereas it has fantastic leaf colour in the autumn, it looks better weaving up and through trees. P. Tricuspidata, on the other hand, is ideal for training up a wall - although you do need to prune it firmly each autumn to stop it running riot all over your roof tiles. See below on out tobacco barn where it has grown up behind a bay tree hedge and is about to establish a claim to the roof.

Finally a picture of some Firethorn looking quite beautiful. To be enjoyed before all of those berries become bird food.

MEMBRLLO AND A SWARM OF BEES. A MOST UNLIKELY COMBINATION.

Two essentials I try to make in the autumn are chilli jam and membrillo.  I broadly follow Sarah Raven's recipes for them both. This weekend I made the membrillo

Membrillo is a fantastic way of using and saving quinces for use later in the year. It is Portuguese and is eaten with cheese. The other useful thing about it is if you want something to have the flavour of quince, which is something I adore personally, then you can add a chunk of membrillo. Add it to - say - a casserole and it will melt and infuse the dish with its flavour. This is how you make it:

* Take 2 kilos of quince, cored and chopped but with the skin still on.
* Add about a litre of water and simmer, stirring regularly, until the quince is soft. Make sure you add the water a bit at a time so that you do not end up with something too runny - basically you are looking for a puree type of consistency. The amount you need varies - I used over a litre this weekend.
* Then push the quince puree through a sieve.
* Measure out the puree into a heavy bottomed pan. I find a deep stock pot is the best thing to use (see why later). For every 600ml of quince puree you have add 350grams of sugar to the pan.
* Cook the sugar and quince mixture, stirring constantly, over a low heat for about an hour. This is a pain, but is essential as if you leave it it will quickly burn and stick to the bottom of the pan. Fish any burnt bits out if this happens. The paste will also spit as it thickens, which is why a stock pot is a good shape of pan to use, but you may also need to wrap your hand in a tea towel to protect yourself. While you are doing this add about half a teaspoonful of ground cinnamon to the mixture.
* After about 45 minutes to an hour the mixture will have thickened considerably and will have gone a reddish brown. What you are looking for is the point when it is thick enough to start pulling away from the sides of the pan as you are stirring it. This means it is ready for the next step.
* Ladel or pour the mixture into baking trays or moulds which you have oiled and then lined with non-stick paper or cling film. It looks like this (not very inviting):

* Cover it with a tea towel and leave it for about 2 days at room temperature to set. Then cut into slices and wrap them individually in cling film. I keep a couple of slices in the fridge and freeze the rest.

Quince also goes well with apples - quince and apple crumble or quince and apple cake work really well, and of course you can also make quince jelly, but for me membrillo is the way to use up my quinces.

And now for the swarm of bees......

This was a really surprising event. At about 4 pm yesterday Richard came into the house and said that one of our bee hives had a huge number of bees at its entrance; so many in fact that you could not see the entrance itself. We walked over to have a look. My initial thoughts were that they were under attack and were defending the hive from Asian hornets. However, when we got there they had dispersed and the hive looked absolutely normal, with a few bees flying in and out and not much else to remark on.

Had I seen this happen in the middle of the day and sometime between April and July I would have suspected that they had swarmed, but an October evening is theoretically too late for a swarm. In October the hive is starting to reduce in numbers and the bees (and bee keepers) are preparing for winter. Swarming is a process which normally happens early in the year, most usually because a hive gets too full. The swarm or swarms (there are usually several) leave the hive and set up colonies of their own at a time of year when there is lots of food and the weather is good, which gives them the maximum chance of survival. In October there is little available food so they have no chance of building up the supplies of honey they must have if they are to survive the winter.

Well. I was wrong - we looked at the hive for a few more minutes, hoping for clues, and then I became aware of a small swarm of bees, hanging from a branch close by. I was astonished. My initial thoughts were to leave them to their fate as I could not believe they would be able to survive, but I rang Bridget, our bee keeping guru, for advice. She was out and by 5.30 it was starting to drizzle. I did not have the heart to leave them to perish so I went into swarm collecting mode - cobbled together a nucleus box (small hive) and frames and abridged normal swarm collecting procedure by knocking the swarm into a bucket and putting them directly into the hive. The hive was about 10 metres from where the bees had been hanging - so it was close enough for any stragglers to sense where their queen had gone and within about 20 minutes they had followed her into their new home.

By now Bridget was home and had phoned me. She agreed with what I had done and said that she had once housed a swarm in November. Because she fed them with sugar syrup and candy thoughout the winter they survived into the spring and were a productive colony the following year. If the weather continued to be mild, and I fed them, my bees may also have a chance of survival.

This morning I made some sugar syrup for them and took it over to the hive, curious to see whether they still liked their new home. They were fine - a tiny colony, but already established on one of the combs of wax I had provided them with. I fed them and then left them to their own devices. I cannot believe that there are enough of them to survive the winter, but I will do my best to help them make it. Watch this space for news about whether they make it.

A MODEST RECOLTE

I bottled this year's honey yesterday. The honey was collected at the beginning of September, which is a little late, but it has been a very strange year. I do the whole process by hand, so it normally is very time consuming, but very therapeutic, involving as it does a lot of concentration and some strenuous effort. This year, however, it was all done in a trice. I have four hives and would normally have anticipated at least 30 combs to de-cap and then extract the summer honey from. I had eight. And I am not entirely sure why.

My bees got off to a very strange start. In March the weather was phenominally hot; I spotted queen cells in one hive - which is an indication that the bees are planning to swarm - and had to take preventative action. I created an articifical swarm and in the process added an extra hive to my apiary. The bees in the new hive took off at speed - drawing comb and bringing in nectar while the queen went into full egg laying production. The 'other half' of the artificial swarm - that is, the bees who had not left the original hive - made up the difference quickly and my other two hives were doing wonderfully.

Then April arrived and weeks and weeks of solid rain. The bees couldn't fly; they couldn't gather nectar and were confined to their hives. They had to eat all of their stores. I should perhaps have fed them sugar at this point, but I do prefer to let them eat as much true honey as possible, so I didn't. And it seems to have taken them all year to replenish their own stores before they have been able to get round to providing us with some honey. I guess it is just one of those things, but it has got me thinking of this year's winners and losers. This is something that varies each year, not least because nature loves diversity. I must put together a list of what did well in the garden - or particularly badly - this year.

Incidentally - the photograph at the top is not my entire honey collection for the year - just one or two artfully arranged jars!

BEAUTIFUL BORLOTTIES

We are in the process of harvesting our borlotti beans. Every year we grow them as much for their beauty as for their utility. Borlotti beans, which suit our climate absolutely perfectly, have fabulous, long deep pink speckled pods. They grow from tall plants, in the manner of runner beans, packing each one with a profusion of colours. As they ripen the pods turn a mottled brown, become very crisp and then split open, spilling the beans into the ground (if you are not careful).

This year we have been somewhat taken by surprise. The summer started off wet and cool, but recent weeks have been blistering hot. The beans have ripened very quickly. I went to inspect (and photograph) them earlier this week and found that we had reached the splitting and spilling stage already. I picked some, but then Richard did the bulk of the work yesterday and today while I was at work. It was a convenient time for that particular task as he sat at the kitchen table this morning podding borlotti beans while he watched team GB have such a sensational time in the rowing events. He shed a tear almost everytime one of them stood on the winner's podium and the National Anthem was played.

Rowing is a big sport in our family. Last year Richard, his brother and his nephew were at Eton Dorney. James and Archie were rowing and Richard was the man on the cycle racing along the bank beside them. At one point Archie fell in - so the rescue boat had an opportunity to get a bit of practice in too. Mark Hunter's father was in the boat, so the three of them felt as though they had been sprinkled with Olympic sparkle dust.

Anyway - back to the beans. The beans inside the pod are also speckled and remain so once you have dried them. I do this by putting them in a wicker basket, leaving them in a dry and airy place (shelf in kitchen) and turning them with my hands every few days until they are all absolutely dry and hard. Then I store them in airtight Le Parfait jars for use in the winter. You can also eat them fresh - my favourite way is to make a sort of hummus with them using tahini, lemon juice and olive oil in the usual way and then adding some leafy herbs (such as coriander or chives or parsley) at the last minute.

Last year some of my stored beans were attacked by insects called bean seed beetles. These little monsters lay eggs in the bean pod as the seeds are developing. You don't notice them as you harvest, cook and eat the beans (!) but when you store them for use in the winter - or for sowing the following year - the maggots/beetles emerge leaving little holes in the bean as they eat their way out. Yuk - a bit of unwanted additional protein in our soups and stews. Broad beans are apparently their favourite residence, but borlotties are clearly popular too. There is no known means of prevention and seeds attacked in this way normally germinate successfully.

Once you have harvested the beans make sure you leave the roots in the ground and dig them in to help set nitrogen in the soil as per usual with a legume.

THE CHICKEN DIARIES - JULY

Bad Boris met his nemesis this month. A very sad day, but he was the author of his own demise. I wrote in June that he was attacking Richard (even when he was driving the tractor) and harassing the young female hens. Well, things went from bad to worse. We started finding very young chickens dead or dying; Richard could not set foot in the garden without Boris creeping up on him (while mentally sharpening his spurs – Boris that is - not Richard) and his aggressive influence was generally making everyone very unhappy.

Finally Richard decided that things could continue no longer. All I was aware of was a lot of shouting and squawking, which continued to be heard – intermittently – for about half an hour as Richard pursued Boris around the garden. And Boris attacked back. It was a hot day and I wasn’t sure whether my spouse was going to be a casualty of the heat or whether Boris would finally meet his match. I plotted their course from the hen houses to the orchard, to the vegetable garden to the flower beds, down to the pond and up again towards the meadow. Everyone else in the garden – hens, cat, dog, me, kept a very low profile. It was clearly a fight to the death.  I am happy to say Richard won. He returned to the house visibly shaken, dripping with sweat, but victorious. What happened to Boris’s body I will never know. We didn’t eat him; once you name them eating them becomes a real no-no in the Adams household.

From that point the chicken community became much more balanced. His remaining two wives immediately went broody and took to the hen house together to share the period of egg incubation. Between them they were sitting on seven eggs. His children – we were left with eight young Lavender Pekins (six hens and two young cockerels) – became much more relaxed around the garden. Eventually the two mothers between them hatched three chicks and together they all left the nesting area and took their babies into the garden. Which one had done the hatching and which one was stealing the credit will always be a mystery to us, and probably to them as well because they are sharing all the glory and all the work.

However, because they left the nest when they did four eggs remained unhatched and, because the weather has been so warm, one remaining egg pipped – and out popped chick number four. What to do now? We decided to lend a hand and took the chick into the garden to be re-united with the two mothers and three other chicks. This should have been a happy ending, but no; they started to attack it. We tried again. That night we put the two mothers, their three acknowleged infants and the ‘orphan’ into an ark where they would be penned in and could rear their young free from the risk of predator attack.

We thought that by spending the night under one of the mothers the chick would adopt their smell and become part of the clutch. Hen have excellent eyesight and so can spot an introduced chick if it looks at all different to their own. It is quite normal for them to attack outsiders, but this chick, being another Lavender Pekin, was identical to the other three. We were confident things would work out for the little fellow.

Next morning we found its body. Another lesson learned. July has been a cruel month in the poulallier.

HAPPINESS  IS  A  RIPE  TOMATO

Modern day Marmande is famous for one thing. The tomato. Not just any tomato – but one which is named after the town itself. It is for sale in every market near here and I have even seen it in Waitrose. It is a town also famous for one of the last massacres of the fourth crusade (against the Cathars) when around 7000 residents were massacred, but that is another story for another day.

The town celebrates its tomato (and any other variety of tomato it can muster) each July with a festival which takes over the various squares around the town centre for two days with tastings, entertainments, parades, award ceremonies and general good times together with demonstration plantings of varieties of tomato in every colour and shape available within the cloisters of the town’s old church. This year the fiesta took place last weekend. I had completely forgotten about it until I went to my hairdresser (in Marmande town centre) and was puzzled to see that Patrick the coiffeur, who normally dresses entirely in white (a la Segolene Royale perhaps), had white trousers and a tomato red t shirt on. Tomato Fiesta 2012 it proclaimed. And today was the day. I arrived at 9am; by 11 the town was fizzing.

The Marmandaise don’t throw tomatoes at each other in the manner of the Spanish at their Tomatina festival, but celebrate it a bit more respectfully and – naturally – centre the celebration around eating. In the manner of the famous Jurade at St Emilion when the brotherhood of wine makers parade around the town, there is a ‘confrerie’ of those associated with the Marmande tomato (all dressed in red with red hats) who parade to fanfares, make speeches and award prizes. Sometimes the parades are enhanced by guest appearances by the brotherhoods of asparagus, aubergines and goodness knows what else too – dressed in suitably coloured gowns and hats of course. Patrick complained that these days people take themselves too seriously and don’t know how to have fun. Watching the proceedings, I was not so sure.

This weekend it was sunny, after weeks of unsettled weather, and people felt relaxed and determined to have a good time, despite the gloom associated with France’s political and financial situation. It is an unpretentious town, not rich but not poor either, which is proud of its horticultural heritage. A trip to Marmande’s market on an average Saturday is a revelation. Seasonal food, minimal food miles, as little packaging as they can get away with and a quality and quantity of produce which most of us can only dream about.  Such a simple thing, and so straightforward to achieve, but slipping from the grasp of most of the people I know back home.

THE SEX LIFE OF THE CUCUMBER

Richard has found some flourishing cucumbers hiding under our mountainous courgette plants, where they have been surreptitiously doing their thing. He has brought four whoppers into the house this evening. I will make a cucumber pickle with one or several of them, but he was concerned as to how they would taste. If you are not careful you can grow very bitter cucumbers.

The problem with cucumbers starts when the female is fertilized by the male (so what is so surprising about that, you think). If it is fertilized the resultant fruit becomes bitter and twisted – again, shades of déjà vu in the Adams' household. Traditionally gardeners would pick off the male flowers on a cucumber plant to avoid any promiscuity in the cold frame, but modern horticulturalists can now buy plants or seeds which have female only flowers in normal circumstances. When I started growing vegetables I always grew a variety called Pepinex because it had been bred to do just that, and I never had any problems – lovely, straight sweet cucumbers which were a joy to eat.

Nature, of course, is always one step ahead of us. She wants to pollenate her female cucumbers because she needs some of them to set seed and provide future generations of plants. So if a plant becomes stressed – even if it has been bred to develop only female flowers – it will spontaneously create male flowers too so that the female cucumbers can be fertilised, set seed and the species will survive. When I first heard this it put me in mind of the British population after the First World War. We were short of men after the butchery on the battlefields of northern France and I am told the proportion of male babies born in the few years afterwards increased. I don’t think this is an apocryphal story, but other people may know better than me. I think it was nature recognizing a stressed population and doing something about it.

The problems facing us in our kitchen is this; have those furtive cucumbers which have been romping about under the courgette leaves been stressed or bathed in zen like happiness? We had better eat one and find out.

ANOTHER DAY…..ANOTHER VINEYARD

My hobby is garden writing and photography, but my day job is in a French estate agency where I am responsible for business development. In plain English that means I try to sell property and to develop our business into new areas. My big focus at the moment is vineyards and I have just spent a fascinating day visiting three. Two of them were ‘take-ons’ – i.e. I was visiting them in order to encourage the owners to allow us to market them for us (mission accomplished here) and the third was a lovely vineyard we already are marketing – I was visiting this with a potential buyer.

They were three very different animals. The first was organic, as was the last. It had a lovely old house which had been beautifully renovated; a five star gite; vineyard management in place and a super wine. The second was a stunning building which is a state of tragic dis-repair with much loved vines and plum trees. The wine is mostly sold ‘en vrac’ i.e. to customers who come along with their own containers - and goodness knows what happens to the plums. The trees in the orchards looked old, but there was some very good equipment for harvesting and drying the fruit. If someone with some money gets hold of the chateau before it falls down and shook up the vineyard marketing a bit it could be fantastic. At the moment it is not. The third vineyard was absolutely spanking modern. Contemporary house, in excellent condition, newly built chai (winery), very smart marketing and hugely interesting owner who conducted the visit in English (and she does most of the work there herself). I hope my client buys it – but if not I have asked if I can go along and work there occasionally, so that I can develop a fuller understanding of the wine making business.

Last week and the week before that I visited four Premier Cru chateaux in St Emilion. I love St Emilion. These were all entirely social visits and involved eating and drinking and mixing with friends. The lack of presumption on the part of the owners of significant St Emilion chateaux never ceases to amaze me. At one, the owner’s great grandfather (who lived and worked at the same chateau she still lives and works at) is the man who was in his day the leading specialist in grafting French vines onto American rootstocks. His work was an invaluable step in overcoming  a problem caused by the Phylloxera aphid . This immigrant from North America attacks the roots of European vines and almost devastated the French wine trade in the 1800s. American vine rootstocks had developed a resistance to the aphid’s  effects and so by grafting French vines onto American rootstocks the French wine industry was able to survive. Without his work we may not have the vineyards in France which we have today.

The chateau owner is constructing a new building at the vineyard which will be used in part for marketing. I suggested devoting a corner of it to her great grandfather’s contribution to French wines; the thought had never occurred to her. But now maybe she will. I hope so.

WE’RE JAMMIN’

It’s that time of year. The blog has taken second place, our fingers are stained purple, we are scratched to the elbows and the stock of jam jars is beginning to look thin. We are making jam, jelly, fruit vinegar and freezing the rest. What do you do with so much fruit when it all arrives at once?

The first of the glut this year (it does vary) are the red currants. I think I dealt with them fairly smoothly and made about 10 kilos of redcurrant jelly. This is one of the absolute annual staples in our household and has to be made every year. We grow a variety of redcurrant called Jonkeer Van Tets. It is very hardy, beautiful to look at and is extremely easy to reproduce from cuttings.  Years ago when we had our fruit farm we grew a hedge of Jonkeer Van Tets from prunings taken in the winter. The currants hanging in their little bunches look like extravagant ear-rings. We bought a couple of plants when we moved here and now have  about 8. Red currants do well in our soil and climate, but not as well as the white currants (yet to be harvested). They also make a fab jelly – not as red as redcurrant, but a lovely sort of dark rose colour. This year, however, I am going to make a Nigel Slater style fruit compote with them and freeze it.
Second up were the strawberries – we haven’t got very many as we thinned our plants dramatically last winter, giving a lot of runners to friends and planting those we kept in a new bed. The original parent plants were dispatched to the compost heap. Plants only tend to last about three years before needing to be re-juvenated.  From May onwards we get a steady stream of strawberries to add to salads, eat with cereal for breakfast or, quite simply, eat. I have frozen some to make ice cream with later in the year but have made no jam this year.

Next we have had cherries – slower to ripen than I expected and not a brilliant crop in 2012. These are frozen in ‘Cherry and Berry Compote’ (a handy home invention which is very forgiving as to what you can put into it) and made into fruit vinegar. We also froze some whole cherries but did not bottle any this year. There weren’t really enough of sufficient quality. Bottling always makes me nervous and I restrict it to a small range of fruit – I include tomatoes in this definition – because vegetables proper do not have enough acidity in them to make it a foolproof process in my view.

Then the gooseberries and blackcurrants. They have been exceptional. We grow Wellington XXX blackcurrants and they have been best ever – I think because of the rain we have had – and Whinhams Industry gooseberries. These turn a beautiful dark red and are sweet. They both make superb jam and set really easily. I have also made cassis and blackcurrant vinegar. Fruit vinegars are excellent as a salad dressing with Cherry being my favourite. Blackcurrant is an experiment this year and already I have left it to macerate too long so goodness knows how it will turn out. And, of course, gooseberries and blackcurrants both go in the Cherry and Berry Compote.

Plums are now on the horizon…..we grow mirabelles and prune d’ente the fabulous plum which makes the prunes Lot et Garonne is world famous for. We are also about to get our first ever crop of greengages (Reine Claude). Plus nectarines, apricots – but no peaches, we never succeed with these. After that figs, pears,apples, crab apples…then the nuts. And I haven’t started with vegetables. Blogging is an endangered sport at the moment. There simply isn’t time.

RECIPE FOR FRUIT VINEGAR:

Macerate one pound of fruit (cherries, raspberries, blackcurrants (?) etc) in one pint of white wine vinegar. Leave in a glass or china bowl, covered with a cloth, for 3 – 5 days, stirring regularly. Then strain through muslin and add 8 oz of sugar to every pint of the resulting liquid. Bring to the boil slowly, stirring to dissolve the sugar. Boil for 10 minutes then pour into a sterilized hot bottle and seal. I find it keeps all year.

THE CHICKEN DIARIES…June 2012

Such a lot has happened in our poulallier (chicken run) this year to date. Births, deaths and probably a few marriages although – as we have lost all but one of our cockerels to the fox – Bad Boris, the loan male survivor, is now a total polygamist. He is not entirely sure about our tractor though and whenever he sees it pootling past he tries to drive it away. So does Richard, at speed. Boris has been known to draw blood.

We currently have 20 chicks. Eight have an auracana as their mother, eight have the Big Black Hen and four have an incubator as theirs. The latter group’s situation puts me in mind of John Bowlby’s experiments on maternal deprivation which I studied when I was psychology student years ago. He worked with individual baby chimpanzees and they huddled up to artificial mothers made out of terry toweling and chicken wire. They grew up to become very mixed up chimps. Happily my four have each other, but I still feel for them when I see the other chicks and their real live mothers.

The two mothers have behaved very differently towards their offspring. One, Big Black Hen, is exemplary – she goes broody every year. This is her third year as a mum and she is a heroine.


The other is irresponsible in the extreme. As soon as her latch key chickens could scratch around for themselves she dumped them, left home and shacked up with Boris, driving his existing wives out of their hen house. Social Service should be called. Boris had his wicked way with her and then started making overtures to BBH. She sent him away with a flea in his ear. Meanwhile Richard cut bad mother’s wings and returned her to the main hen run. Boris has had to return to his jilted wives, but he is starting to make alarming overtures to the eight abandoned chickens. He has no shame.

MY FRIEND BRIONY READ THE WILDFLOWER MEADOW BLOG AND SENT ME THIS JOKE:

GOD: Frank, you know all about gardens and nature. What in the world is
going on down there on the planet? What happened to the dandelions,
violets, milkweeds and stuff I started eons ago? I had a perfect no-maintenance
garden plan. Those plants grow in any type of soil, withstand drought and
multiply with abandon. The nectar from the long-lasting blossoms
attracts butterflies, honey bees and flocks of songbirds. I expected to see
a vast garden of colours by now. But, all I see are these green rectangles.

St. FRANCIS: It's the tribes that settled there, Lord. The Suburbanites. They
started calling your flowers  'weeds' and went to great lengths to kill them
and replace them with grass.

GOD: Grass? But, it's so boring. It's not  colourful. It doesn't attract
butterflies, birds  and bees; only grubs and sod worms. It's sensitive to
temperatures. Do these Suburbanites really want all that grass growing there?

ST. FRANCIS: Apparently so, Lord. They go to great  pains to grow it and
keep it green. They begin  each spring by fertilizing grass  and poisoning
any other plant that crops up in the  lawn.

GOD: The spring rains and warm weather probably make grass grow really
fast. That must make the Suburbanites happy.

ST. FRANCIS: Apparently not, Lord. As soon as it grows a little, they cut
it - sometimes twice a  week.

GOD: They  cut it? Do they then bale it like hay?

ST. FRANCIS: Not  exactly, Lord. Most of them rake
it up and put  it in bags.

GOD: They  bag it? Why? Is it a cash crop? Do they sell  it?

ST. FRANCIS: No,  Sir, just the opposite. They pay to throw it  away.

GOD: Now, let me get this straight. They fertilize grass so it will
grow. And, when it does  grow, they cut it off and pay to throw it away?

ST. FRANCIS: Yes Sir.

GOD: These Suburbanites must be relieved in the summer when we cut back
on the rain and turn up the heat. That surely slows the growth and saves
them a lot of work.

ST. FRANCIS: You aren't going to believe this, Lord. When the grass stops
growing so fast, they drag out hoses  and pay more money to water it, so
they can continue to mow it and pay to get rid of  it.

GOD: What nonsense. At least they kept some of the trees.  That was a sheer
stroke of genius, if I do say  so myself. The trees grow leaves in  the
spring to provide beauty and shade in the summer. In the autumn, they
fall to the ground and form a natural blanket to keep moisture in the soil
and protect the trees and bushes. It's a  natural cycle of life.

ST. FRANCIS: You better sit down, Lord. The Suburbanites have drawn a
new circle.
As soon as the leaves fall, they rake them into great piles and pay to have
them hauled away.

GOD: No!?  What do they do to protect the shrub and tree
roots in the winter to keep the soil moist and loose?

ST. FRANCIS: After throwing away the leaves, they go out and buy
something which they call mulch.  They haul it home and spread it around in
place of the leaves.

GOD:  And, where do they get this mulch?

ST. FRANCIS: They cut down trees and grind them up to make the mulch.

GOD: Enough! I don't want to think about this anymore. St.Catherine,
you're in charge of the arts. What movie have you scheduled for us tonight?

ST. CATHERINE: 'Dumb and Dumber', Lord. It's a story about....

GOD: Never mind, I think I just heard the whole story from St. Francis.



Briony has a fantastic riverside and meadow garden herself:

You can see it is a subject close to her heart.

THE WILDFLOWER MEADOW

Above the house, where the soil is thin clay over a limestone bedrock, we have a meadow. Our neighbour, Monsieur D’Incau, a farmer, cuts it annually in July. It is a near ideal site for a wildflower meadow and in the seven years that we have been here this is what we have used it as.

In fact we have another area of grassland where the topsoil is thicker and the slope is to the east and the north – so it is a cooler aspect altogether. He cuts this too, but because of the richness and dampness of the earth it is more of a pasture than a wildflower meadow. He prefers this, because the yield in terms of hay is better, but we prefer the thin poorly nourished meadow to the south. It is our good fortune that the house overlooks the latter and we get to look out across our wildflowers and the insect and bird life they encourage, throughout the spring and early summer.

A wildflower meadow needs poor ground. This encourages flowers rather than grasses. The grasses that do grow are also encouraged to flower and set seed rather than become lush and fat; so they develop beautiful plume like seed heads early in the season.

 I do believe that a plant is genetically encouraged to flower and seed more prolifically and more quickly in harsh conditions. It is nature’s way of ensuring that the species survives. In tough conditions you need to produce the next generation fast in order to avoid extinction. The seeds which are so quickly set and then distributed are little survival capsules packed with a plant’s DNA. They wait for the right conditions to come along. When they do – normally the following year, but it could be decades- the miracle happens and they germinate, ensuring the species’ success for another generation. I have no doubt that higher organisms behave in the same way, but perhaps less obviously.

Anyway – our wildflower meadow has now passed its peak. It starts with orchids – the meadow becomes a sea of purple - we then have clover, daisies, ragwort (sadly), milkmaids, ‘old man’s tobacco’, teasels and vetches. These attract a wonderful assortment of butterflies, insects, small snakes and lizards, tiny mammals and larger mammals such as hare, roe deer and our neighbour’s cattle if they manage to break through the fence. The grasses take over, growing to almost a meter high and then the ground begins to dry out, the plants begin to brown and Monsieur D’Incau takes the hay. He never fertilizes the ground (thankfully – because that would spoil the meadow) and never cuts it so early that the plants can’t release their seeds.

We have done nothing to interfere with the natural balance of the meadow. Each year I think I should introduce yellow rattle; a valuable plant in this type of meadow because it is parasitic in nature and so weakens the soil, thus enhancing the wild flower environment. But I never do because I don’t want to upset the harmony we currently have. How long will it last? I really don’t know; I just enjoy what we have been given.

More on the redstarts

We are doing a bit of renovation work to the house and have stored some furniture in the barn while it all happens. Lo and behold ...and maybe in response to the fantastic music...we have a redstart nest which has been built inside a rolled up carpet. The eggs have hatched and there are tiny, bald chicks inside. All this going on while there is mayhem all around - nature is courageous. I will report on progress.

Red started it

I was going to write about the tiny Redstarts nest in my barn – so tiny that the young birds keep falling out! But instead feel I should post this You Tube clip instead.

What does it have to do with French Garden, I hear you say? Well on the surface not much, until you appreciate that this is a blind aboriginal singer. And who can be closer to Mother Nature than an aborigine? In my humble opinion they understand more about the earth and its bounties than we ever will.

Not only that – he has such a pure and haunting voice. And on this Jubilee weekend…. if he’s considered good enough for the Queen…..

Agree?

ODE TO THE BEAN.........

I have FINALLY got my husband to like broad beans. Oh happy woman that I am. I love them, but he hated them so I have had to sneak them into the veg. garden in the past. Either that or plant them on a bit of ground deemed to be of not much use. He had been raised as a child on nasty tough grey beans, still in their leathery skins, but all that is now but a distant, alarming memory. Things have changed.

On Saturday night friends came round for a meal and I gave them a broad bean hummus as a starter – he liked it so much he demolished the left overs for lunch yesterday. We sat happily on our terrace in the sunshine dunking pitta bread and fresh baguette into the bright green, minty mush.  And a couple of weeks before that I used tiny beans, the size of the fingernail on my little finger, (I have quite small hands), with fresh pasta and pancetta – these were bought  from the lady in our market who sells Italian foods. I used them to make a Sarah Raven recipe (modified as mine always are). He liked that too – so much so that we have had it again since.

Broad beans are brilliant in the garden and the kitchen – you can start planting them in the autumn and they sprout over winter (Use a variety called Aquadulce if you are going to do this). This means you have signs of life and the promise of spring to look at through winter’s dark days. This year the hardy little souls even stood up to the -17 degrees plus wind chill factor that was thrown at them in February. Then in the spring you can plant crimson flowered varieties which may not taste quite as good as tiny Aquadulce, but look beautiful and prolong the broad bean season each year. You can eat tiny ones still in their pods – pod and all, small ones in risottos, with pasta, in sauces and salads, big ones pureed. We also eat them just as plain old beans as a vegetable, of course, but I am not sure he is converted to this yet. They freeze magnificently. You can even eat the curly fresh green tops of the plant itself in a stir fry or a salad.

Finally once you have eaten them all and it is time to take them out of the veg. garden they deliver their parting gift. Broad beans (like all other beans and peas) are a means of fixing nitrogen into the soil naturally – not always an easy thing to achieve organically. The bean family has a symbiotic association with a bacterium  called rhizobium. This develops in nodules on the roots of the bean and  converts nitrogen which is found in the atmosphere to ammonia (a fixable form of nitrogen)  in the soil. Nitrogen, which is essential to plant growth (especially the leaves,) is hard to add naturally. So when you have eaten all the broad beans, DO NOT pull the plant out of the ground, roots and all. Cut them off at ground level and dig the roots in. You are adding a huge nutritional plus to your soil.

I know I am beginning to sound like an anorak, but here is a bit more technical info: because of this nitrogen fixing facility, legumes are an important part of a crop rotation system within a vegetable garden. Where you last grew legumes grow leafy vegetable (chard, spinach, salads etc) as they will benefit enormously from soil which has been supercharged with nitrogen.

I am actually going to put my chilli and pepper seedings into the place vacated by the beans. I know this is ignoring the advice above – but Richard hates chillis and peppers too, so they are also consigned to the same redundant corner of the garden.  However, on present form who knows what might happen when I get creative….watch this space.

Broad bean recipes to follow in a subsequent blog.

Devastation

I am writing this as a form of catharsis, having just come into the house from the devastation of a fox ransacked hen run. We had been busy in the garden all day and Richard was the last one in at about 8pm. We ate supper and then I went out again – to see a chicken wandering around the orchard (instead of inside her hen run). I called Richard and we stood watching her for a few minutes laughing because she had escaped from the run and looked completely bemused. In fact she was in shock.

As Richard went over to herd her back into the run I saw a movement in the field to my left. Thinking it was a deer I went to look – and saw a fox running along the outside of the run with a chicken in his/her mouth. It was probably a vixen in fact as at this time of year they are working hard to feed their cubs. We then realized that the run was ominously silent.

Richard went back to the house to get a bin bag and I put on my wellies. I tried to give him a hug when he came back with the bag, but he said don’t – far better to get it over with without emotion.

We walked round the run collecting bodies. There were tragedies and some consolations. We collected lots of bodies – including dear Ruby who we had only just put back into the run (ironically to keep her safe) after her failure to hatch any of the eggs she had been incubating in a hidden spot in the garden. We had even clipped her wings to stop her from flying out of it – that probably sealed her fate.  The hens were all still warm and as I picked them up I held them as carefully as I would a live bird, unable to believe that they were gone. Apart from the warmth, there were no signs of life. They had either died of fright or been bitten on the neck.

At one point I found Handsome Henry, our big cockerel. I picked him up and he blinked. He remained motionless, however, as I held him, stroked him and talked to him, so I carried him to the side of the hen house and set him on the ground, hoping he may recover. We continued our search. The grass in the run is long and it is clear that the fox had been everywhere – having fun stalking the hens individually and killing them for entertainment. The fox could have been there for an hour. It saw us go into the house and chose its moment well. No doubt it will be back. Our hen run is now, in its eyes, a cross between an amusement arcade and a restaurant.

Another hen – one of our Araucanas - appeared in the orchard and we found one, possibly two, other Araucanas hiding in the grass (not sure if it was two or the same one at the moment as they were – understandably – hiding and ran away from us as we approached. Then we saw that Handsome Henry had recovered enough to move away from the side of the hen house and take cover in a patch of long grass. Finally ‘Weldy’, our oldest surviving Welsomer, appeared from a flower bed in the garden and, after a lot of persuasion, returned to the run. So it looks like we have two or three Araucanas (the cockerel has gone – which gives us a practical problem in the future), two Welsomers, a little speckledy hen who had had the brains to hide in a nesting box and Handsome Henry our big cockerel.

Bad Boris and his wives are all safe as the fox confined its entertainment to the hen run and Boris and co. have free range of the garden. We also have our chicks and their mothers – two hens and 20 chicks in total. Most of these are little Lavender Pekins but there are 8 chicks which should grow into full sized hens, fox permitting. Because the trouble is, it will be back. We now have a major problem to deal with in terms of protecting the rest of our hens and their chicks for the forseeable future.

This is the second time I have dealt with such extensive devastation in a hen run. The last was on my birthday (May 20th – so the same time of year) a few years ago. We went out for a meal with friends. The hens had not been put away before we set off because it was still daylight and when we came home after midnight every hen was dead. One had been taken for food. The rest had – like tonight – either died of fright or had their necks bitten.

I loath foxes.  I can look at most animals and birds and understand where they fit in the food chain, or in the natural order of things, but the fox is at the top of his particular food chain and takes advantage of the fact. If he simply killed to eat, then that would strike me fair – but to kill harmless creatures for no other reason than because it is fun to do so is wicked. Plainly and simply.

No picture of the devastation to support this blog – obviously. But I have chosen a nice picture of a favourite of ours. He was called Einstein (for obvious reasons) and went to live with our friends Adriana and Jocelyn. Where he was killed by a fox.

I am in love with Sally Holmes

Last Tuesday was a bank holiday and our local town had a plant fair. At first glance it looked rather small - not enough stalls and all of them selling perlagoniums and bedding begonias. HOWEVER - on closer inspection there were some absolute gems. A fantastic stand by Pepinieres Meynier who are hydrangea specialists from St Sernin de Prats in the Dordogne and some wonderful roses from Mr Philippe Marro who has a nursery at Castets en Dorth which is just where the Canal Lateral/Canal du Midi begins its long journey from the Gironde department to the Mediterranean. From the Meyniers I bought a Hydrangea Arborescence called Annabelle; a shrub I have always loved. And from Mr Marro I bought a sensational rose called Sally Holmes. It was love at first sight. We didn't buy it when I first saw it but went to our local chocolaterie and had hot chocolate with a group of friends.

I found it hard to concentrate on the conversation - I was like a cat on hot bricks. He only had one plant with him, and it was a beautiful specimen. Would it still be there when I went back? It was - and I bought it. Our friend Joycelyn carried it back to the car for me and after tea at another friend's house we eventually got home and I planted Sally in our front border. She replaced a ceanothus which didn't make it through the harsh February we had this year. Sally Holmes should grow to about 2 metres high. It is a shrub rose which doesn't spread out too widely, so she should fit beautifully between a large tree paeony and a contorted hazel (given to me to celebrate my **th birthday). The flowers are a papery white, about the size of small saucers and with a yellow-ish tinge to the centre. They grow in clusters and appear throughout the summer. The simplicity of the blossoms is secret of their beauty - they seem to illuminate their surroundings with an innocence which will work wonderfully with the plain blue green of the paeony leaves and glossy green of the hazel. Not surprisingly, when I checked my RHS reference book Sally Holmes has an award of gardening merit.

This evening we ate our first broad beans - tiny beans, the size of a fingernail - and they were delicious. And there is lots of news on the chick front - not least that the eggs in our incubator are starting to 'pip'. More about this in the next day or two. I love this time of year.

Garlic Omelette

Or omelette aux aillets

Cooked myself an omelette made with baby garlic, or aillets this weekend. It is something I really look forward to – proof that spring is definitely here, it tastes delicious and, most importantly, it signals the proper start of harvesting this year’s crops from the garden. I slice it, using only the round bit and not the green leaves, fry it very gently in oil and then use it to make an omelette seasoning with nothing more than salt and pepper.

You often see village get-togethers advertised around May 1st when they traditionally cook an enormous omelette with aillet here in the south west where it is a traditional spring dish. They can use dozens of eggs in their recipes, whereas I use only two. Richard doesn’t like garlic so I choose when to make this dish with care.

Other uses for baby garlic include slowly cooking a shoulder of lamb which is first seared on each side then put into a heavy casserole. Add aillets, herbs de provence, white wine. Bring to a simmer on the hob and then put into a low oven for ages until it is tender. Remove the lid towards the end to brown the top and reduce the liquor. And they work brilliantly raw in salads.

The vegetable garden is coming along at great speed – broad bean pods are in evidence and we may start picking them this week. Garlic and shallots are bulking up nicely. The borlotti beans are through the soil as are our parsnips and chard. The only casualties are our 49 pumpkin plants which were devastated by the intense wind and rain we had in April. We may have to start again and sow more seeds. You can never win them all!

Battered blossoms

Blooming snow balls....

And they are appropriate as it does feel like winter. Our beautiful blossoms – ornamental cherry, crab apple, lilac and our Boule de Neige have all been brutalized by the stormy weather we have been having. The garden needs rain, but the quantity we had last weekend quite defies belief. Our well is topped up by rainwater collected from the roof and it is full to ground level, normally the water is at least three meters down. Seeds which we planted in all confidence and seedlings which we raised lovingly and transplanted carefully have been whipped to shreds by the severe winds. It all reminds me of an incident we had very shortly after we moved here seven years ago.

When we moved here we inherited a beautiful, enormous Boule de Neige (Viburnum macrocephalum or ‘snowball bush’). These are very popular locally as they suit the heavy soil and normally have a fine and dry flowering season which shows the blossoms off to their best advantage. Ours was THE best around and I somewhat smug that it was in my garden.

I watched it develop that first spring with delight. One day the weather changed and it was obvious, because of the blackening clouds, that we were about to have a major storm. So, worried that the tree might collapse under the weight of the rain on the blossoms, I propped the branches up with planks of wood.

I was too much a novice French gardener to realize that storms in this part of the world tend to be preceded by very heavy wind. This duly happened, blowing the planks of wood away. Immediately after the planks landed on the ground there was the mother of all thunderstorms and, when it had all finished, I dashed outside to check the Boule de Neige. It looked as though it had been trampled by a herd of elephants; completely smashed and flattened. I doubted that it would ever recover. Almost all branches had been snapped off and the balls of flowers had been dashed to the ground. There was much weeping and gnashing of teeth and the tree was cut back to a rather ugly stump.

Six years later and it is beautiful once more, although again suffering from the dreadful weather. The size is just right – not as big as previously and a beautiful shape. It has come through the storms. The lesson is clear – if I don’t prune my shrubs and trees properly then at some point nature will. Pruning is essential to keep plants healthy, the right shape and blossoming vigorously. And someone has to do it.

As a rule of thumb, shrubs which flower in the spring need to be pruned after they have flowered. So the Boule de Neige will be pruned in a few weeks’ time when the flowers have all faded. This is because they flower on growth made the previous year. Shrubs which flower in the second half of the year are flowering on growth made that same year (in the spring). You prune them at the end of winter. Therefore, now is the time to prune things such as flowering quince, mahonia, forsythia, winter flowering honeysuckles and winter flowering jasmins. They will grow throughout the summer and bloom again early next year on the new growth which will happen after pruning.

We may not have a pigeonnier.....

But we have acquired a pigeon

Some weeks ago this sad tale began. We noticed a lonely pigeon sitting on the barn roof. It looked at us in that winsome way pigeons have, so we fed it. Well, Richard did, so I blame him. But I did suggest it -just the once.

Next morning he was back waiting at the same spot for more and lo! – he was soon given his own little green plastic dish to put the corn it (Richard puts the corn in it, that is. The pigeon eats it). On occasions Boris joins in with this avian feeding frenzy and brings the girls along to help. Shortly afterwards the pigeon took up permanent residence, roosting on the beams under our covered terrace outside the kitchen door – where we (used to) like to eat. And just to make himself feel at home he started depositing pigeon poo on the terrace beneath him.

You will notice that by now I have decided this pigeon is male.

Richard then tried to accommodate him by putting a sheet of newspaper under where he roosts- so the pigeon moves a few feet to one side to ensure a direct hit onto the terrace tiles. At this point I christened him Sir Crapalot.

Sir Crapalot now has total control. If the little green dish isn’t promptly filled each morning he sits on the little window-sill by the kitchen sink and taps at it with his beak. He follows us around the house tapping on which-ever window he spots us through. I dread the day he finds a wife.

Next week – a recipe for pigeon pie.

Rhubarb and ginger jam..mmmm

We grow it here; it is the first fruit of the year we harvest ; and we ate some this weekend. But I find it a much more difficult crop to cultivate here than I did in the UK. This is because of our climate – rhubarb grows in cool climates (think Yorkshire) and once the average daily temperature tops 24 C it starts to get a bit sparse and growth slows right down. We enjoy it now, but only for about a month.

Rhubarb facts:

The leaves are poisonous. They contain oxalic acid, which can cause kidney damage. Incidentally bee keepers use oxalic acid (in minute quantities and when there is no danger of contaminating honey) in the beehive to counteract varroa – a bee parasite.

You don’t cut rhubarb, you pull the stems away from the plant at ground level.

Rhubarb is greedy - feed the soil around it with lots of organic matter.

In France, don’t harvest rhubarb after May as the plants need to build their strength up in the second half of the year for the following year’s crop.

Rhubarb is low in pectin (the stuff that makes jam set easily). So when you make jam you need to introduce extra pectin in the form of lemon juice.

Rhubarb and Ginger Jam

1 kg plain white sugar

1kg rhubarb weighed without the leaves

2 lemons

100g preserved ginger finely chopped

About 4 cm of ginger root lightly crushed and wrapped in a muslin pouch

Tiny piece of butter

Chop the rhubarb into pieces about 2 centimetres long and put them in a glass bowl layering with the sugar as you go. Squeeze the juice of both lemons over the top. Cover the bowl with a tea towel and leave it overnight to draw the juices out of the rhubarb.

Next day, prepare your jars and lids – i.e. wash and rinse them very thoroughly and put them into a warm oven (100 degrees C) for at least 20 minutes to sterilize them. Pour boiling water over your jam jar lids. You will probably need 4 x 500g jars, but put 5 in the oven to be on the safe side.

Put a tea plate into your deep freeze to get really cold. Use this later to test for a set – see below.

Put the rhubarb mixture into a jam pan and bring to the boil along with the muslin bag of ginger root. Boil for about 10 minutes and then add the chopped preserved ginger. Continue to boil until setting point is reached. Then take the muslin bag of ginger, give it a squeeze and throw it away.

[You test for setting point in two ways – using a jam thermometer which will give you the temperature jam has to reach in order to set or by dropping a small amount of jam onto a really cold plate. If you push the cooled jam with your finger and it wrinkles on the surface it is ready and ought to set when cold. I use both methods in tandem.]

When setting point is reached remove from the heat, remove any scum which has developed on the surface of the jam and add a tiny knob of butter. This helps get rid of any last traces of the scum. Stir until the butter is completely dissolved.

Using a jam funnel ladle the jam into the hot jars. Screw on the lids as soon as you can bear to do so (a horribly dangerous operation). Then, to sterilise the inside of the lids, turn the jam jars upside down and leave them like that for 10 minutes.

Don’t forget to turn the jars the right way round again and then leave the jam to set before labeling and storing somewhere cool and dark.

Put the rhubarb leaves on the compost heap.

A promise of Summer

It has been so gloomy here for the past few weeks. Yes, the rain has been welcome – but like all gardeners I always feel that the weather is never ‘just right’. Could part of being a gardener be linked with a small dose of paranoia?

We know summer is just around the corner so here is a pic of last years harvest to give us a taste of what is to come and brighten up a dreary April day.

Of course when the sun does wake from his slumbers then for how long will we be happy with his warming yellow glow?

Not long I suggest. Roll on the harvest!!

Rhubarb, rhubarb, rhubarb…… I love it.

We grow it here; it is the first fruit of the year we harvest ; and we ate some this weekend. But I find it a much more difficult crop to cultivate here than I did in the UK. This is because of our climate – rhubarb grows in cool climates (think Yorkshire) and once the average daily temperature tops 24 C it starts to get a bit sparse and growth slows right down. We enjoy it now, but only for about a month.

Rhubarb facts:

The leaves are poisonous. They contain oxalic acid, which can cause kidney damage. Incidentally bee keepers use oxalic acid (in minute quantities and when there is no danger of contaminating honey) in the beehive to counteract varroa – a bee parasite.

You don’t cut rhubarb, you pull the stems away from the plant at ground level.

Rhubarb is greedy - feed the soil around it with lots of organic matter.

In France, don’t harvest rhubarb after May as the plants need to build their strength up in the second half of the year for the following year’s crop.

Rhubarb is low in pectin (the stuff that makes jam set easily). So when you make jam you need to introduce extra pectin in the form of lemon juice.

Rhubarb and Ginger Jam

1 kg plain white sugar

1kg rhubarb weighed without the leaves

2 lemons

100g preserved ginger finely chopped

About 4 cm of ginger root lightly crushed and wrapped in a muslin pouch

Tiny piece of butter

Chop the rhubarb into pieces about 2 centimetres long and put them in a glass bowl layering with the sugar as you go. Squeeze the juice of both lemons over the top. Cover the bowl with a tea towel and leave it overnight to draw the juices out of the rhubarb.

Next day, prepare your jars and lids – i.e. wash and rinse them very thoroughly and put them into a warm oven (100 degrees C) for at least 20 minutes to sterilize them. Pour boiling water over your jam jar lids. You will probably need 4 x 500g jars, but put 5 in the oven to be on the safe side.

Put a tea plate into your deep freeze to get really cold. Use this later to test for a set – see below.

Put the rhubarb mixture into a jam pan and bring to the boil along with the muslin bag of ginger root. Boil for about 10 minutes and then add the chopped preserved ginger. Continue to boil until setting point is reached. Then take the muslin bag of ginger, give it a squeeze and throw it away.

[You test for setting point in two ways – using a jam thermometer which will give you the temperature jam has to reach in order to set or by dropping a small amount of jam onto a really cold plate. If you push the cooled jam with your finger and it wrinkles on the surface it is ready and ought to set when cold. I use both methods in tandem.]

When setting point is reached remove from the heat, remove any scum which has developed on the surface of the jam and add a tiny knob of butter. This helps get rid of any last traces of the scum. Stir until the butter is completely dissolved.

Using a jam funnel ladle the jam into the hot jars. Screw on the lids as soon as you can bear to do so (a horribly dangerous operation). Then, to sterilise the inside of the lids, turn the jam jars upside down and leave them like that for 10 minutes.

Don’t forget to turn the jars the right way round again and then leave the jam to set before labeling and storing somewhere cool and dark.

Put the rhubarb leaves on the compost heap.

Rewards to be found on a dreary Saturday..

After the fantastic warm weather we have had recently Easter has turned out to be cool and damp. Disappointing if you are here in France for a holiday, but not so bad for us gardeners as there are things to do now which will benefit from a few wet days

This weekend I am going to attend to our daffodils. I am not going to cut them back, it is far too early for that – I have problems to address. We have several clumps of daffodils which have gone blind – that is they no longer flower. Each year we get only a big clump of leaves. These daffodils have been in their current position for many years and have either grown into a clump which is too big to flower or have become surrounded by shrubs and trees which are taking all the goodness from them. They may even have been planted too shallowly originally. They are no longer in the right place and they need to be moved.

Most bulbs need to be plants deeply, normally at least twice the depth of the bulb itself. They should not be crowded and they need nutritious soil. A bulb is basically a storage organ composed of embryo leaves with a potential flower bud in the centre. Each year, when it develops leaves, the leaves feed the bulb, creating food by photosynthesis and then passing that food back down to the bulb to be stored. The bulb then goes into a period of rest until conditions tell it to grow again the following year. This is why you must never cut back the leaves of bulbs too early – you are taking away their source of food. It is also why you should only buy and plant big firm bulbs and not soft weak ones.

Over the years the bulb reproduces in two ways. Sexually,by setting seed or, asexually by creating bulblets which develop on its side. These bulblets grow into full sized bulbs and the whole plant becomes so congested that you need to lift it, divide it and replant the individual bulbs somewhere else. A good time to do this is when it is in leaf (or ‘in the green’). It almost goes without saying that the new bulbs are genetically identical to the parent, so you will get identical plants from them, whereas bulbs grown from seed carry the characteristics of both parents so will be slightly different from one another.

Anyway – that is the position we are in with some of our bulbs here. They have gone blind and today I am going to lift them, divide them by gently pulling each bulb away from its neighbours and untangling roots as I go. Then I can plant them deeply and individually elsewhere – with the leaves still attached and working hard to nourish the replanted bulb for another month or so. Snowdrops can be treated in the same way once their flowers have died back….lift and divide them every few years and not only are you getting plants for free but you are speeding up the creation of an annual carpet of spring flowers. It is also a good idea to feed your bulbs once they have flowered to help them build up for the following year.

I have actually posted a photo of our wisteria with this blog – I know it is not a daffodil but it cheers me up to think that warm weather is round the corner!

Announcing....

We are so excited about our new Web site, and the MOST exciting part of this is that we will be able to share information with you about our exciting projects that we have. Until now, we've been working in relative anonymity.

Please come visit us here often (or subscribe to our blog by clicking the button above) to see what we're up to. We love to meet new people, and we will be happy to share our extra gloves and clippers if you want to join us in a project or two!

Happy Gardening!

Sue Adams

The French Garden