Are Raised Beds Essential?

 

The arguments for and against raised beds are like those made over dig versus no dig. You are either for or against them and you often find some support one or the other and few change sides. It is like asking a United fan to support City.

Raised beds are not new and can be traced back to medieval times when beds could be edged with wattle fences. 18th century market gardeners in Paris built up their plots with horse manure and compost. Did you ever see them in Percy Thrower's, or Geoff Hamilton's gardens? So why does it seem everyone suddenly wants a raised bed and even the big DIY store are now selling kits which tells you that it has gone mainstream. When did the current obsession with raised beds start to take hold in the UK?

In the 80s and 90s the modern organic movement raised many soil issues such as compaction on hard beds, soil structure improvement, weeds reduction and being able to isolate root disease and other soil related problems with raised beds. Now you can’t pick up a gardening magazine, watch a gardening video or even turn on a TV garden program without being faced with timber raised beds.

I can see the case for raised beds on some plots but will the trend be that all plots will have to have a shed, compost bin, rainwater barrel and raised beds. Interestingly on our site, which has a huge diversity of ethnic backgrounds and culture, only a single group of growers have adopted them.

Are they cheap? Some may say that there is masses of timber waiting to be picked up and screwed together, but if you look at the cost of new and even reused timber the answer is no. First to build a single 8 x 4 foot 1 foot deep bed you will ned some 24 feet of 6 x 1 or scaffold board and 6 foot of 2 x 2 plus nails, screw etc. Then you must fill it. So the maths is not hard and then times that by the number of beds. There are also those who will debate what sort of timber that should be used. and whether the beds need lining.

I did the maths and walked away, that’s until today. So, what has changed and have i suddenly become a devote follower of raised beds or merely a follower of fashion?

The building we live in is now having to adapt to the new building fire regulations post Grenfell and wooden decking on balconies is now out. Decking was not universally installed by owners, but it all has now to be removed. This means that there is now potentially a lot of good quality decking boards going free. Music to the allotment holder in me.

As a result, I have now got some 50 x 8 foot grooved boards and 2 x 2 treated batons for free and transported them to the plot. I could use the timbers to just create neat borders and tidy my bank, but I have decided to raise my game and beds instead.

I intend to line the inside of the timbers and treat the outside, so they have a longer life expectancy. Once the main plot area is cleared next month, deck screws will be waiting to be inserted and construction will start. I also have spoken with the farm manger and will be dumping quite a few wheelbarrow loads of horse manure to over winter. All will be tucked up into the beds and covered in tarp over winter.

As I arrive to inspect my plot or what resembles a timber yard, Lottie, my faithful whippet plot companion comes to a halt.

‘Where did that lot come from?’ asks Lottie pointing her paw towards a huge pile of timber on the allotment path.

‘I brought it across yesterday,’ I reply.

‘You’re not building another greenhouse, are you?’ Lottie asks.

‘No raised beds.’

Lottie understands what beds are and after all like most whippets she spends most of her life sleeping on them, in them and making them. So, it’s no surprise that she looks a little happy but confused.

‘But you aren’t going to sleep here overnight are you?’ she asks.

I reply, ‘No they are for growing vegetables in.’

She looks confused and turns towards the bench and exclaims, ‘Did you know there is wood under my bench too!’

I reply, ‘Yes i think I now have enough to make a few beds.’

‘Well it’s a good job the weather has turned that’s my lower bunk for when I get hot,’ says Lottie sniffing the timbers.

I simply reply, ‘noted.’

I realise that I will have start to build soon as Lottie is a whippet of habit and I have robbed her of her second bed. She looks at me as if she wants to understand raised beds but doesn’t and clearly thinks I am mad.

How do you describe a raised bed to someone who has no idea why you would want to spend the effort, money and time when you could grow vegetables without raised beds? I must admit I used to think the same, but one can’t ‘look a gift horse in the mouth’, can you?

The Allotment Vacuum

This time of year you get the plot ready for the season ahead. This involves lifting the tarpaulin which has suppressed the weeds and kept the plot warm over winter and in doing so discover the host of little critters who have made it their home and shelter from those storms over Winter.

Worms, snails, slugs, some woodlice and the odd earwig all race for cover as the tarpaulin comes off and they are exposed to the bright Spring sunshine and blinded by the light. As they scurry off and dig for shade, they shout obscenities and curse you and your family.

I am a ‘dig the plot’ person and although I understand the ‘no dig’ approach it’s not for me. It was just how one is brought up to support one side of the city and not the other. Few cross the line from United to City, from Liverpool to Everton or Wednesday to United and the same applies to dig versus no dig.

The new stainless-steel fork prongs soon get stuck into the soil which was dug over in late autumn so now is relatively easy to work. I tend to get bored working from side to side or back to front, so after a quick stop to admire the dug earth, it’s often a change of direction and fresh impetus to the dig.

‘Can you quit stopping and changing direction and just get a move on!’ comes a cry from behind.

I turn and there sitting on the wheelbarrow sits Robin with his wings folded and tapping his right foot with obvious impatience. He has a half devoured little worm hanging like a piece of spaghetti from his beak and which is about to be sucked fully into his mouth.

‘Aren’t you supposed to leave the little ones and throw them back so they can grow a bit bigger?’ I ask, concerned for the worm who is now trying to wriggle free. ‘After all, the soil needs them too.’

I can’t repeat the response Robin gave me but I didn’t know where he picked up that sort of language. Perhaps it was when my neighbour was having difficulty putting up the bean supports last year. I remember he was sitting inspecting the work and was not impressed. I seem to recollect expletives clouded the air as the supports collapsed under the weight of the words screamed in frustration.

‘Can you take some of the snails and those wood lice?’ I ask pointing to a cluster of snails trying to hide within their houses and lice making a rush towards a scaffold plank.

‘Snails have a home on their little backs and a mortgage to pay on it, so that wouldn’t be nice,’ he replies.

‘What about the woodlice?’ I ask.

‘Have you ever tried eating those beasts? They are hard and take a long time to soften up enough for my little brood to be able to eat,’ he responds almost spitting out his words in disgust at the thought.

‘Fair point,’ I reply as I turn and start digging again. I do hope the little worms can make it, but fear Robin is like as good as any Dyson vacuum and can suck them out with little effort before they can dive down into the safe depths of the soil.  

I can feel those little eyes burning a hole in my back and can hear his little hops from one little morsel to another. A quick flight into the depths of climbing rose and back again to resume food patrol.

After a while I join my ever-faithful whippet Lottie on the bench for a hard earned rest.

‘Only a bit more to dig over’, I comment with an admiring glance over the dug plot.

Lottie has been lying on her pillows watching me with little interest but is quick to offer advice and keep me on my toes. She loves the pillows which she puffs up and sinks into every time she attends the plot. She will not go onto the bench without them and always waits patiently while I get them from the shed.

‘There’s a bit at the back I think you may need to do again’, she suggests pointing to where I had just stopped.

‘Forget that, I was thinking of packing in for today and going home’, I respond.

‘I agree, it’s my teatime and I am getting cold watching you and your mate over there.’

‘You mean Robin?’ I ask.

Yes, the thing thinks he shares the plot with you, and you are here just to feed him in worms. But he does very little in return.’

‘But he is cute,’ I responded.

‘You told me I was cute, but you had better not try and fob me off with worms! Come on, it’s time for my tea.’ She clearly was making a move and without being told had jumped off her pillows and the bench and was standing waiting and looking at the pillows and pointing her paws towards the shed.

I glance over to where I left my fork standing upright in the soil. There on top sits Robin eyeing the ground from his new perch. Failing to spy any new prey he turns his head towards me.

‘Ok, I get the message. You’re off and I’ve had my fill for today,’ Robin states. ‘Just make sure you are back early tomorrow. I’ve got a brood to feed.’

I pack up and I am a bit embarrassed to tell him I am not coming tomorrow. Do you think he will forgive me?