Can you diggit?

Well yes I can actually, if only I didn't get interrupted!

About half an hour into my Saturday morning digging session, I look up and as if by magic, there before my very eyes is my allotmenting neighbour Ted. He turned up on his bike as usual and rattled through the gate, but very oddly I heard none of this. His scruffiness was manifest before me in a puff of lime as if he was the genie of the plot. An enforced time out from the volunteered hard labour then ensued. Down tools men. I did intend to get more of the plot turned over but it would be rude to continue especially as Ted had much to share.

Amongst other things, we discussed the spreading of lime on your plot which has the effect of reversing nature's tendency to turn the soil acidic, and can also detoxify the soil. We also discussed Ted's impending trip to "Lanzo", or Lanzaroti to the rest of us, and how he would like me to keep a eye on his shed whilst he's away.

This was your classic neighbourly chat over the fence. Exchanging information, throwing in a bit of local gossip, offering me the use of his strimmer, and ending with the request of a favour. If he'd asked me for a cup of sugar then I'd have had the full set. But don't scoff, nay and thrice nay!

This is how life used to be before people started to live alone in piles of square boxes. They'd be outside growing veg and talking to their neighbours over the fence. Admittedly the last time society was this close was probably during the Blitz.

Ted is now away in Lanzo for the next two weeks, over the fence conversation appreciated as it is, I can at least guarantee two week-ends of undisturbed digging. By which time it'll be really pleasant to welcome Ted back to the fold with stories from Lanzo.

Beautiful Plumage

Now that the weather is starting to improve and we are getting long periods of sunshine, well the odd hour at least, I decided to give the compost heap a good airing before it commences its long summer sweat. This comprises of shovelling the whole rotting heap out of its frame, and then shovelling it back in again - a game of two halves. Simple, and yet affective, and for the birds this meant that supper was ready.

A compost heap in mid decay is riddled with worms and when they are revealed to the world most of the feathered variety remained perched in their wooded enclave licking their beaks, bemoaning their shyness at not having the guts to nick the odd wriggler from under my nose. All except the British Robin - beautiful plumage! This bird is the epitome of the red blooded British male. Pugnacious, brave (or foolish) beyond reason, and ever so slightly barking. They swoop about perching on your spade, then on your coat, they move to the compost frame, nick a worm and they're away before you can slap an ASBO on them. Sparrows, blackbirds, thrushes? Nowhere in sight. All jealous as hell at this Man Utd supporters brass neck. He's at the top of his league and he's having a laugh!

Now, at this time of year not only do we have the pleasure of the British indigenous variety, but we also welcome red breasted visitors from Scandinavia to enjoy our warm winters. However, these foreigners don't have the gall of the British variety, and are more likely to be found skulking away in the depths of the nearest woodland. They're a bit shy, bless.

Whether the endearing oiseau rouge-gorge flitting around your patch is male or female is hard to tell as they are virtually indistinguishable, and often to themselves. Also, the chances are that you are seeing the same Robin everyday as they ardently territorial. They are prepared to fight to the death to protect their kingdom. This is where the red breast comes in. It is to ward off other Robins, rather than to pull the birds. In the old rhyme when it was asked "who killed Cock Robin?", it was more than likely another Robin protecting his territory rather the Sparrow with his "bow and arrow".

British Robins do not always find the need to migrate South for the Winter, and even then it tends to be the females who will jet off to Southern Spain or Portugal, whilst the fellas tough it out at home. Isn't that just typical, "you stop at home and sort out the nest, and I'll be back once I've topped up my red breast." You can see why these characters are the favourite British bird.

Enjoy their company.

Lunatic Planters

Whilst thinking about my Spring planting regime, and idly surfing the net I stumbled upon the mysterious world of sowing linked to the Earth's oldest and most familiar satellite, the Moon. This is the world of sowing plants and seeds according to the Moon's cycles. Ahh-ooooh, I hear you cry! It is variously known as "planting by the moon", "lunar planting", or more pseudo-scientifically as "biodynamics".

The basic principle is that it is more beneficial to sow plants and seeds when the Moon's gravitational pull on the Earth is at its peak. Apparently as a New Moon gradually becomes a Full Moon, its gravitational pull increases until it reaches its full force at Full Moon. Should I have noticed myself getting lighter during this period? This then has the effect of raising the Earth's water table, which in turn forces the moisture in the top soil closer to the surface. This means, and it seems logical to me, that newly sown seeds and plants have a greater chance of germination because the soil will stay moist longer, and the increased pressure helps plants take in and retain moisture. Bearing in mind we live in the frozen north, what does this all matter when it is lashing down with rain? Good question, and probably not a lot!

Now, as the Moon is not one for standing still, it soon passes through its Full Moon phase and starts heading back to becoming a New Moon again. It is over this second phase that the Moon's gravitational pull starts to diminish, reaching its lowest point as a New Moon. This low level of gravitational attraction to the Earth does, however, have its uses. This is the opportunity to prune trees and bushes because the reduced pressure results in reduced bleeding of sap from the branches and stems.

So how is the average allotmenting layman expected to make sense of this? A quick deconstruction helps. For a start we know the Moon has got some gravity as some of us of a certain age witnessed Neil Armstrong bouncing about on it in 1969, conspiracy theories aside. We also know that this lunar gravity influences some activity on the Earth. If you need proof of this, then carry out the following experiment. The next time the tide is out at Scarborough walk out as far as you can until you find the sea. Next, DO NOT remain in that spot. Why? Well the influence of the Moon's gravity will drag the sea back in above your head, rendering upon you a premature briney death. So, we all agree that the Moon has gravity, and it affects paddling at the seaside.

In a recent blog I wrote about planting potatoes on Good Friday, and how this day is linked to the Full Moon following the vernal equinox. So you would hope that in keeping with ancient Moon monitoring, Good Friday would be a Full Moon, if not close to one. I'm happy to report that this year the 2nd April is a Full Moon, with Good Friday being the 6th April. Phew! I'm relieved at the consistency.

So, who are these lunatic planters? Well, lets just ponder for a minute. On the one hand, we have manic intensive farming that doesn't know the meaning of "fallow", and on the other we have planting in sympathy with a natural cycle.

I know whose carrots I'll be eating!