And so to bed

Brace yourselves, because that was the only vaguely pretty photo that this garden post has to offer. November is descending into darkness and we spent a final Saturday afternoon putting the garden to bed together. I snapped a few quick photographs on my phone just as the sun was threatening to slip below the city-stunted horizon, and empty beds are not the most photogenic of subjects. Yet when I’m reading about other people’s gardens, I want to see the work behind the scenes, and not just the glamour shots of sweet peas in all their finery.

My task this weekend was to clear the cut flower bed and protect the tender plants. A couple of old fleeces, too full of second cuts and noils to be worth my limited spinning time, had been put aside for just this purpose. They’re protecting the incredibly productive alstroemeria, some freesias and, for the first time ever, my gladioli bulbs. I’ve always dug them up and overwintered them in the garage before, so keep your fingers crossed for me. I still have a mountain of compost and leaves to dump on top of the whole bed, to protect and feed it over the coming months, but I’m waiting for some muscle to come home from university for that particular task. That, or a burst of energy and enthusiasm one bright morning. I have shifted a lot of compost over the last couple of weeks and need a bit of a break.

The veg patch is done, for now. Before dealing with each bed, I worked out the crop rotation for next year so that I can treat each accordingly.

Two beds got a few inches of compost.

This one will have roots in it next year, so it only gets a layer of cardboard.

The fourth bed (just out of sight to the left) has this winter’s roots and other veg still in it, but it’ll get a mountain of compost dug in come spring, and the beans and peas that will be planted will be perfectly happy in there.

I still need to prune the fruit bushes, so didn’t think to take a photo of the fruit patch. It’ll be pruned and each bush given a top dressing of organic fertiliser. I love growing fruit; you get maximum output for minimum input.

My PSB are loving the colder weather, as are the leeks.

The perpetual spinach still has a couple of meals left in it,

and although the parsnips look unimpressive above ground, they are one of my consistently huge harvests every year. We virtually never buy them, and we dig them up all winter.

I do need to bring in and use the end of the beetroot though, before we get any serious frosts.

The flower bed by the patio has been mulched by the apple tree above it, and I’m inclined to leave it like this, apples and all. The birds and other wildlife love them and it makes a convenient blanket for this bed.

I have to say, fresh air and excercise apart, there is something faintly sad about a November garden. There’s a line from a Carol Ann Duffy poem that pops into my head every time I go out there at the moment: The trees have wept their leaves. They certainly have. But there’s also pleasure to be taken in doing things for the very last time this year: the last bit of strimming, the last mow, the last weeding of a bed. The garden is fast becoming a blank canvas, ready and waiting for spring.

Not all is asleep out there though. For the first time ever, I filled our hanging baskets with violas and they look so pretty, these little flashes of colour either side of our front door. Seb spent some of his pocket money at the pet shop this weekend, and filled his bird feeders with fatballs again. Bulb lasagnas have been planted. The hens are still laying, just about. We’re planning a night-time birthday party out there, with a big fire and a barbecue and hide and seek in the dark. The garden might have been put to bed, but it’ll be lying awake for some time yet.

Madeleine

Have you put your garden/ pots/ patio to bed for the winter yet – or are things just waking up into spring where you live?

 

4 thoughts on “And so to bed”

  1. There is something a bit sad about a November garden but on closer inspection, there are still plenty of life out there. I am not in charge of our vegetable garden but I can say with certainty that Richard is not half as organised as you are. The vegetable patch is still recovering from building works almost two years ago but most of the rubble is now cleared. I planted tulip bulbs in layers inside a big half whiskey barrel, and in some other places, too. All covered with chickenwire because the squirrels are very fond of my bulbs. Thanks for reminding me of the bird feeders. Mine are washed and ready but not out yet. Wishing you a fun garden party. x

    1. Tulips in a half barrel sound lovely. I’m hoping my bulb lasagnas will give me crocuses, then daffs, then tulips, so fingers crossed. We don’t have problems with squirrels, only self-imposed chickens! I hope your veg patch is good next year. I’m considering scattering some wildflower seeds over the odd bed for ease of maintenance, but I don’t know if I’ll actually do so when spring gardening enthusiasm hits! So I’ve prepared all the beds for next year’s veg, just in case. 😀

  2. I am so jealous of your perpetual spinach. I was really hoping that a relatively late planted lot would see us through the winter but it seems chickens and leafy veg are mutually exclusive 🙁

    1. They certainly are! We have low fences around our beds to (mostly) keep them out… Wishing you more luck with your perpetual spinach in the future. Maybe it’ll come back strongly in the spring?

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