Long time, no see

Yes, yes, yes. I know. It’s been a ridiculous amount of time since the last garden update. What can I tell you? I was busy rehearsing and portraying the poisonous Miss Prothero. Then I was busy rehearsing and portraying mischievous Maria in Twelfth Night. Then I got distracted by the gong show in Cleveland. And, yes, truth be told, I’ve also had a bit of a case of what my friend Krys and I used to call the “I can’t be bothereds”. So, here I am, hopefully better late than never, trying to catch up.

For those of you who aren’t on Gabriola, the first thing to report is that, after three long, hot summers, normal weather service seems to have resumed. The return of Juneuary was a bit of a shock. (Actually broke down one evening quite late in June and lit the fire.)  Early July brought its own surprises, including two thunder storms (rare in this neck of the woods.) Good for water levels in the well.

Not so good for tomatoes. After three summers of having more cherry tomatoes than I knew what to do with, this year’s crop qualifies as slim pickings.

This is what I brought up from the garden this morning. May look like a fair few tomatoes, but I’m honestly not sure how many more I will see. Ditto the peas.

Something that is new this summer are the pink gooseberries (the things that look like grapes). Although the gooseberry bush has previously borne some fruit, this is the first year the berries have ripened enough to eat.

Ditto the black currants I picked last month. And in the next couple of weeks I will also be harvesting some blueberries. In all previous summers since the garden project began and the fruit bushes were planted the berries all disappeared just as they were getting ripe.

Thank you, Cec Ashley, for the fruit frames!

It's show time!

Note to self: As important as it is to properly clean and sterilise the hummingbird feeder between loads of nectar, do not pour boiling water into the plastic bottle.

It will melt and warp. Then it will not screw into the bottom tray properly and all the nectar will dribble out. And the hummingbirds will be pissed off.  Doh. Off to the garden shop to buy another. Fortunately they still have one of the good ones left. Service resumed.

A bit of better (and less stupid) news from the garden. The last few times I watered the garden, the California lilac was covered in busily buzzing bees. Perhaps it’s a time of day thing (it was late afternoon when I noticed the distinct lack of buzzing) or perhaps it genuinely was the case that the word hadn’t spread to the larger bee population. Normal service definitely resumed.

I’m afraid this needs must be a very short entry. After several weeks of laughter-filled, delightful rehearsals with the charming, cheery Charlie Cheffins, tonight he and I must perform A Visit From Miss Prothero in front of an actual audience – first of four shows. Blimey.

Cherry (tomato) picking

It’s the Victoria Day long weekend and everyone on Gabriola knows what that means.

But before we get to that, shall we take a minute to ask why Canada, in the 21^st century, has a public holiday honouring a 19^th century prudish, colonialist British monarch? No idea? No, neither do I.

A couple of years ago a group of Canadian notables petitioned the Harper government to change the name of the holiday to “Victoria and First Peoples Day”. I hated the name, although I applauded the sentiment. On reflection, I do like the name, marrying as it does the name of the woman in whose name treaties were made and broken with the people whose land was stolen and culture almost obliterated. Of course, this suggestion was never going to fly with bizarrely anglophile Harper. Perhaps it’s time to propose the idea of a name change to the new Prime Minister. (And if he disagrees, suggest taking it outside.) Failing that, how about making National Aboriginal Day – which is also happily the first day of summer – a national holiday and day of atonement?

Anyway, what the Victoria Day weekend means on Gabriola is the official opening of the farmers market at the Agi Hall. And this means the lovely lady whose name I can never remember (but I think might be Linda) will be there selling her wonderful tomato plants. Which means it’s time to get going on the cherry tomatoes!

The market is heaving when I arrive. I clock that the lovely lady is there, then have a quick wander around. The market operators have stated that this year there will be a lot more actual food, compared to the tables selling crystals, tie-dyed apparel and other hippie dippie extravagances. Hmm. There is definitely more produce than there has been in past years, but I think the volume of New Age product is still considerably higher. Unless the tie-dyed apparel is actually being grown in fields, it’s still not clear to me why this is called a farmers market.

Never mind. The artisans need somewhere to flog their wares. Makes no odds to me. The stall I want is there. I head back to it. When I arrive I overhear some terrible news: The lovely lady is moving to Nanaimo. This is going to be her first and last appearance of the year at the market. Thank goodness I came today.

I ask about cherry tomatoes and she points me towards the large selection of pots behind the stall. I go to investigate. My goodness. They’re huge! I’m almost certain her tomato plants aren’t usually this tall this early in the year.

Two years ago, after fucking Bambo got into the garden and ate the tops of all the profusely flowering red cherry tomato plants, I bought a couple of yellow cherry tomato plants (all she had left by then) from her. The plants turned out to be prolific and the tomatoes turned out to be delicious.

So delicious that last year I bought another yellow cherry tomato plant from her. Not quite as much success.

Whatever variety these fairly large tomatoes were, they were not yellow cherries. Still, not a complete loss. Not being a big fan of large tomatoes for eating, I did end up making my first ever batch of tomato sauce, which was very tasty.

Despite last year’s not yellow cherry tomato mix up, I decide to take a chance again and purchase one purportedly yellow tomato plant and two reds. Time will tell what I actually have in these pots. 

The other thing the Victoria Day weekend always brings is my holiday-home neighbours. Their “house” is actually a glorified shed, fractionally less than the ten foot square maximum after which new homes must pass a building inspection. Not a lot of space in which to spend a lot of time, ergo the picnic bench and outdoor furniture which would be very pleasant if it didn’t bucket down every time they come. Typically, their arrival on Thursday brought rain.

This afternoon, however, was merely overcast. Fine for planting and staking the tomato plants. Oh, and what’s this? After the plants are in their pots and have been watered, the sun actually comes out.

Clearly I need to go into the house, make a cup of tea and return to the garden with the paper, in order to spend some quality time on the garden swing with Stella.

After a few minutes I realise something may not be quite right. The buzzing from the California lilac does not seem anywhere near as loud as it did this time last year. Is it my imagination (oh, lord, I hope it is) or are there substantially fewer bees buzzing around the blossom?  

I come back into the house and check the “buzzing” blog entries from previous years. Both seem to be from early June. Perhaps the word hasn’t got out to the wider bee population yet. 

Oh, lord, I hope that’s what it is.

What a difference a day makes

A day (slightly drizzly – nothing you’d call actual rain) and a half (slightly busy with other things) spent indoors. When I go down to the garden yesterday afternoon, I can’t believe what’s been happening.

There are, quite undeniably, pears growing on the pear tree. How exciting is that? (Okay, okay, I know there’s a long way to go before I get a pear crumble out of this tree, but still. Pretty fucking exciting as far as I’m concerned.)

The California lilac has burst into bloom and is absolutely buzzing with bees.

You’ll have to take my word for it (as they are apparently camera shy), but there really were at least twenty bees sucking the nectar out of these flowers when I took the photo.

Lots of strawberries have started to appear. This is going to be a great crop – especially as (touch wood) the netting means most of them are for me and not for the birds.

Less good news elsewhere.

So much for my recent excitement that peas were starting to appear. Some have, but only four out of dozens planted. It’s possible the birds got to the seeds. It’s also possible the seeds (third year in a “good for three years” packet) were actually past their sell by date. More seeds will need to be purchased and planted. Peas now well behind schedule. Sigh.

The beets are still coming along nicely and I think (although it may be wishful thinking) that I spy with my little eye some carrot leaves starting to appear. (And as they do, I suddenly ask myself why the hell I planted them in the shallower end of the raised bed. Doh.)

Four squash plants have sprouted. No idea if they’re acorn or scaloppini. (Should have made a note of which I planted where. Time will tell.

No sign so far of any lettuce, rocket or spinach. Too soon to give up on these? Nah. Ever the optimist me.

And while we’re on the subject (of comparing and contrasting)

How about the back forty, eh?

This is what it looked like in 2012.

This is what it looked like in 2014.

This is what it looked like last year.

And this is what it looks like today. (I knew I should've taken a photo when the daffs were all out in March.)

At the risk of repeating myself, pretty fucking impressive, eh?