Blackthorn

Three weeks ago, we started clearing the swathe of blackthorn (sloe bush) that forms the back of the orchard. It's about 30' thick, in places, in front of a number of quite old and established trees. They're quite attractive, and the blackthorn's rather scrubby, dark, unproductive, and thorny. We've long intended to clear them, and increase the size of the orchard (our 'Chelsea' mulberry is waiting in its pot until we've cleared its space), as well as expose the more attractive treeline. There'll probably be some spaces, up against the trees, where we can plant small trees or shrubs, to get a transition from the more open orchard into the woodland.

First, though, the blackthorn needs to come down. We light a bonfire on the same spot as before, and I dragged brush to it while Liz worked on cutting down and disentangling the blackthorn. We're now probably two-thirds of the way through it, and progress is now visible from the orchard side of the bank: last time we worked from above, and were hollowing out of the stand. This time we broke through, and the chestnut that was hidden in a bight in the blackthorn has now been linked to the orchard properly. The solitary established apple tree that was separated from the others by blackthorn is now connected to the rest, too.

The fire was a bit tricky to get burning properly, but once it was going, a real depth of charcoal built up, and was so hot that anything thrown on rapidly ignited. We came in at about half-six, scratched and weary, but the mound of embers was still glowing brightly in the dark, when I went to check on it four hours later.

New Beds

Last time we were out in the garden (ten days ago: David and Ann were with us for the weekend, which was a relaxing couple of days filled with food, and no work), I dug a new bed above the beech bench, and we planted a row of lavenders around its edge. Today, it was the turn of the other side, and we now have a matching bed below the bench (between it and the steps down to the wood shelter and kitchen garden). While I dug it over, Liz cleared a heap of shredding that's been accumulating, and we were, as ever, amazed at how small the resulting pile of chipped stuff is.

Having removed a load of stones (as normal), the remaining ground is actually rather nice soil: we planted a row of lavender around it, again, and then filled the space in both beds with other things that were taking up space in the greenhouse: a few dozen deschampsia grasses (D. cespitosa), some sweet rocket (Hesperis matronalis), and some Jacob's ladder (Polemonium): all grown from RHS seed last year.

At the left end of the bed, there's a space towards the wall where we took down the conifer a couple of years ago, which was obscured by the aforementioned shredding heap. This was the destination of the Persian Ironwood (Parrotia persica) which arrived last December, and has remained in its pot over the winter. The space now cleared, we've been able to plant that out, and hopefully it'll add some year-round foliage interest to that corner.

Part of the reason for preparing and planting these beds was to free up small pots and space in the greenhouse. That achieved, we spent the last hour of the day potting up a load of sweet peas (again, no 'Apple Blossom' have germinated: they're on the black-list, now), chilli and sweet peppers, and aubergines. In turn, that meant space in the propagators, so we've also sown more cosmos (an orange mix), tiger tomato seeds collected last year, anise, and a few other ornamentals. Even with the greenhouse, we're still going to wind up with lots of pots on the windowsills: but at least they'll be gone by May this time, and the tender veg (tomatoes, peppers, and aubergines) won't be inside, but out in the greenhouse.

Mulch

A fair bit of the weekend's been spent dealing with the 6m³ of mulch that arrived on Thursday. After putting a good layer on the vegetable garden then, on Saturday we worked along the fruit beds, giving the currants and berries a thick mat. We spared a bit for the rhubarb, too, which I've already spread several trugs of compost onto, but more is definitely better for this hungry perennial. I think we'll take our first harvest next weekend: the oldest Timperley Early is doing well (and is earliest!).

The fruit beds will get a weed-suppressing layer of cardboard, and then a topping of chippings, when we next have some: this reduces the weeding so much that it only needs an annual blitz (my job yesterday), which is much better.

We've also gone along the fruit trees on the hillside (excluding the apple walk, and the pear 'Hessle', as they're too small to need it), putting a trug full of mulch under each one's anti-weed membrane. The ornamental plums are on the verge of coming into leaf and flowering.

The heuchera/quince bed is a little too full of rather dainty spring bulbs to want to mulch it (should have done so in January or February!), so we've filled two Dalek-style composters with mulch, on a nearby path, ready to spread once the bulbs die back. Lesson learnt for 2015.

That still left us with a good heap of mulch, so the last job today was spreading twenty-odd trugs over the long border. This bank is reasonably fertile, having had cotoneaster leaves dropping on it annually for twenty years, but it could still do with building up. Liz had been weeding the bank over Thursday, Saturday, and today, so the mulch has gone (as it should) straight onto clear ground, and it looks really good.

While she weeded, I've tidied the over-grown grass in the wild-er bit near the flowering currant and behind the copse bed. I should, really, have strimmed this in late autumn, as it's now full of daffodils, which obviously I don't want to damage. This made it a manual job, which is more tedious, but there you go.

Last short job yesterday was digging an exploratory trench to work out the fate of the land drain we uncovered when preparing the bed for the sweetpeas last spring. We've gone about two metres up-hill, on the other side of the path (which I didn't want to disturb just yet), and found two breaks in the pipe -- but no herringbone joint yet. I'm still hoping that we'll find some: there's no chance it's draining the whole section of garden unless there's either herringbone drains running off from it, or a second drain (hitherto undiscovered) further along. That said, the broken sections, which have filled with organic debris, would explain why they're not working. It's going to take a bit more work to get to the bottom of it all.

This afternoon, my digging was on the opposite side of the garden, as I was preparing what will become beds in front/beside the beech bench. I've cleared the turf from both, but only dug over the bed above the bench (very stony and laborious). The soil's quite nice, actually, once the stones are prised out. Fortunately, one bed was enough to plant 28 lavenders out, as a border, which has freed up enough 2½–3" pots to pot up the 'Alicanta' tomato seedlings that have been outgrowing their communal pots.

Astonishingly, it actually feels like we're more-or-less on track, without too many specific or substantial jobs that should have been done but which we've not got round to. As for actually managing to mulch 'on schedule'... I'm sure it shan't last.

Snowdrops

For my birthday, Liz gave me a 'voucher' for an order of snowdrops, leaving it to me to decide on exactly what I wanted. Accordingly, a week or two ago, I ordered a thousand single snowdrops (Galanthus nivalis), and five hundred doubles (G. n. 'Flora Plena'), which arrived on Tuesday. They're from a nursery in Wisbech, outside Cambridge: their season is, of course, a bit advanced on ours, so although our snowdrops are still in flower, theirs have gone over. The flowers are turning into seedheads, but the leaves will remain for a few weeks more, building storage carbohydrate levels in the bulb, ready for next year. The lifting, sorting, and shipping will, inevitably, stress the plants rather badly, but it's arguably the best way to buy them. The packs of bulbs you find in the garden centre in the autumn don't tend to have received the best storage, having been lifted and graded, packed into plastic bags, and then distributed to shops, where they might then spend some time in the too-warm interior of the garden centre. By the time they're bought, and finally returned to the soil, they're all too often dry and dead, or at least badly stressed, and can take years to establish.

The snowdrops we planted like this, in a pot in our old garden, took several years before they flowered at all—in fact, I think it was only after their second year that we were even sure they were growing at all. Fortunately, they now grace our front garden, under the acer there.

Snowdrops in the front garden (© Ian 2014)

If you're a galanthophile, and are obtaining a rarer, sought-after form, then buying them in pots in the autumn is probably the absolute best. However, only the fancy varieties are really available like this—the ones that sell at several pounds per bulb. We need spring bulbs by the hundred, if not the thousand: we've probably planted getting on for three thousand in this garden—daffodils, scilla, puschkinia, crocuses, fritillaries, in the main—and I reckon we need at least twice as many again. Then there's the hillside, which will need its own several-thousand-bulb planting.

There's no way we can spend several pounds per bulb, and I don't think you need to, to enjoy the sight of a drift of snowdrops. Additionally, many of the collectors' forms are doubles, which aren't as good for insects, although they are pretty. So plenty of common singles, and a good chunk of the basic double, is the way we've gone.

They're classic woodland plants, completing their flowering and growth in a quick cycle as soon as possible in late winter, and before deciduous trees and shrubs come into leaf, reducing light levels. Although I'd be just as happy scattering them throughout the garden, we've started, therefore, by planting about 350 of the doubles in the copse bed of the garden, were they'll rub shoulders with crocuses, witch-hazel, and dogwoods. Some more (the rest of the doubles) have gone along either side of the willow tunnel over the septic tank. We then planted about 150 singles in the quince bed, along with ten G. plicatus 'Warham', which were a free gift (quite generously, as they appear to retail at £4 per bulb...), before taking the rest of the tray up to the birch clearing on the hillside. We planted a load of Midwinter Fire dogwoods up there early in December, and the snowdrops have gone around and amongst these and the eponymous stand of silver birches. At the moment, these all look a lot like little tufts of grass, but each is really a dozen or so deep-planted bulbs. Although, no doubt, we'll lose some of them, hopefully within a year, or two, there'll be plenty of flowers.

Planting the snowdrops took us up to lunch time, having got an early start and made the most of the cooler misty morning (hot sunny weather wouldn't be good for the bare-rooted bulbs). About the same time, a delivery of mulch (composted 'forestry products' (bark, I reckon) and manure (horse, by my reckoning), from the ever-reliable Tommy Topsoil) arrived, and was tipped onto the driveway. This afternoon we moved about a quarter/a third of this to fill up the vegetable beds. More will go around the fruit trees on the hillside at the weekend, and the rest will go on flower beds. The fruit beds might get compost, instead, and we plan to repeat the approach of last year, putting down compost, then cardboard, then chippings. The weeding in these beds was then negligible all year, which was much better—and I don't think it's a coincidence that we 

had no sign of sawfly (technically birch sawfly, in previous years), as the larvae pupate underground, and I think the mulch might stop them emerging, reducing populations.

Lastly, while Liz got started on the year's weeding (pond end of the long border), I mowed the lawn for the first time. Since reducing the mowing to around the quince/sweetpea bed, the slope at the foot of the drive, round the pond, and the games lawn, it's a much more manageable job, taking about an hour this time. No doubt it'll look a bit yellowed (and I'll have missed a few strips), but it already looks neater.

Noble Potatoes

Our seed potatoes arrived today. This year, we've ordered a collection that are all, in some way, noble, partly for fun, partly because they composed a sensible group.

• British Queen, a second early. I don't know whether it's for a particular British Queen, but note that it was bred in 1894, when Victoria was on the throne.
• Red Duke of York, a red sport of Duke of York, and a first early. I assume it was named after Richard, Duke of York (father of Edward IV and Richard III (not, himself, ever Duke of York, as that creation of the title reverted to the crown with Edward IV's accession), and not one of the later creations of the title.
• Lady Christl, a first early which we've grown each of the last three years. It yields well and early, is tasty, and stores surprisingly well for a first early (right through to spring). Sadly, Lady Christl doesn't appear to be named for anyone.
• International Kidney, a second early. Grown on Jersey, under trademark, as Royal Jersey. Close enough?
• Lady Balfour, an early maincrop named after the founder of the Soil Association. (She was 'Lady' Balfour as a courtesy title, her father being the second Earl of Balfour.)

We've gone for earlier varieties, without a late maincrop (Druid was unavailable, sadly), in the hope that it'll avoid wireworm or blight trouble. The seed tubers are now in the spare room, chitting, ready to plant out in a month or so.

Also this evening, we've sown a few ornamental seeds from the RHS's seed scheme, as well as beetroot and swiss chard.

Sprung

Today's been a phenomenally nice day, with temperatures around 17°C, and bright sun. Yesterday was cooler, and a bit cloudier, which made it an ideal day for chopping a load of firewood (sticky tricky pine, but never mind).

The warmth and bright sun today's meant that there are probably a dozen daffodils pretty much out, where yesterday there were three. The crocuses enjoyed it, too, and I'm pretty sure a bee flew past me (too fast to be sure) this afternoon.

The dwarf irises in the long border, and around the pond, are out, and beautiful.

Dwarf iris (© Ian 2014)

When the acer in the front garden was first planted, in a large pot in our last garden, we underplanted it with snowdrops. They never came to much, but after we planted the acer in our new front garden (before starting this blog: I think it was September 2009), they've started to come up, and the last couple of years have given us a decent show.

Snowdrops under the acer (© Ian 2014) 

I've actually got a big consignment of snowdrops on order—1000 common singles (Galanthus nivalis) and 500 doubles (G. n. 'Flora Pleno')—which will hopefully arrive, in the green, soon, and can go out, on hillside and in garden.

Which brings us to today's efforts. First thing was finishing the winter pruning, by working on the fruit bushes. The blackcurrants, gooseberries, and red/whitecurrants all needed pruning, and we also removed some old wood on the blueberries, which are still proving troublesome. The two oldest ('Grover' and something unknown) were several years old when planted in 2010, and the other three are now four years old—and still not very large (to say the least). These three have definitely grown better over the last year (hopefully the good mulching last spring and resultant weed-free year has got them going), at least. However, we decided that we had to take out some old wood on the oldest pair, as ageing stems is possibly the cause of their much-reduced yield.

Once we'd finished in the fruit beds, we went up onto the hillside, to start work on clearing the blackthorn at the back of the orchard. This is partly to increase the size of the orchard, as the two sweet chestnuts are nestled into clearings in the blackthorn, and the space for the second mulberry (which, I'm astonished to realise, I never mentioned) is currently somewhere inside the blackthorn shown below.

Orchard, with back boundary of blackthorn (© Ian 2014) 

The blackthorn (which have never produced loads of sloes, sadly) lies in front of a line of trees (hawthorn, elder, and holly, primarily) which would make a better boundary, probably underplanted with hazel, beech, and bulbs. We're working on it from above, so it looks much the same today as it does in these photos, but we've actually hollowed out the undergrowth quite effectively. It's probably still a couple of days' work, but it's a good start. As Liz cleared, I was burning the blackthorn on a bonfire in the upper clearing (a hot, fast burning bonfire, I must note: no smoky, smouldering eyesore), as blackthorn's a nightmare to chip.

The entrance to the clearing, through, hopefully, arch-trained plums, will be roughly central in the photo below. You can just make out the sweet chestnut's stake on the far right; the other is hidden on the left. The mulberry will probably go behind and left of the established apple tree just in front of the blackthorn (for now). So; the mulberry. For several years, our local garden centre has sent a voucher around early November, which I've managed to use for a cheap fruit tree: a Broadview walnut in 2012, and a Serbian Gold quince in 2011. Last November, they had a 'Chelsea' mulberry (also known as 'King James', as it comes from a plant grown at Chelsea Physic Park as part of King James IV's misguided silk industry initiative), which we thought would make a good partner to the Jerusalem mulberry planted nearer the front of the orchard. And with 50% off, it was rather a good deal. It's had to remain in its pot, unfortunately, as we've not finished clearing its space, but fortunately, as it's container grown, it should be fine for a little longer: there's not the rush to get it in the ground, unlike bare-root, field-grown trees.

The orchard, looking up at the doomed blackthorn bank (© Ian 2014)

Pruning

After spending yesterday chopping a load of firewood, today was more pleasantly spent doing a load of winter pruning. The clematis growing on the arbour (Alba Plena) need cutting back to 18" in March, for instance, and the roses all need tidying. A lot of the spring bulbs are showing signs of growth, and the flowering currants are just in bloom. By next weekend, the daffodils should be coming out.

The biggest winter pruning job is that of the apples. The established apple trees all needed a tidy-up, just as they did last year. One more year, and they should all be reasonably organized: we've spread the wok over a few years, to avoid removing too much in one go. Several of the new, standard-trained apples needed laterals trimming, although most still haven't reached their 1.8m height, at which they get topped, and start forming the framework proper.

Most excitingly, we also cut all of the apple walk apples down to height. They've all been cut to about 30cm, where we want the first horizontal tier of the espaliers to fall. In two cases, Cat's Head and Grandpa Buxton,  I actually cut them off at 45cm above this, at the height of the second tier, and have nicked above an appropriately placed bud to form the bottom tier. I've taken this approach as I wasn't absolutely sure that these hadn't been double worked, as there was a wound and new leader trained in above where the bottom espalier will be, and I didn't want to cut off all the Cat's Head/Grandpa Buxton, and leave an unknown interstem.

This left me with a bundle of eighteen sticks of various apples...and a reluctance to throw them away. So, instead, I've grafted them all onto the established apple trees. If they take, they're a back-up for the apple walk trees, and I can use them to graft new (possibly step-over) trees next winter. If they don't, I've not lost anything (well, apart from a couple of hours work).