Tuesday 23 September 2008



One of my favourite combinations for this time of year, Rose ‘Iceberg’ a real good-doer that flowers from June until Christmas, climbs through Acer tschonoskii subs. koreanum, the first tree to herald the autumn by turning coral red. (Due to their tricky position in the garden, and my lack of expertise, I haven’t been able to take a good photo showing both the roses and coloured leaves, but Jim liked this one and thought I should include it).
The acer has great character as well as beauty. What at first appears to be a single specimen is then revealed as a trio of three, planted only eighteen inches apart. In February I’m always surprised at their temerity in unfurling young leaves before most other deciduous species’ buds have even swelled, and whilst leaf drop occurs correspondingly early, the red bark on the new wood makes an attractive feature of the bare branches whilst they are dormant.


Coming to the end of my second season gardening for the most part biodynamically, I find I’m observing nature’s rhythms far more closely. It will take a third year before the preparations have taken full effect and my plot’s conversion from organic to biodynamic will be complete, but recently I have started to sense that it’s well on the way, that the soil is becoming healthier, its life force getting stronger.

I knew the theory that for the speedy germination of seeds, they should be sown shortly before a full moon, but last Wednesday, not quite two days after a full moon, I couldn’t fail but be convinced. A raised bed mulched three weeks previously with homemade compost had turned from dark brown to green overnight. Weed seeds, insufficiently cooked so they had survived the composting process (the heap was too small and built too slowly) had obviously held out for optimal conditions, then germinated simultaneously, carpeting the bed in thousands of pairs of diminutive leaves. It could not have been due to an earlier lack of soil moisture - hardly a problem this year, you’ll agree! Whilst appreciating that my composting skills hold room for improvement (I’ve high hopes for the last three heaps that I’ve built and are 'cooking'), I was delighted to witness at close hand the surge of vitality, and taking my hoe, stirred the new life back into the soil, ready to nourish oriental greens that I want to grow instead.


The veg garden is keeping us well fed with sweetcorn, french and runner beans, salad leaves aplenty and the odd courgette (the green ones are good, but a yellow-fruiting variety, delicious in previous years, tastes watery and slightly bitter). Cucumbers in the greenhouse are doing well, but we harvested the tomatoes as blight was getting the better of them. A meal of spicy fried green tomatoes resulted (okay, but not delicious) and those that didn’t have a hope of ripening before they rotted went into chutney, that needs time to mellow, but tastes very promising.

A successful family forage resulted in a heaped basket of blackberries (so late this year). They became a crucial ingredient for the two most mouth-watering dishes of the week: venison in bramble sauce, and blackberry and raspberry pancakes.

Inch-thick venison steaks (from a road kill found recently by a friend) were fried swiftly on a high heat so they remained pink inside, then the juice from sieved blackberries – it’s worth the effort of removing the pips – was poured in for the last minute. The steaks were turned to pick up an even coating, and the juices deglazed the pan, mopping up every last bit of flavour. With boiled harlequin potatoes and steamed green beans, they made a super-healthy and lip-smackingly good meal.

The only rival for ‘dish of the week’ was the pancakes, slightly less virtuous due to lashings of double cream. Keeping up with the autumn raspberries is a challenge - they are amazingly prolific, and the children in particular require a ‘twist’ if they are to continue to appreciate the good flavour. But who wouldn’t go weak at the knees for a freshly-cooked pancake, stuffed with raspberries and blackberries that had been rolled in crabapple jelly (melted over heat with a tablespoon of boiling water), and whipped cream to smooth out excessive acidity? Yum!

Monday 22 September 2008



You can’t beat an Indian summer for pure pleasure. Blue sky puts a smile on all but the most miserable curmudgeon’s chops, and the warm sun invites you to bask like a lizard, but, should you wish to work outdoors instead, it lacks the intense heat that can wipe you out on a high summer’s day.

My honeybees are loving it but, despite a good number of species still blooming in the garden, and ivy flowering in the wild, it is too late in the season for them to collect sufficient nectar for their winter needs. I fed them generously with sugar syrup last week, but unlike previous years when I have added ten percent by volume of honey, this year I could only give them syrup with a few drops of chamomile tea to make it more digestible.

A more positive result of the wash-out summer, many species that would normally have finished flowering in the ornamental garden are still going strong. So agapanthus, usually waving bunches of fat, green seed pods by now, are still bright blue and beautiful, and Lavender ‘Hidcote’, surprisingly chirpy considering the wet year, still weaves a purple ribbon along the edge of the lawn.

Yet the Michaelmas daisies, autumn stalwarts, are out. I used to hate them, but now wonder why, as Aster x frikartii ‘Monch’ is so resoundingly cheerful - good purple-blue petals ray out from golden centres. Its show lasts for many weeks, it is mildew resistant and unlike many of its brethren, it doesn’t even need staking.

And Amaryllis belladonna knows that autumn is here, extending strong stems two foot tall before opening glamorous, pink lily trumpets. A South African bulb, very particular in its requirements, I had assumed that the wet year would put it off flowering, but it seems to like the microclimate at the base of a south-facing wall under the overhang of the thatch, and appears to be so busy celebrating the demise of a passion flower that used to encroach on its space, it obviously forgot to notice the damp squab.

Monday 15 September 2008



Despite our very different individual passions, every member of the O’Brien family thoroughly enjoys a good walk. This morning, after each picking a basket and pulling on our wellies, trying to avoid being sent flying by a whirl of over-excited dogs, we set out to see what the hedgerows had to offer. The blackberries are few and tart (the worst year in memory) and the rowans have already been gobbled by the birds, but the hawthorn berries are so plentiful that the bushes are tinted red from right across the valley. With high spirits borne of sunshine, a bright blue sky, and the picking power of a whole family, it didn’t take long to gather a couple of pounds. I’ll stew them tonight, and like yesterday’s crabapples, hang the resulting mush to drip through muslin into a pan overnight, and make jelly in the morning.


The biodynamic lunar calendar recommends working with flowering plants this weekend, but we prioritised harvesting, as Jim and the children were around to give me a hand. A nine-year-old specimen of rosy crabapple ‘Dartmouth’ now produces so much fruit that removing two basketfuls has hardly affected the beauty of its display. One of the highlights of the autumn garden, (and the spring too, with its glorious blossom), I can’t think of a more attractive small tree for any garden.

However, I particularly like planting apples here as the entire valley used to be orchard. Bertie’s Cottage, converted only twenty-five years ago, was originally a barn with a cider press at its heart. The last two cider apple trees in the valley are in our field, and still fruit well – much appreciated by free-ranging pigs, geese and chickens (and yes, one day we do hope to make our own cider).

A cob nut tree, planted eight years ago in the chicken run has, to my amazement and delight, escaped the attentions of the squirrel population for the first time ever. Maybe the wretched little critters heard tell of our newfound passion – Friday night’s delicacy was a ragout of venison ribs, a chicken carcass originally intended for stock, and a squirrel that Jim skinned and butchered for the pot. Simmering away with a carrot, onion, bayleaf and peppercorns, it already smelt good, but by the time I’d thrown in a small handful of dried porcini (cep) mushrooms and a glass of red wine, I could tell we were in for a treat. After an hour and a half the meat was tender and falling apart, so whilst I picked out the bones, I let a dollop of cream enrichen and thicken the sauce. The result - pure bliss – an unbelievably concentrated flavour! With steamed greens and Red Duke of York potatoes from the garden, it was a memorable meal, enjoyed by us all. I really would urge anyone who lives in rural parts to give squirrel a go, but can’t say I’d be tempted by one from Hyde Park!


This blog will be a diary of what’s going on at Bertie’s Cottage: what we’re up to on the smallholding; what’s looking good or needing attention in the ornamental garden; what we’re eating; and beyond the gate, anything of interest that catches my attention in the small patch of Mid Devon that we call home.

The end of summer is usually a sad time, but after this year’s washout, we’re celebrating the arrival of autumn, especially today, since it sounds as if an unusually shower-free weekend is the start of a dryish spell – an Indian summer at last!

The garden is alive with bumblebees – I found four different species at one time on the stunning blue flowers of Caryopteris x clandonensis ‘Heavenly Blue’. A three-foot tall, sun-loving shrub, with silvery leaves, its colour combines well with pink spikes of Physostegia virginiana (the obedient plant) and blonde plumes of Stipa gigantea (golden oats grass).
The veg garden continues to feed us with courgettes, sweetcorn and the bean tribe – runners that are always reliable, french beans that do less well in a wet year, and dwarf french beans, the most iffy of all, that - conveniently for slugs - fruit close to the ground. Raised beds with crops for the winter are filling up – leeks, brassicas, oriental greens and winter salads, beetroot that need to be pulled before the first frost, and parsnips and Jerusalem artichokes that are best left in the ground.