little green fingers

Making cress caterpillars - and other manifestations of motherly guilt

I disappeared on Saturday morning.  Unfortunately this wasn't the result of me developing a rather useful super power.  No, I actually went on a 14.5 mile walk. 

Training for the Moonwalk has taken a worryingly serious turn.  And whilst it might improve my fitness levels to complete a four hour stroll, it did leave Monkey Man (MM), my husband, with three children and a mild hangover.

I tried to make amends in the afternoon by going all Blue Peter and making some cress caterpillars.  Anything involving cress is a winner with attention deficit offspring.  You can sow in the morning and see germination before heads hit pillows.

Originally I was going to do cress heads with eggs or yogurt pots, but then ambition took over.  Also, caterpillars take longer and thus gave MM more time with his beloved Radio 5 Live.

So here's what we did.

Cut an egg box base lengthways and trim the sides - this gives you two caterpillar bodies.

 Colour the egg boxes green - you could paint them but we used thick felt pens

Dye three egg shelf halves per caterpillar - we did this by placing the broken halves in a bowl of water and adding a few drops of green food colouring

Use three pipe cleaners for legs and one for antennae - my 5-year-old was able to thread these in herself once I made the holes with a skewer - and then glue on googly eyes

Put the eggshell halves into the spaces along the caterpillar's back and then fill with damp cotton wool before sowing the cress seeds on top

Put on the kettle for a cup of tea and survey the devastation with a sense of smugness, because, even if your children do go off the rails in years to come, no-one can blame you.  After all, you did make cress caterpillars with them.  What more can they ask?

Growing giant sunflowers - and other childhood traumas

 

OK, so I may be taking this a little seriously, but there's pride at stake here.  You see, the competition is fierce - it makes the Thriller in Manila look more like an over eager cuddling session.  Yes, the sunflower contest at my daughter's school has begun!

We have to fill in the slip by the end of term to receive five 'Russian Giant' sunflower seeds and already I'm panicking.  For a start, do I sow them directly into the soil or start them in pots?  I've read that pots can restrict the taproot development but then I don't want to be caught out by late frosts either.

Then there's the question of where to plant.  Should I go for a single spot or spread the risk?  And when they start growing, what's the best way to support the stems?

I need help.  I need advice.  And I probably need counselling.

You might think I'm getting a little obsessed, but you see, I have my own dark memories of school competitions.  In my day it was 'grow the largest marrow'.  We were all given a couple of seeds.  My elder brothers nonchalantly dropped them into the soil and returned to their raft-building, chicken-lassoing, sister-shooting or whatever anti-social activity was currently in vogue. 

As an aside, they really did partake in all these 'sports'.  Including shooting a wooden arrow into the side of my head (my father believed in crafting them accurate replicas rather than namby-pamby blunt-ended weapons).  And the fact we got any eggs at all from the traumatised chickens is a minor miracle.

Anyway, whilst my brothers ignored the veg patch, I dutifully watered, tended and hoed my little planting area, waiting day after day for the plants to emerge.  It was about three weeks later when my father finally let me know I must have weeded out my own seedlings.  And while my brothers had lovely healthy marrows to take to school, I was left empty handed.

Between this and an unfortunate incident when I fed the family Bergenia crumble (remarkable how similar to young rhubarb this looked), it took me until my mid-twenties to regain my gardening mojo.

So these sunflowers are more than just a seed to me - they are regression therapy.

I declare this pre-school garden... OPEN!

Well, at long last, we began the pre-school gardening club today.  I survived it (just) but I was channelling Joyce Grenfell most of the time ("George, don't do that").

The pre-school staff took pity on me, only sending out six children at a time and with at least one of them in tow.

I learnt a few things...

1) a five-minute attention-span would be a luxury

2) the difference between a two-year-old and a three-year-old is akin to the difference between The Weakest Link and Mastermind

3) never give a seed to a child and expect it still to be in their hand 30 seconds later

4) if anyone under four sees a watering can, whatever you are saying will only be heard as "pick up that watering can and pour as though your life depends on it"

5) plant labels come out of the ground even easier than they go in - and rarely return to the same place

Still, on the whole, it was a success.  We planted up the blueberry, apple mint and peas from Victoriana Nursery Gardens as well as some Nasturtiums and red onion sets I'd bought. 

I think I will plant up the Cosmic Carrots and cut and come again lettuce myself.  This size of seed combined with the current strong winds doesn't bode well for my mini gardeners.

Now I just hope things grow - especially given the shady nature of our plot.  The children have already started waving to their seeds from the pre-school window which must help - surely...

Making child friendly plant labels

 

I'm incredibly shallow when it comes to garden produce.  As excited as I am about the crop itself, my real concern is how my veg garden actually looks.

Last year I spent ages creating raised beds and surrounding them with clipped box hedging.  This year I'm becoming obsessed with plant labels.

I've seen some beautiful carved wooden labels and even slate and metal name tags, but almost all of these would require me to take out a second mortgage.  Then I went to Wilkinsons.

For those not au fait with this store, its the kind of place where you can buy 200 clothes pegs for 50p or 10 sticks of glue for under a pound.  Obviously we're not talking heirloom quality goods here, but if you ever get stuck in the hell of putting together 25 party bags for less than a tenner, this is the place for you.

But I digress...  What Wilkos does offer is 10" wooden spoons for the princely sum of 23p each. These are the perfect size for tactile, legible and aesthetically-pleasing plant labels.  All I needed for writing was a soldering iron and thankfully my neighbour is a man who very possibly owns every tool every invented and is delighted to share his collection.

I'm pretty pleased with how the finished labels look and they're very easy for Ava to read, but I'm aware that her younger brother isn't able to decipher words yet.  As I also needed to create some labels for the veg-bed at his pre-school, I've been thinking of another labelling system.

This afternoon inspiration struck.  The children were playing with their huge collection of plastic food, amassed over the past few years.  What could be better.  They're weather resistant, easy to recognise and lying around all over my house.  I simply put a slit in the bottom and pushed the appropriate vegetables on a kebab skewer.  Only problem is, I've searched the house high and low but I can't find the plastic lettuce leaf anywhere.  Having said that, if we want to grow grapes, bananas or chicken legs, I'm very well set up...

Builiding a Pre-School Garden on a Shoestring

I'm having a Blanche DuBois moment.  My son's pre-school garden - a tiny space less than four metres square - is nearly ready to be planted up and it has been made possible, almost entirely, by the kindness of strangers (and the Internet - although that featured less prominently in A Streetcar Named Desire...)

Despite the fact we are all supposed to be on the verge of financial collapse and a post-apocalyptic Mad Max style world is just around the corner, I have been amazed by the generosity of so many people.

The sleepers for the raised bed have come from the Perfumed Garden.  Simon, the landscaping side of the partnership, apparently spent a dissolute youth in this very village and having read about my travails on Landscape Juice, decided to make amends for former behaviour and donated enough wooden sleepers to make the main raised bed.  Karma is a wonderful thing.

Today I took delivery of a package of delightful promise from Victoriana Nursery Gardens containing a wonderful range of seeds (particularly excited about the Cosmic coloured carrots) as well as some apple mint and a blueberry plant. 

Stephen from Victoriana is turning into kind of springtime Santa as he's already helped Mrs Be with her school gardening club.  He offered to come to our aid as well when I congratulated her on these fab freebies (just one of the many reasons to love the blogoshpere).  Now I just need to make sure that the kids and I grow a harvest to be proud of so I can report back on the trial.

I've even received strawberry plants, seeds and a huge number of pots through Freecycle (surely one of the most useful grassroots organisations ever formed on the web) and a dump sack of spent mushroom compost from my local landscape supplier, Bannolds (although this may be part of their 'buy 20 sacks - get one free' promotion as my own garden does tend to swallow up the stuff at a frightening rate).

Sometimes it can seem a struggle creating a garden almost money, but it will be a better place for the fact so many have contributed to it.  Plus, it's great to be able to tell the children about all those who have helped to make it possible. 

Dominic Murphy wrote on the Guardian blog this week urging government initiatives and funding for school gardens but I think this misses the point.  The joy of creating something from nothing is far closer to the true nature of gardening and a better lesson to learn.

Belated Fairy Rings - or 'what to do with 1800 crocus bulbs'

I have been holding my breath since the end of last year (only figuratively, for obvious reasons) and at last I can exhale.  My experiment worked - well sort of - as fairy rings have emerged on my lawn.

I've been wanting to plant some dramatic circles of crocus on my lawn for some time now.  I was originally inspired by a photo in some aspirational, glossy magazine - Country Piles and Rolling Acres, or something similar.  It was about 7 ot 8 years ago so the details escape me, but I seem to remember a profile of a fabulously wealthy couple, their 13 children - all called Henry (even the girls) and their marvellous 26 bedroomed Georgian country mansion complete with stables and indentured servants.  

OK, so I'm sketchy on the specifics, but I do recall a wonderful view from a window onto a lawn with huge square coloured blocks formed from the mass planting of crocuses.

I bit the bullet this year and planted up 1800 bulbs on my own lawn to form three circles of various sizes.  I did this about 8 weeks late, as I seem to do everything late.  It's not that I'm disorganised - I write detailed lists every day.  It's just that I never get to the end of any of them.  To be honest, with three children under six, I barely get to the end of a sentence.

But, late or not, the rings have emerged and the children are enchanted.  They go and stand in the centre of them - but no-one knows why.  It must be some innate, ancient calling within the very centre of their beings.  That, or it's just really good fun to see me wince as they crush the flowers (yes, I forgot to leave an entry/exit point).

By the way, does anyone really use the 'lift a section of turf and place bulbs beneath' technique.  I started this way, but the lawn was looking distinctly bumpy in those sections.  Eventually I developed my own unique 'take chisel, cut three sides of square, lift flap, place bulb under, replace' technique. Needless to say, it took hours, and hours, and hours...

Building a crawl tunnel for under a tenner

 

I'm guest blogging on the Guardian's site today (Ooooh, fancy!) so click here for more details on my credit crunch-friendly, Womble-esque construction methods...

At the mention of celery, my heart sank...

I've long-suffered from veg-envy.  Everywhere I look, people's seem bigger, better and juicier.  Part of this is lack of planning.  I'm habitually late preparing soil, ordering seed, and starting off plants.  This year I'm attempting to make some amends by getting a proper plan together, but I may have made a tactical error - I asked the children to help.

It all started well enough.  I had drawn up the layout of the beds, which we should be able to reuse every year and the children were poised with pens and enthusiasm.  The problem was I left the decisions on what to grow a little open. 

After explaining that our climate wasn't exactly conducive to growing lemons or bananas (never mind the fact that they're not actually vegetables), I brought out my trusty book on edible gardens. This may also have been an error.  Oscar seems to have developed an uncanny ability to pick crops that a) I don't like to eat b) are tricky to grow c) ones I've made a pig's ear of in the past or d) all of the above. When he started pointed excitedly at celery, I realised he may have lost the plot - Oscar can't stand celery.

I've always thought motherhood should be a pre-requisite to joining the diplomatic service or ACAS.  Suffice to say Oscar found himself on colouring in duties while his elder sister took on the veg decisions.

So at last we have our plan complete with Fifi (she of Fifi and the Flowertots fame) wielding a courgette - and, no, she doesn't have an eye-patch, it's just an over-generous pupil.  You may also notice we still have a fallow bed - Ava is waiting for the artistic inspiration to strike before drawing some leeks and kale.

I suppose it could have been worse.  At least Archie didn't get a say.  He is currently trying to eat Eric's cat food and as such has lost all culinary decision privileges for the foreseeable future.

Winter - the Perfect Time for a Picnic

I've decided there are three main ways to get children to eat almost any foodstuff.  First, drown it in cheese sauce (always a popular option for the under 2s), second, put it on a pizza (liver and onion deep pan anyone?) and thirdly, let them eat it outside.

The downside of this last idea tends to be its seasonal nature, but not today.  Unbelievably, it's the 6th March, and since Ava came back from school, we've been in the garden.  Best of all, the children were able to have their regular Friday treat - a picnic tea - outside for the first time this year.

Of course, the ground would be far too wet for a blanket-based feast, but last year I bought I child-sized picnic table with my birthday money (yes, I know, it makes me sound about 5 years old) which is a lot more practical.

It cost me about £70, but I've seen something similar online for under £40.  I also use an Ikea children's table table and chairs set when we have extra children to visit.  This only cost about £20 and I gave them three coats of a Cuprinol Heritage Shades stain for protection and to help them blend in.

If you wanted a more rustic look you could even use log sections for table and chairs. These would look great in a semi-hidden setting where they would be most fitting and create a magical feel to al-fresco junior dining.

Now if only I could pretend I'd used this winter picnic opportunity to encourage my children to eat something more nutritious than white sandwiches, baby bells and hula hoops...

Are the RHS leading children up the garden path?

I'm guest-blogging today on Landscape Juice and tackling the perennial issue of whether we should teach gardening at school.