28.4.26

in the soil

Still not that much to do, at this time of the year, except to do what you can to keep the things that you do not want to grow from overwhelming the things that you do - the creeping buttercup, teasels, thistles, nettles coming in from everywhere, grass coming in from the pathways and the patches between beds to colonise the open soil - and to keep the things that you do want to grow in the places you are trying to grow them in, to stop the brambles and raspberries from sending out shoots and suckers everywhere, the fennel from seeding itself in the most unlikely places; no, not much to do except to take the strimmer round the plot and see what is happening and where - the bear’s garlic flowering and going to seed, the currants in bud, the blackberries not doing much of anything (the yearly panic as to whether I pruned away the right branches or not), the garlic plumping up nicely, the broad beans in full flower and looking very happy, swaying in the wind against their loose support of twine and bamboo. I see the first ant crawling up one of the stalks and take that as my cue to pinch out the tops, the dense little clusters which can harbour the aphids the ants farm and which also (suitably washed of insect life) make very good little fritters, a simple tempura batter and hot oil and salt and lemon. I cut a big bunch of the fennel I am now fairly sure is Sicilian fennel grown from some of the seed we were given as a wedding gift rather than self-seeded with the rest, and I cut the two (two!) stalks of asparagus which are up, but leave all the nettles where they are; next week I am doing a residency in Abruzzo around the theme of nettles and will have (I assume) my fill of them.

a piece of shed slow-worm skin I found in the compost bin - a quincunx, a chainmail scarf

in the kitchen

Although my own broad bean tops are still sitting in the fridge in a plastic bag we did make fritters last week as described above with broad bean tops from the community gardens and had them for a light dinner as wraps in fluffy pitta with salad also from the community gardens, spring onions and mayo (tahini or yoghurt would have been better but we didn’t have them), hot crunchy oily leaves against cool crunchy lemony leaves, very satisfying. The big bunch of fennel once blanched in boiling water and drained and squeezed and finely chopped turned into a small fistful of fennel to add to sausagemeat and onion and stew down for a pasta sauce; the two stalks of asparagus will probably form part of a breakfast tomorrow or the day after, maybe with the broad bean tops in a frittata although I have just remembered that I have forgotten to buy eggs and we are out. I like this time of the year when the plot produces these little harvests, enough for a seasoning or an accent here and there; soon enough the broad beans will provide the first of the year’s gluts (if you don’t count the nettles) and the allotment will begin to dictate what we eat and preserve and put in the freezer - as it should do.

on the page

In between trying to read my way through all the books I got for my birthday (John & Paul which was lovely, a book about the Venetian publishing industry which was very interesting if comically full of typos for a book about the publishing industry, Elizabeth Alker’s book about contemporary classical music and pop which I am about a third through and am enjoying immensely) I picked up a short book from my bookshelf called In The Pines or possibly in the pines, a book which I had bought ages ago for some reason I forget (I imagine I picked it up initially for the Lead Belly / Nirvana reference and was then intrigued by the premise) but had left unread until now; as is so often the case I am glad I did so, as I don’t think the past me that originally bought the book would quite have appreciated its blend of fragments of narrative with the evocative photographs which dot the pages, tintype prints taken in the field, neither medium quite illustrating or illuminating the other but instead combining into a peculiar whole.