Weeding the Web

Codling the moths no longer

Last year was an appalling one for codling moths, at least among our apples. They behaved like vandals fouling every bed in a house left empty. Few were the apples that escaped their noisome burrowings.

This year I intend to be different, and have extracted from the shed the codling moth trap that I purchased last spring (the codling cohort has been gathering strength for some time).

These traps should be put up at the end of May (it's not too late) so onto the tree it went last weekend and I dismally assumed that, given the downpours and damp air that persisted this week, nothing would have been flying.

But no! Already I have caught fifteen of the little blighters. The idea, of course, is to use it as an early warning of pest infestation, so that you know when to spray the trees.

Fifteen moths caught within a week should trigger my pest-control response, according to the packet it came in. For orchards it suggests that five moths ring the alarm, and as the tree is within the specified 15-metre range of five other trees, that sort of constitutes orchard conditions. All in all, this feels like an invasion and things aren't looking good.

However, despite the magic number fifteen, I'm not keen on spraying and, according to a useful codling moth factsheet from Which?, it's darn difficult to get the timing right, so I think I'll rely on the organic gardener's hope that enough male moths will be caught to leave the females virginal and childless.

The thing that makes me slightly nervous is the warning from the Organic Gardening Catalogue that birds might be attracted to the moths inside the trap and that I should check regularly to ensure that none is wedged inside. I really don't fancy trying to unstick small bony feet from the glue on the trap.

Most of the traps sold are the Agralan design I've got, but, given the bird worry, it might be worth investing in one from Harrod Horticultural. You need to keep it topped up with soapy water but reviews are good and I can't see a bird sneaking in there.

NB I bought my trap from my local Horticultural Society for the bargain price of £5.15, rather than Amazon's £7.99. If you've got a local society, it's really worth checking them out.

Chelsea Flower Show 2014: WWI 100 years on

After its 100th anniversary last year, Chelsea Flower Show features a different centenary this year. Dotted around the grounds, you find commemorations of WWI. I feared an outbreak of flowery mawkishness, but a light touch is evident, with some stunning displays and more subtle references.

No Man's Land has received enormous attention so I won't linger. 

It gained Gold, which is a great arrival for Charlotte Rowe who, highly experienced and award-winning, hasn't actually designed a Chelsea show garden before. The gorgeous booklet accompanying the garden explaining the symbolism of its three sections (shame you can only see some of it when wandering in the garden).

The central panel feature didn't work, in my opinion. Charlotte Rowe described it as recalling a bunker, the parapet of a trench, or ruined building but its powerful presence, combined with the heavy horizontal slit, seemed rather reminiscent of Gort's visor in The Day the Earth Stood Still.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Altogether, though, it was beautifully put together and represented land reclaimed by nature with artful conviction.

Over in the Artisan gardens, The Potters Garden was an altogether gentler take. Inspired by Farnham Pottery, it featured original artefacts and cottagey planting, recalling one of its clients, Gertrude Jekyll. I'd have liked to see more acknowledgment that all the potters came back from the war, rather than the usual message of death and remembrance, but I guess life-destroying bullets and shells rendered harmless could be seen as a nod to that fact.

The terracotta tiles of the path were embedded with bullets:

The shadowy figure of a bas-relief soldier, carved in wood.

Meanwhile, in the Grand Pavilion, Birmingham City Council wows visitors with its trench, complete with fire-step and periscopes. What can I say? Clever and emotionally balanced, and as stunning as you'd expect these seasoned exhibitors.

Altananthera was used in various colours to represent the mud walls of the trench:

Whistles manufactured by ACME, originally the Hudson Whistle Company:

The colour of the poppies is the result of natural oxidation of the iron:

In the far corner, Heucheraholics produced an eye-catching display with a war horse released from duty:

Our view of the war has been so highly coloured by the poetry it produced that it seems impossible to reference one without the other. Well-known figures turned up at intervals on Press Day to recite on a Portland stone plinth on No Man's Land: Mark and Gaz at Alternative Eden spotted Jeremy Paxman reading Wilfred Owen. My treat was Rowan Atkinson giving a sensitive rendition of Rupert Brooke's The Dead.

And on Paul Thomas' stand, Edward Thomas expert Ann Harvey read his poetry, including, of course, the heart-tugging Adlestrop.  Lettercarver in Wood, Paul's created a delightful evocation of the station, with bench and station name. 

Always near the top of polls for Nations' Favourite, the poem has gained in poignancy over the years. Adlestrop is no more, felled by the Beeching axe in 1966. And I fear more modern generations won't quite understand the imagery, having only experienced an unknown stop seated in air-conditioned carriages by sealed window units, unable to hear the blackbird.

Paul's stand won him 5 gold stars in the Trade Stand judging and, not only is it a lovely demonstration of his talent, but, as a salute to the Great War, this subtle reference is all the more poignant.

Chelsea Flower Show 2014: Luciano Giubbilei's Best in Show

Of course, you'll just have to take my word for it, but, standing on the edge of the Laurent-Perrier garden at Chelsea Flower Show yesterday, I predicted to myself that it was quite possibly Best in Show.

Like Luciano Giubbilei's gardens generally, it didn't give a massive instant hit. At first glance, it didn't even immediately seem like him, as the planting, which included foxgloves, verbascum, aconite and Tellima grandiflora, looked positively rumbustuous compared with his characteristically carefully controlled designs, inspired by Italian classicism.

However, although it's a quiet garden, you only have to contemplate it to find that it's also full of movement. Everything contrasts. Everything has its balancing opposite. All very classical. And very yin and yang.

Water wells up imperceptibly in two circular pools at opposite corners of the garden. Through careful flow control it appears motionless, but the pools feed the rills that deliver the water to the pond in the centre of the garden.

The circular pools not only contrast with the right-angled turn taken by the rills early on their path, but with the rectangular central pond. The ripples, caused by the water pouring from the mouth of the rills on either side of the pond, meet and create a scintillation of light and movement, the antithesis of their source.

American artist Ursula von Rydingsvard's sculpture of layered cedar echoes the ripples of the pond and its diagonal placing leads the eye into the garden, while breaking the strong rectangular lines.

Light and dark panels give a rhythm to the background, the flower spikes are counter-balanced by the rounded shrubs, stone cut with chiselled precision contrasts with the random gravelliness of the aggregate, which itself complements the wooden sculpture placed on it.

All this combines to make this, for my money, the most tranquil design at Chelsea. Just taking time to take in the details has a calming effect.

Some people couldn't resist delving deeper, though. Perhaps this underwater photographer is actually praying to the spirit of the garden.

However it takes you, Best in Show was a well-deserved accolade for a designer who has complete control of his designs.

See Landscape Juice for a more general view of this year's Chelsea Flower Show, and to hear an interview with Luciano.

Breakfast in the garden - just Barack Obama and me

Fran Kubelik: "Shall I light the candles?"

CC Baxter: "It's a must! Gracious living-wise."

As Jack Lemmon's character implies in Billy Wilder's superb comedy, The Apartment, life needs a little luxury.

For me, the apogee of gracious living has to be breakfasting in the garden, perhaps because it offers a leisureliness rarely allowable. It also definitely needs to be done right, if you want to avoid contaminating your cutlery with unmentionable substances deposited on the table and fishing out flies from the milk jug.

The coffee pot must be insulated; preserves must be covered; the table must be clean and, most important of all, you need to be seated in the sunniest spot in the garden, sheltered from the breeze that will otherwise do its damnedest to turn your newspaper inside-out.

To top it all, breakfast must be cooked. Barack Obama also likes a cooked breakfast, and while I'd love you to think that the world's most powerful politician and I have discussed our preferred platefuls, I have to admit I know this because of a free e-book just launched by Send A Cow. 

The charity's researchers spent weeks poring over historical records and archives and talking to experts, to come up with 18 breakfasts eaten or inspired by famous achievers. Admittedly, not all translate readily to a gracious repast on a sun-filled terrace. I hazard that you're unlikely to rush to replicate Nelson Mandela's Umphokoqo -  maize porridge and sour milk.

However, recipes for Abraham Lincoln's Kentucky Corn Cakes and Civil Rights Campaigner Rosa Parks's Featherlite Pancakes (unusually incorporating peanut butter) sound very tempting. 

But, just as The Apartment (like all Billy Wilder films) has a distinctly dark underbelly, so does the luxury of breakfast in the garden.

Fifteen million people in some of the poorest parts of Africa are undernourished and Send a Cow's Break...Fast campaign aims to bring breakfast to children in Uganda and Rwanda so they have the energy to make the most of their education. They suggest a donation of £2.50 when you download the recipe book and the Government will double all money raised until 30th June - £5 is enough to support an African child for a month.

Justine Greening, Secretary of State for International Development, pointed out, "Given the right chance, any one of those children could be the next Florence Nightingale or Neil Armstrong."

And what put the bounce in that astronaut's "giant leap"?

Bacon Squares!

Fry 1lb of bacon until golden and layer it onto a meat press. Press the bacon for 10 seconds. Remove from press and allow to cool.

Cut into squares.

Now those would be easy to eat in the garden.

To download and donate, visit Most Important Meals of Their LIves

The Big Allotment Challenge - what would you have done?

So, it's over. The Big Allotment Challenge, the programme that, according to editor of Horticulture Week, Matthew Appleby, the industry hoped would create a "boom time" for gardening in the manner of Ground Force. It ain't going to happen, is it?

If you're like me, you really wanted - expected - to like this programme. So I felt considerable pain two weeks ago when I turned to Husband and admitted, "This is really boring, isn't it?" Last week, it fell second choice to a Rockford Files episode on DVD, and on Tuesday to The Odd Couple. (For a couple of media opinions see The Guardian and their gardening blog.)

But I watched last night's final with an analytical eye. It was meant to be another Bake-Off - what happened?  Here's my take. I'd love to hear your opinion.

Why the Great British Bake-Off works and The Big Allotment Challenge Doesn't

• GBBO has a great team of judges with expertise in the same subject. BAC lacks the spark of disagreement between experts.
• Individuals competing. Unexpectedly, teams seemed to dilute impact, rather than double it. GBBO builds relationships between presenters and competitors. BAC faces teams of two, which are a subtly more self-contained unit.
• GBBO is active at every stage of development. It makes you feel that you might just have a go at that choux pastry, now that you've seen it made and had it explained. BAC makes very passive watching; I'd be surprised if any non-gardening viewers (were there any by the end?) felt the urge to leap outside and stick seeds in the ground at any time in the last six weeks.
• Time jeopardy. The GBBO contestants always seem to be up against the clock, whether that's clever editing or not. The BAC can't replicate this - the best it seemed to manage was an over-ripe melon a week in advance. Result? Disappointment, not tension.
• Repetition. Whereas GBBO manages to ring the changes each week for those interested in baking, BAC presented just more of the same, even for gardeners. Why the fascination with pickles? And aren't there other things to do with flowers than arrange them?

Will The Big Allotment Challenge return? Possibly, but surely with a different format. Here are my ideas on making it more interesting:

1. Don't get rid of contestants - make it a competition based on points built up during the series (actually this isn't my idea. I found it on another blog but I've forgotten which. If it's yours, let me know and I'll put in a link.)
2. Sell flowers. Send the competitors to a local market with bunches they've grown and see who makes the most money.
3. Have a Generation Game-type challenge. Jonathan Moseley could create something tricky and competitors have to copy it in two minutes.
4. Grow to show a modern variety and a heritage variety of a certain veg. The comparison should be educational.
5. Build a support for climbing peas in half an hour, and let's see if it stands up to their weight during the season.
6. Grow the topping for your own pizza - show imagination. Honestly, if I'd seen Thane Prince pop a teaspoon of mush in her chops one more time, I think I'd have squealed.

I could go on (note to producers: Feel free to ask) but I bet you can think of a few challenges yourself. What would you like to see on The Great Allotment Challenge? Or did you like it just as it was?

 And here's another review from Two Thirsty Gardeners: Sarah Coomer's Guest Review: The Big Allotment Challenge.

GBBD: Solomon's Seal lights up a dark spot

There are some plants that refuse to do as they're told. Solomon's Seal, warned against as invasive by some sources - or, at least, spreading - is certainly not that in my front garden. It's supposed to do well in shade (check!) and moist soil (check!). So, my tiny clump has sent up one flower spike per year for goodness knows how long. This year, though, it's sent up two and there are are couple of smaller ones on the way.

The flowers look superb and the leaves take to back-lighting like an aging diva. This can only be another plant which has lapped up the heavy rain over winter.

Must water more often.

Why not pop over to May Dreams Gardens to see what else in blooming in bloggers' gardens?

How to put in a vertical post for raspberry supports

Putting in a vertical post feels as if it must be the easiest thing in the world, until you're faced with the reality of doing it. Possibly that's what prompted my recall of an urgent errand last week, five minutes into the afternoon that  Husband and I had earmarked to erect the new raspberry supports.

"How did you know to do that?" I asked admiringly (and very soothingly) on my return.

Husband - sole excavator for four holes 18 inches deep in clay soil like concrete -  was decidedly grumpy. But it wasn't muscle-power that aroused my conciliatory admiration. It was the way he'd got the posts upright.

Our nation's men are not exactly practical, according to Channel 4's research (released last Monday in time for their new series, The Island with Bear Grylls). While I can't get too excited by 62% not knowing how to light a fire without a lighter (I'm pretty sure it's been like that for some time; the tinder-box was around before lucifers), I can see a few jerry-built shelves going up in Wales, where 83% of men said they'd never been taught any practical DIY.

"I've watched other people do it," growled Husband - a little pointedly, I thought.

So, for anyone whose husband is Welsh, or who hasn't hung around building sites eyeing up the work, here's a quick run-down on how to ensure your posts are vertical enough to put the bubble between the lines in the spirit level.

We were putting in the Harrod Horticultural Summer Raspberry Supports that I decided to treat myself to, as the raspberry bed has been looking a mess for some time. The posts (which have to be accurately upright in order to accommodate the cross-piece) are therefore square and quite narrow. We also decided that the soil being what it is, we could get away with putting them straight in and not using concrete. However, the principle is the same, whether pouring concrete in the hole or using a round stake instead.

1. Dig hole.

2. Bash in a baton (18 x 2 x 1 inches is nicely robust) at a 45 degree angle into the far wall of the hole.

3. Place your post against this and check that it's vertical by placing spirit level on opposite side from wooden baton.

4. Alter post position until it is vertical. It should stand flush against the baton. (You don't want it wobbling back and forth against it.) Tap the post in slightly to help it stay in place.

5. The post is now vertical in one plane (left to right, or front to back), and you need to ensure it's upright in the plane at 90 degrees to that (front to back, or left to right). Place the spirit level on the side 90 degrees from the plane you've just set and adjust until vertical.

6. Holding the post firmly, tap in another baton at right angles to the original, and against the post, so that the post is held vertical in both planes by the corner made by the two batons (as you can see clearly in the top picture - the third baton, on the left in front, in the top picture, is adding stability to the middle baton).

7. Fill the hole.

It seemed undiplomatic to break off in the middle of hole-filling to take photos, so the pictures all illustrate holes with soil replaced, but you can see the baton placement. (We had two uprights in one hole as we bought two sets of supports and placed them next to each other, so the left to right baton in the bottom picture is serving two uprights.)

We watered the soil in, so it would fill the hole properly. Once it had all settled and dried out a bit, we pulled out the wooden batons. (If you were using concrete, it would be a good idea to bang batons into the surrounding ground, rather than into the sides of the holes as we [er - he] did.)

And voilà. Vertical uprights. This is obviously easier to do with two people - one to hold the post, and one to bang in the batons. However, Husband would like you to know it's perfectly possible with just one. Alone. without help. In fact, all by himself. 

Tree Following: lilac recovery?

Garden bloggers around the world have been galvanised into action by Lucy Corrander of Loose and Leafy with her Tree Following meme. At the last count, seventy-six people across seven countries now keep a monthly eye on a tree of their choice and report back. It's addictive stuff. You can keep up with a tamarillo in Melbourne, a Kousa Dogwood in Michigan or a Mulberry in Suffolk. Or, indeed, a rather sorry lilac in southern England. Mine.

Back in October, I reported on the lamented demise of our much-loved lilac in the front garden. St Jude, the patron saint of lost causes, had sent a storm to create a few of his own.  At least, a lost cause is what I assumed it to be.

Just as I'd decided to follow my Bramley apple (showing a lot of blind wood, it offers the chance to check up on the effects of my pruning) I spotted the lilac. Despite being sawn in half, like a magician's assistant, leaving a bare stump which we intended to revisit with the chainsaw, in the last three weeks or so buds have burst from the stump.

The stump is still leaning at an angle of 45 degrees, so we're storing up problems if it grows too big. But I can't bear to dig it up now. New life is surging and it looks as if perhaps we'll have ourselves a bush, rather than a tree.

Or perhaps, as Husband suggests, it'll run out of steam in a couple of years and give up the ghost. We'll just have to wait and see. In the meantime, the snails seem particularly fond of it.