Attack of the killer tomatoes

Okay, they’re not really killer tomatoes, but, honestly, with the exception of the crazy seven-foot tomato which grew from a seed in Walthamstow, I’ve never had cherry tomato plants grow so tall as this year’s crop.

The thin bamboo stakes, which have always done the job in the past, simply cannot bear the weight, so time must spent with scissors and string, tying the plants to the fence. (Good news, as you will see from the bottom left corner of the photo: the tomatoes are ripening.

Speaking of seven-foot plants…

I’ve never seen a thistle anywhere on the property before, then suddenly this year there were three of them growing by the back path. I have a pretty relaxed attitude towards plant/tree life outside the garden. If some plant wants to start growing, fine. (I even tolerate mushrooms.) One of the thistles is now well over seven feet tall. The good news is that bees apparently love thistle flowers. If you click on the photo to see it full size, you’ll spot the bee guzzling thistle nectar on the top flower. Moments before I took the photo, there were bees on all the flowers. So, yay thistles.

Meanwhile, back in the produce section…

My first beet has been harvested and eaten - roasted with some of Pat’s carrots. Yum! (And, yes, Jane, if you are reading this, that is indeed your old cappuccino maker, sold to me when you were moving to electricity-free Keats Island, and still going strong.)

My first two courgettes are coming along nicely.

If my eyes do not deceive me, the first flower has appeared on one of the squash plants.

I’ve just picked my first batch of peas!

The strawberries are flowering again. I’d completely forgotten they do this. Hopefully the squirrels have forgotten, too, and I will be able to pick some without a bite already taken.

The bench cushions and cover are in place.

And when I’ve finished posting this, I shall be sitting on the bench with a book and a large gin and tonic.

Cheers!

Floral notes

Back in the spring, when Krys was taking a turn digging the hole for my (one) apple tree, she tried to move this pot out of the way, not realising the rose bush had taken root in the ground underneath. She ended up being scratched by a rose thorn. “Well,” I said, unable to suppress a smile, “it is Clancy.” (This being the rose bush I’d bought to replace the bedraggled fuchsias marking crazy Clancy’s shallow grave.) Given the temperament of my old black cat, she did laugh.

I’d already pointed out to her the ceanothus marking Jenny’s grave and the rose bush marking the spot where last autumn I buried poor old Tri. Krys looked from Clancy’s rose bush to me. “This isn’t a garden,” she said. “It’s a pet cemetery.” Well, perhaps, but it is a garden, too. (That said, I suspect it’s not going to be long before I need another rose bush. Angie, Tri’s sister and very much Mike’s cat, has held on longer than the vet thought she possibly could last year. She’s a game old gal, who hopefully will turn 20 soon, but it’s just a matter of time.)

Clancy’s rose bush hasn’t been doing all that well. I think it might have managed one blossom per year the previous two summers, but, as elsewhere in the garden, this year is a whole new year.

There are already four red roses ready to open up.

Tri’s rose is also ready to bloom.

Elsewhere in the garden…

The dahlias Pat donated to the cause earlier this year are starting to flower. Unfortunately, when Krys asked me where I wanted them planted before I left for the UK, I picked the wrong spot.

They’re behind the tomato plants, which are much taller this year than I remember them ever being in previous years. Thus, you can barely see the dahlias. Note to self: move dahlias next spring.

And another floral note to self: I need to investigate bee-friendly late flowering plants. The bees loved the apple blossom (main reason I am being very philosophical about the lack of actual apples). Just as the apple blossom was disappearing, the ceanothus (which they really love) bloomed. And just as the flowers on the ceanothus were finishing, the blackberry bush started to flower. Again, happy bees. But what about after the blackberry blossom? The bees are still around, but I have nothing for them.

Must do better for the poor bees.

Advantage, raised bed

Well, I have to say, it was very satisfying last Sunday morning to sit down with my very own strawberries (and raspberries) and cream to watch the Wimbledon Men’s Final. It was, however, nowhere near as satisfying as seeing Andy Murray win straight sets. (Sadly, eight hour time difference meant I missed the first set and there was no champagne.) Yay, Andy!

And yay, too, for the raised bed with decent soil! (And once again undying gratitude to Krys and Glenn for making it possible.)

The courgette is flowering!

There are beets!

Peas, peas, peas!

No sign of flowers on the squash yet, but I’m hoping it’s still early days.

Lest you think there are a few too many exclamation marks, let me remind you of the final score in 2010, when I first attempted to grow food in the garden:

Peas: 0
Beets: 0
Carrots: 0
Broccoli: 0
Courgettes: 0
Squash: 0
Cantaloupe: 0
Lettuce: 0
Rocket: 0
Red peppers: 1
Tomatoes: tons
Blackberries: tons (for which garden project can take no credit)

And allow me to also remind you about my garden guru cousin Peter’s verdict on the crapness of my soil. And then allow me the elation I am currently feeling.

Once again there will be tons of blackberries. Although, as noted in 2010 final score, I get no credit for this. The blackberry bush was here when we bought the house in 1996.

And once again there will be tons of (grow anywhere) tomatoes.

Oh, yes, all very satisfying indeed.

Rain, rain go the fuck away

Honestly. It’s the end of June.

Does the courgette have any flowers on it yet? No.

What about the squash? No.

Okay, there are lots of flowers on the tomato plants, but is there yet any sight of an actual cherry tomato? No.

There is still only one apple on the tree. (Mind you, from what Jane’s said about these grafted apple trees, one would be a bit of a miracle.)

And the peas are only just starting to flower.

Could we have some sunshine, please????????????

So, wonderful women’s weekend last weekend. Turns out I can actually squeeze four chairs around the table on the deck and, although there was no sunshine, it didn’t actually rain on Friday or Saturday, so good news there. (And, hey, even if it had rained: Women’s weekend. Hurrah!)

At the beginning of last week I honestly thought I might have a few strawberries ripe enough to share with my guests. When I went to the garden on Friday morning to check, oh, guess what? Gone, gone, gone. I can’t blame the deer on this occasion, as they can’t get in the garden. So who’s the strawberry bandit? Birds? Squirrels? Bastards, whoever they are.

I check again this morning.

Oh, goodie! Look at all the lovely ripe strawberries. Eat my first two ripe raspberries (yum!) before starting to pick the strawberries.

What the fuck? Okay, photo’s a bit out of focus, but every single ripe strawberry has at least one small bite out of it. Bastards, bastards, bastards. Does this happen every year? I can’t remember. The strawberry plants used to be in pots, but Krys insisted I should replant them in the raised bed. Hmm. Maybe this is her fault. Nah. It’s the bloody squirrels. Decide, if I’m going to have any strawberries this year, I’m just going to have to cut off the nibbled end and share them. (Bastards.)

Lots and lots of blackberries coming along – and I know the squirrels won’t get at them. Hah! (Plus the bees just love the blackberry blossom and the ceanothus has finished flowering now.)

Oh, and PS: the well chomped, supposedly deer-resistant plants do seem to be staging a comeback.

Now if we could just get some sunshine.

Resistance is futile

Remember the “deer resistant” bulbs I planted out back? Ha, bloody ha.

I wish I had a before picture. The shrubs really were coming along nicely.

This is what they looked like this morning.



Apparently they didn’t resist very hard.

No idea if there is any chance they may recover, but the planter is now in the garden. Bloody Bambi.

In other, less annoying wildlife news, a toad appears to have taken up residence in Irmani’s fuchsia.



Perhaps he’ll eat some of the caterpillars plaguing the island this spring. (Do toads eat caterpillars, I wonder, but cannot be bothered looking up.)

A morning spent weeding in the garden. (Unlike the vegetables I’ve unsuccessfully tried to grow over the past three summers, the weeds didn’t get the memo about the soil being crap.)



This particular bed is the first one I created when I first fenced off a garden area in the 1990s. In addition to the lilac tree (which finally blossomed this year), one of the five rose bushes I planted back then actually survived the years of deprivation when I was back in the UK.

And now there is a mystery.



That brave little rose bush, as it has proven every summer since 2010, is a red rose bush. So, how come the rosebuds it is producing this year are pale pink? Is that possible? A mystery for my horticultural guru cousin Peter.

The clematis is now in bloom.



Another mystery. The label suggested the flowers would be pale pink. Instead they are purple. In this instance I’m not particularly curious about why, because I actually wanted a purple clematis, but there were none left at the nursery. Bonus.

There is now so much fruit being promised.



Lots of raspberries.



The blackberry bush is producing an abundance of blossom.



Lots of flowers on the tomato plants.

And it turns out I was wrong when I said all the blossom on the apple tree had failed to produce anything that looked remotely inclined to turn into an apple.



It has, in fact, produced one thing that might turn into an apple. Time will tell.

Right now it’s time for a well-earned gin and tonic in the zero gravity chair.

Après le déluge

Almost immediately after the cherry tomatoes are planted, the skies open and the temperature plummets. This goes on for a fortnight. Eventually, the rain, rain goes the fuck away. Happily, despite the weather, the tomato plants are flowering, so all is not lost.

The same, sadly, cannot be said for the basil. Apparently it was too early to plant outdoors.



The Genovese basil withers and dies (drowns?), but, on the plus side, the African Blue basil is hardier and seems to be responding well to the sun finally coming out.

Satisfy myself, in between rain showers, by planting another window box.



Now there are flowers to be seen through both the kitchen and diningroom windows.

Outside, Irmani’s fuchsia has sprouted its first bloom.



A week later, look at it.



Okay, okay. This isn’t Irmani’s fuchsia. I broke down last time I was in the garden shop and bought another one. I couldn’t resist. It’s all instant gratification for me. Apparently, my motto is spend, spend, spend – even though at the moment I have nothing, nothing, nothing coming in. (Yes, Mr Mikawber, I am ignoring your recipe for happiness.)

And now that the sun has returned, out in the garden…



The second row of peas I put in is starting to sprout. The squash, courgette and beets have survived the deluge and, one hopes, will soon be responding to some sunshine. There is no sign of anything which might possibly turn into an apple to be seen anywhere on the mini-tree, but that’s okay. I can be patient – especially now that I know Jane’s tree hasn’t produced an apple in eight (or was it nine?) years. After all, it took at least 12 years for the lilac to finally produce any bloom.

The ceanothus, on the other hand, is blooming beautifully.



And, as I hoped when I planted it in 2010, the bees are loving it.



And the first of the flowers are beginning to make their way indoors.



I don’t know how I could have lived this long without knowing that rose bushes will cease to produce flowers if you don’t snip the first ones off before the petals start falling, the bush will cease producing flowers. Stumbled across this very important piece of information in a novel (can’t remember which one) last year. Explains not only why my roses have been disappointing, but how important it is to read.

Oh, and by the way, what appears to be a bud vase is in fact a glass I stole from a champagne bar in Edinburgh at the end of a raucous night out with Lucy and Wanda. Oh, happy days. (Actually, I say end of the night, but that was just me. I’ll draw a veil over what Lucy and Wanda - both mums now - got up to after I got a cab back to our hotel, shall I? Doesn’t stop me having a giggle at the memory, though.)

Cherry (tomato) jubilee

With the May long weekend comes the return of the Gabriola “farmer’s” market. I put farmer’s in quotes because, as I once explained to Morag, unless you’re making healing crystal soup or tie-die salad, the market’s selection of actual produce is underwhelming. (And, yes, for those who’ve never been to Gabriola, there is indeed a definite new age/hippie element on the island.) In late May there is, however, one stall not to be missed: Lovely Linda, the tomato queen. I don’t know what mojo this tiny Thai woman mixes with her tomatoes, but they are the best.

I faff around a bit too much this morning, playing Wordscraper and, oh, I don’t know what else. Before I know it, it’s almost noon. Yikes. The market closes at one and Linda may have already sold out. Jump in the car, drive down to market.

And there, amidst all the crystal crap is Linda, her stall still populated with tomato plants. But are any of them cherry tomatoes? (I only really like cherry tomatoes.) Yes! There are still cherry tomatoes left, some already flowering. How many do I want, she asks. Four, I say. No, bugger it, let’s have six. We load them on a tray, I hand over my cash.

“Here,” she says, picking up another, smaller tomato plant. “This is different cherry tomato, also very sweet. Only one left. You have it.” Bonus.



Come home, plant tomatoes. Clap hands in gleeful anticipation. (One of the few successes I’ve had in this project is crops of cherry tomatoes, so I’m not worried about these beauties.)



Decide I might as well plant another row of peas while I’m out here. First row planted coming along nicely (as, apparently, are beets, squash, courgette and strawberries). Hurrah for Krys and Glenn and raised bed and top soil!

Even though there’s been more than enough rain recently (really, more than enough), figure I should give cherry tomatoes a good soak. While I’m at it, might as well do the rest of the garden.

Oh, my god, what’s this I see?



The new blueberry plant – bought to replace the one that died over winter – which was bursting with fruit last week, is obviously on its last legs.

NOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Nothing is supposed to die this year. NOTHING. This is supposed to be THE year. How can this be? Didn’t they like one another? Did they have a fight? Is the one on the right a notorious predator?

Check labels. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Both bushes are Blue Ray, so no cross-pollination. (What an idiot. Why didn’t I check this before?) But is this really enough to lead to such immediate fratricide? Or, perhaps more appropriately, sororicide? Sadly, I hope so, as the only other answer to the mystery is that I am some sort of homicidal (botanicidal?) maniac gardener and that solution simply will not do.

Perhaps a gin and tonic in the anti-gravity chair to recover?

Compare and contrast

It’s almost exactly three years now since I returned to Gabriola, determined, amongst other things, to reclaim my once-upon-a-time garden, which had, in my absence, been reduced to this.

And now it looks like this.

Even if the scorecard on vegetable growing has been bloody awful (and that is going to change this year), you have to admit the transformation is pretty bloody amazing.

Anyway. A weekend in Vancouver last weekend which included a WISE women meet up and trips to various garden shops. I have a shopping list of things I cannot get on the island: more stargazer lily bulbs, some (affordable) ceramic pots, a cushioned cover for the plastic mesh fold up chair (now that the herb garden has been moved, I actually have somewhere level where I could sit and read near the house) and… some pink flamingos! (Yes, yes, I know: kitsch beyond words, but come on. Also totally fab.)

Discover at Home Hardware that chaise lounge cushion covers are (a) fairly hideous and (b) cost more than I thought they possibly could. Decide to see if they’re cheaper/less hideous elsewhere. As we’re leaving, Catherine spots a couple trying out an on-sale zero gravity chair. (Don’t ask me why they’re called that.) She thinks Bob might like one, tries it out, decides, yes, she should get one. The chair looks pretty nifty to me. I ask her if she’s sure she only wants to get one. (I see some arguments over who gets to sit in the chair in their camping future.) She realised that, of course, she needs two. Salesperson offers to fetch a dolly to transport chairs to car. While we’re waiting, I look at chair again. Wait a minute, I think, this chair is the same price on-sale as one of the hideous cushion covers. I try out chair. Oh, my god, it really is comfortable. Why am I buying a cushion cover for a crap chaise lounge when I could, for the same price, get this great garden chair?

Total no brainer.

So, yes, I get the chair and the ceramic pots and the pink flamingos.

Oh, and some more stargazer lily bulbs to plant in the other ceramic pots.

And, while I’m at it, decide to get a clematis to replace the wisteria, killed last year by my crap soil. No crap soil for this baby. Replant it in nice, big pot near the fence where it will eventually spread, looking bootiful.

While I’m in Vancouver, two of the butternut squash seedlings have sprouted enough for me to realise the mystery seedling planted by Krys bears a passing resemblance and could indeed by a successfully sprouted courgette.

Plant all three out. Actual vegetables growing (along with the already planted out beets and the well sprouted peas) in my raised bed! Okay, it isn’t the first time vegetables have looked as if they were growing in my garden, only to flower and perish, but this is the all new raised bed with the quality soil. This is going to be different.

Think it might be time to go sit in my chair.