Chard Times

I suspect that most vegetable growers tend to cultivate vegetables they are more familiar with. For instance, your mother probably fed you an assortment of over boiled greens as a kid, and in adult life after a childhood of intense propaganda, you find you can no longer get through the week without eating some vegetable or other otherwise the pangs of guilt start to kick-in.

More recently you may have been served trendy al dente veg at a restaurant or a friend's house, and wondered how easy it would be to grow. The point is, there is probably a link between your vegetable produce and your life experiences.

I admit that this is also true of me, or it was until I discovered Swiss Chard.

I'm not really one to select anything just on looks alone as I need to know that the beauty
attracting my attention is more than skin deep. For instance, I drive a Toyota, not because it is a particularly attractive car as in many ways it is quite an ugly beast, but it was its reputation for reliability and consistency that proved to be more attractive than the usual sleek profiles and go-faster stripes. It is the sort of car which, if it could speak, would enjoy cosy philosophical discussions in front of a log fire during the long dark winters. A car with depth.

So, having established my credentials for not being bowled over very easily by good looks, I have to admit to being knocked for six when I first clapped my eyes on Swiss Chard. This vegetable is extremely attractive. The stems are a deep vibrant red, which sharply contrast against the large, glossy, dark green leaves. The picture doesn't do it justice - you have to see them in the flesh. I haven't got a clue what it tastes like, and for some reason it doesn't seem to matter. I have bought some seeds and I will be sowing them in the spring - not long to go.

Such strong colours lends itself to being a wonderfully ornamental vegetable, which can be relied upon to make a strong decorative statement in the kitchen garden. OK, so I've gone a bit poetic - leave me alone!

By the way, according to my weighty gardening tomes, it is supposed to be extremely tasty. It is related to the spinach and beetroot family, so I have some idea what it might taste like, having grown lots of spinach and beetroot last year. Both the leaves and the stem can be eaten, although they should be cooked separately as the stems take longer to cook than the leaves.

Will I have a long term relationship with Swiss Chard, or a one meal fling? All will be revealed later in the year - don't hold your breath!

To chit or not to chit...?

I've just got back from the allotment shop after collecting my order of seed potatoes for planting in the spring. I say "in the spring", but to be more accurate potatoes are traditionally sown on Good Friday which obviously changes each year with Easter Sunday. Based on the way it is worked out, the date for Easter Sunday can never be before 22 March or later that 25 April. So how does this affect the average allotmentor? Probably not alot, particularly if you ignore the tradition. If you do subscribe to it, then the late Easter means that you are more likely to be sowing the potato seeds into a warmer soil and so they will start to germinate a little sooner than the colder soil found in March. However, as the potato crop can remain in the soil for a number of weeks after they have grown, I think it all evens out in the end.

I quite like the tradition of calculating Easter Sunday by some obscure formula linked to the full moon following the vernal equinox. It is nice to have a festival that hasn't been taken over by the monotonous regularity of commercialism.

This year Good Friday falls on 6 April, or New Years Day to those of you who pay tax, and so between now and Good Friday my potato seedlings will be placed in open egg boxes in a cool, frost free, light garage and allowed to chit.

Chitting is the process whereby each potato seedling sprouts little shoots or chits which eventually grow to about half an inch. The chits should ideally be strong and dark, rather than weak and pale. A bit like the ideal male according to the wife - I don't really want to know my classification!

BBC TV's Gardener's World ran an experiment a couple of years ago where they planted a batch of chitted and non chitted potatoes together to see if it affected their yields. Interestingly, there was not much difference, but I seem to remember that the non chitted seedlings produced a slightly higher yield.

You could carry out your own experiment, but for me, just as I like the tradition of varying Easter Sunday, I also intend to maintain the tradition of chitting.

One for the vine

We are now well into mid-winter and the allotmenter is reminded of those deep white frosts that cover our gardens and cars as we leave for work in the early mornings. Ha! I hear you call. Ha! returns the echo (it was me actually). As I sit in my short sleeved tee-shirt with the golden sun blazing through the study window, I share your quizzical expression - what frost?

Hands up if you are enjoying global warming? Notwithstanding the environmental havoc it is wreaking, it is humanly impossible not to enjoy the blazing mid-day sun that the arrival of February has delivered so far. I do admit to feeling a slight twinge of guilt as I research the most appropriate vine to plant in a south facing spot on the plot in the spring.

Anyway, what we allotmenters don't like about global warming, apart from the growing likelihood that we will be weeding all year round quite soon, is the fact that we are increasingly being deprived of our winter frost. It is long freezing winter conditions that revitalise the soil by killing all the nasties that tend to nibble at our produce in the growing season.

Nothing much grows after November, and so your plot should be thoroughly dug over during December before the winter frosts arrive. At the same time any manure or compost should be added so that the winter tempests can break it up and integrate it into the soil. I Have now completed these chores, sorry, vital tasks and I now rely on February to do its worst.

On a precarious note, the vicissitudes of the English weather do mean that you cannot officially guarantee a lack of frost until June. Is a guarantee of at least some frost in February to much to ask for?