My faithful whippet Lottie and I walk to the plot along the well-worn
path at the top of the old railway line through the Farm. On either side the
path is straddled with nettles four feet high or brambles now full of
blackberries starting to turn and inviting to be picked. It’s as if someone
came down here with a machete and cut the overgrowth back. It now takes a good extra
15 minutes to get to the plot and often a good half hour getting home.
‘Can we get a move on?’ asks Lottie impatiently.
I reply, ‘Just got to pick some more Blackberries.’
‘You already have a pot full!’
‘Yes, but you have to pick them when they are ready.’ I
reply quickly withdrawing my hand from a very thorny bramble which didn’t take kindly
to being pushed aside.
Lottie sniffs at a clump of grass at the side of the path and
mumbles, ‘You mean before anyone else gets them.’
‘I heard that…’
I look at the extra large yogurt tub full of blackberries and
decide maybe it is time to quit and leave the rest till tomorrow. After all
they are all starting to turn so there will be plenty more. It’s as if the brambles
never stop giving and we just need a spot of overnight rain and more
blackberries will plump up and be ready for me to pick this week.
‘Come on then.’ I say to Lottie as I squeeze into my bag the
pot of blackberries and pick it up, now bursting with new potatoes, French beans,
salad and some sticks of rhubarb.
‘I don’t know when you are going to eat all that lot.’
declares Lottie and she trots obediently behind me.
‘We’ll freeze some and eat the rest.’ I reply feeling the
weight of the large plastic bag and hoping the straps will hold on till we get
home, otherwise it will not live up to what is says on the side, ‘a bag for
life’.
This afternoon we took a different route to the plot and one
that Lottie likes – down squirrel alley. The cinder bridle path here is heavily
shaded either side by trees and under these there is a sea of nettles. Squirrels
are often to be found darting from tree to tree and traversing the path to
explore the other side. Of course, other folk are taken by these furry rats and
feed them nuts and take selfies with them posing in the background. The
squirrels love the extra food, often do tricks in return for some nuts and like
the attention that they are given.
Lottie has other ideas and believes these are her toys to be
caught. She ignores the couples busy ‘coo cooing’ at the little squirrels and
taking their selfies with them. She also ignores the little child with their
parents trying to converse with the squirrels in some weird gibberish. Really,
as if you can talk to animals!
‘Come on, leave the squirrels alone today,’ I say to Lottie
who by now is transfixed, staring at her prey.
There is no response and then she is off with cinder dust in
her wake and at a speed only a whippet can attain. The child is now frozen at
the sight of a whippet in full stride. The parents take a sharp intake of air
and hold their breath.
The squirrel quickly turns and leaps onto the tree trunk
sinking in those claws and then quickly scurrying up to safety. Lottie skids to
a halt and lets out a defiant bark, ‘Ok, next time!’
Everyone is relieved, the parents breathe again, the child
now looks admiringly at Lottie who now wanders off looking for the next
squirrel and the squirrel catches his breathe, his heart racing as he stares
down on all of us.
Lottie has never caught a squirrel yet and long may that continue.
The thought of what she may do to it is not for the faint hearted and her toy
dog and its stuffing will testify to Lottie’s carnage.
A bit further down the path I get out my gloves and secateurs
and start to cut some nettles and pop them into a plastic bag.
‘You can’t eat them!’ Lottie says looking at me with a
quizzical look.
‘I’m not going to eat them, but I am going to make nettle
soup.’
‘Nettle soup?’ says Lottie now wondering if she should she
go back to her hunting of those squirrels or try to understand if I am going
mad.
‘It’s like comfrey soup and for feeding the plants,’ I respond.
‘I hope it smells better than that comfrey,’ Lottie says
pulling a face as if she has just eaten some lettuce.
I decide to avoid the question and keep cutting the nettles.
When we reach the plot I twist the leaves and steams to
bruise them and place them in a bucket weighed down with a brick and cover them
with water. I put this at the back of the plot so Lottie and I will not be able
to smell the soup as it slowly turns into a boggy mess. After a few weeks I will
then apply it as liquid feed diluted in water 1:10 or spray as a foliage feed
diluted 1:20. At that point I think I may leave Lottie at home as her sense of
smell is far greater than ours and the tirade of objections may be hard to deal
with. The plot will smell like a farmer has just sprayed slurry all over it and
I hope I can get home without passing too many folk.
Finally, I am reading that Garlic spray can combat many
little bugs that do their best to literally eat your lunch.
You just crush three cloves and add to a pint of water. Let
it stand for a couple of days then strain it into a spray bottle and store in
the fridge. When you apply take care to avoid getting it near your eyes and
hands, and hold your nose!
Apparently, it is best applied in the evening and by the
morning the plot will not smell as if a group of French travellers have stayed
the night!
Maybe I will give the garlic spray a miss for now as the
smell of garlic and nettle soup may be a bit too much for the neighbouring
plots.
