Shelagh Lewins – Page 11

A bitter wind

Alas. One late frost, in early May, and the damsons and plums are gone. There are one or two left, but most are now sad shrivelled brown splodges instead of the firm swelling green fruits of a week ago. The farmer’s life is hard – imagine the disaster when this is your livelihood. No photos as it’s too depressing!

What did the Anglo-Saxon orcharder do? Did she shroud the trees in straw or cloth or something when it looked like being frosty?

The pears have suffered too, but I think there are still some left, and the older apple tree may be OK. The quince still seems to have tiny fruits, and the medlar is flowering and apparently perfectly happy. But I grieve for my little damsons.

The only comfort is that I now have no fear of my young trees exhausting themselves by over-producing fruit while still only two years old.

Sunshine and growth

My asparagus crowns arrived in the post so I read up instructions on t’internet and dug out some little trenches for them. I found space for six in the Bed of Brother Julian. Below you can see four of the crowns laid out, with two already buried. Very tentacular. Apparently, when the shoots start to appear, I should add more soil to give them another 5cm of cover.

Asparagus planted, with sticks to mark the spots

Asparagus is mentioned in Anglo-Saxon leech books under various names including eorþ-nafela (earth navel) though there is some discussion over nomenclature.¹
Known to the ancient Egyptians, Greeks, and Romans, asparagus found its way into kitchens and herbals at an early date. It is seen in Egyptian wall art from 3000 BCE. The oldest cookbook, called Apicius and dating to the about 350 CE, includes three recipes for preparing asparagus. As a medicinal plant, it was used to treat bladder diseases, and its efficacy as a diuretic was recognized in the earliest herbals, including 5^th century Herbarium Apuleii Plantonici, and the 10^th century Anglo-Saxon Lacnunga.² While there is no mention of it as a foodstuff, it seems to me pretty likely that the Anglo-Saxons would have eaten this delicacy as well as making it into a salve or medicinal drink.

I planted a lot of skirret seeds, saved from last year’s skirret plants. The pots are now filled with seedlings so I used a teaspoon to hoik them out as gently as I could, separated them and replanted them more thinly. Some of the smaller ones I planted directly in the ground around the one-year-old skirret, next to the asparagus.

Skirret seedlings now directly in the ground, around mama skirret

Now I know how big to expect a skirret to be in its first year – comparable to a good sized carrot – I’m planting them closer together. But I still have dozens left and will have to dig out spaces for them wherever I can shoehorn them in. Normally I’d offer them to friends but with plague upon the land (it’s early May 2020, look it up…) this isn’t really practical. But I may find some takers in the village if I use Ye Old Book of Face.

Today’s reminder of mortality came as I broke my Dungeon Keeper II memorial mug. Alas! Al has saved the biggest shards to bury as part of the Rumwoldstow foundations when we get on to the next bit of building, so at least they will become archaeology. But I’d rather have had my mug.

Almost the last memento of my time at Bullfrog…

Speaking of frogs, the frogs are back in the home garden. One behind the shed – plus a big one in the pond (not pictured here). Rumwoldstow is rather barren for frogs. I’m still pondering whether it’d be practical to put in a pond of some kind, and if so, what would be appropriate.

Madonna lily 1/3 is growing well, and there are finally signs of life from lily #2. Nothing yet from lily #3.

I planted a load of garlic around the rose because apparently it helps to repel the aphids, though it’s a bit late now as the poor rose is well infested with them, and had plenty left so stuck some in by the valerian and a bit more by the lilies. Those areas will be filled with other plants in due course but for now, they might as well be productive.

Rose bush with garlic sprouting around it and a borage seedling to the left

Over in the orchard, the quince has set its first fruits! The pears are doing well and probably will need thinning.

Separatist sheep (rest of the flock in another field)

As I walked out one afternoon in May…

After several days of rain, the weather has cleared up and the garden is coming on well. The photo below is taken from the cloister looking at the not-so-pretty side of the garden. The newest planting is the valerian, which is at the left end of the nearest bed, the one with the little roof. It’s fixing to flower soon.

At last, there is a sign of life from one of the Madonna lily bulbs which I planted several weeks ago. It’s late in the season to plant them and I don’t expect great flowers this year but at least something has started to come up. I have been determinedly not allowing myself to dig down and see what’s happening…

Rejoicing in a miracle

Did I mention that over the winter, all four doors to the outbuilding rooms swelled in the unprecedented damp and wouldn’t open for six months? And that after the rain finally stopped, in mid March, brother Alf kept trying the doors and seeing how they were beginning to shift in their frames. Finally the left-most door opened (which meant Al could get into the storeroom and get hold of his good drill at last!)…then the next left…then the third door…but the last door to the planned scullery remained firmly sealed shut. Woes! Brother Alf optimistically foretold that it would open at Easter, as a miracle. Good Friday…Easter Sunday…went past. But on Easter Monday the door opened, and Al has been able to get to work fitting out the scullery.

About a kilometre from Rumwoldstow, my nose alerted me to a fine cluster of wild garlic by the brook. I only hope mine will do as well in the garden. I’m a bit worried about it getting too hot – the sunhat doesn’t entirely protect it.

I planted eight pots of skirret seeds that I collected last year, and four pots have germinated well. When they’re a bit bigger, I plan to very gently try and separate the strongest and move them into the pots of failure. Only the strongest skirrets can make it in Rumwoldstow!

A kind neighbour gave me some dwarf french bean plants. The Anglo-Saxons ate various kinds of beans, I don’t know how similar they were to anything we’d recognise but at least it is beans. In return I gave her a spare garlic bulb from those I planted the previous day, mostly around the rose in the monastery garden as I’ve been told this will help keep off greenfly.

The garden’s filled out a bit but there is still no sign of the three madonna lilies which I planted in the bare area behind the mug. I am so far resisting the temptation to excavate and see if they’re sprouting at all…but it’s hard! What there is, is lots of bindweed shoots. Some are growing from bits of root we didn’t manage to sieve out when filling the beds, and some is in the plants like the fennel that I transplanted. I’m pulling out each sprout as I see it, and hope that eventually they’ll give up.

Green beans potted up (in the home garden, not Rumwoldstow)

I just had to check on the sheep…yep, still there!

Back in the orchard the dandelions are turning into clocks. But people won’t have called them clocks back in Anglo-Saxon times! I wonder what they did call them? The quince is in full flower and just starting to look as though it may be setting fruit.

I dug out some of the dock and nettles to give the comfrey which I transplanted into the orchard a bit more light and space. It’s looking pretty healthy, and I hope that once it’s established it’ll be able to hold its own.

Finally I took about a metre off one of the young damson trees, the one which is reaching for the sky. It still looks pretty tall. I used the very fine lopper on a stick which you operate by pulling a string. I’ll probably take a bit more off next year as I want all the fruit trees to stay fairly low so we can pick the fruit.

Spring lambs on the meadow

Now that Lake Meadow has dried out and the grass has started to regrow, the local farmer has moved a small flock of sheep down there. Particularly adorable are the four hand-reared lambs, who love a bit of attention.

The local kites are nesting in a tree nearby after driving crows off their nest. I assume they’re interested in the health of the lambs below…but not in a good way…

The medlar is still not in bloom, but has many tightly-closed roselike buds. And here is one last photo of the sheep, because sheep.

A minor pilgrimage

I walked to Walton Grounds, about 2km south of Rumwoldstow, which is recorded as being the birthplace of St Rumwold and historically had a chapel dedicated to that infant saint.¹ ²

There is still a hamlet of a handful of houses, to the side of the private road which leads to the farm on the other side of the brook. No trace survives however of the chapel or earlier settlement.

View of Walton Grounds from the south side of the brook

The walk back to Kings Sutton gives a fine view of the church spire. If there was a real minster here in early mediaeval days – and there may well have been – it will most likely have been up on the hill and essentially part of the church. We’ve sited Rumwoldstow down by the meadow, in a fictional Roman fort, because all the high up land is already thoroughly occupied!

Back to the garden – and the borage seedlings are up!

Trees and sheep

After a good rainy day, we’re back to sunshine with a slightly chilly breeze – perfect seasonal weather for April, which seems strange as it’s so unexpected.

A local farmer has put some sheep on the Rumwoldstow meadow. Lambs! We can hear the baaing from the monastery garden.

In the orchard, the apple trees are coming into bloom, the pears are developing, and the cherry is in flower.

Pear with early fruit (Louise Bonne of Jersey)

April rain

Today we have the first proper rain for over a month – how suddenly we went from flood to drought! As the Rumwoldstow garden is made of raised beds, it’s especially important that they receive all the rain they can. So I pottered down the lane in my dressing gown, wellies and waterproof this morning and slipped out most of the roof shingles on the shade garden’s sun hat. I’ll put them back when it’s sunny again.

Later in the morning, a box of plants arrived in the mail, containing two perennial cauliflowers (a variety developed in 1928, so not historic, but certainly heritage) and a valerian plant which I have planted in the last empty end space. It’s at the north end of the shady bed so will get quite a lot of sunshine.

Valeriana officinalis has a long history as a herbal medicine though I don’t think there’s much evidence for its use as a ‘sleeping tablet’. It certainly didn’t do anything for me, though I do have insomnia at a heroic level – I must have put a lot of points into it, though I’ve no idea why.

The seventeenth century astrological botanist Nicholas Culpeper thought the plant was “under the influence of Mercury, and therefore hath a warming faculty.” He recommended both herb and root, and said that “the root boiled with liquorice, raisons and aniseed is good for those troubled with cough. Also, it is of special value against the plague, the decoction thereof being drunk and the root smelled. The green herb being bruised and applied to the head taketh away pain and pricking thereof.

New valerian plant (rightmost in picture)

A sun hat for my plants

The south west corner of the main Rumwoldstow garden being shaded by the cloister much of the time, I planted it with shade-loving plants such as sweet woodruff and white horehound. However, as spring draws on, it’s clear that they’ll be exposed to full sunlight for several hours in the middle of the day, which I assume won’t be good for them. So with Al’s help I foraged for materials and built them a little roof.

As you can see in the photo below, the sun is just starting to touch the plants around noon, in mid-April, so they’ll need shading from around this time of year onwards. I cut hazel rods from the hedge which was coppiced two years ago (918), and set four rods with forks into the soil, then laid two long straight rods across.

The next step was to cut roof shingles out of old fence panelling and drill a hole in each to hold a peg cut from hazel. These were laid on the horizontal rods, with additional rods then bound on top to keep them from blowing off.

I used garden twine to fix the upper rods and also to bind the corners and add diagonal bracing underneath to give the structure more lateral stability.

Shingles can be slipped out and rearranged to vary the amount of light that gets through.

In midsummer I may add more shingles to keep the plants cool, but for now this looks like a light woodland effect as the leaves start to grow. In the autumn, I will remove all the shingles and store them indoors.

First set fruit in the orchard

After last year’s drought and the almost total lack of blossom or fruit from the orchard (3 medlars, 3 damsons total), it’s delightful to see plenty of flowers and fruit setting. First off, the new plum and damsons all seem to have fruit set, though the Shropshire Prune damson is looking more prolific than the Fairleigh damson.

Wee fruit on the plum tree, maybe 2mm across

Even smaller fruit on the Shropshire prune, but definitely set

We didn’t photograph the old plum tree or the Fairleigh damson, but both have had some flowers and look like setting some fruit.

The cherry tree was planted by the previous owners and bore a label saying it was bought at Morrisons. It’s never done very well as the ground is too damp and there’s not enough light, but it’s survived so gets to stay and do its thing.

Cherry tree, planted by the previous owners

Our medlar looks lively and has flower buds.

Likewise the quince:

Moving on to the pears, both look to have set plenty of fruit, the Louise Bonne of Jersey more, but given I don’t remember the Uvedale’s St Germain flowering at all before, I’m happy enough.