JOBS TO DO TO GET YOU OUT OF THE HOUSE OVER THE HOLIDAYS

I’m outside in the garden on a cold, dull, damp day. It’s better than sitting down to write Christmas cards though. Again this year I have left it far too late to even think of getting the cards sent in time and the post office dates have passed so I can stop feeling guilty about it. I was told of an idea this year where it will save a few trees if we only send Christmas cards out every other year. This way no-one will notice the gap and you can save the rainforests, the ink from a pen and quite a few euro on postage. I have a new deal on my phone so I can call them up instead but not today.

Instead I have managed to find some very pleasing jobs to do in the garden. I have decided to leave some light duties until the Christmas holidays, which will give me the excuse to go outside after eating too much and lop off the top of some wobbly rose bushes. I am having a bit of a tentative time with a very delicate lawnmower. I am used to quite a heavy duty petrol one but have resorted to a small electric one for an awkward corner. The drive belt snapped as soon as I started it up and as the mower is nearly as old as Rudolph, I have had to make do and mend. I found some rubber straps used to keep hammocks in the air and these seem to be doing the trick of driving the blades. They do tend to fly off into the trees quite often but it won’t take away my smug feeling of achievement at having done a successful bodge job. Contrary to popular belief, things don’t really stop growing over the winter period and there are still loads of things we can be getting on with over the festive period. A nicely cut lawn is a good start if it’s not too wet and there are always damp corners that will need a sweep. I am sure you will think of loads more as you plan your escape from the festivities and get out for a bit of ‘peace on earth’.

GONE POTTY
If the rain is on then get into the shed to sort out all of the old pots you have cluttering the place up. Gareth from the Lifestyle Garden Centre in Newtowncunningham has a drop off point at the centre where you can put the pots for either re-cycling or re-using. This is a genuine offer, as I know only too well that it actually works out cheaper to buy the pots new that it does to clean and re-use old ones. The time it takes to sort out the old pots and give them a good scrubbing all adds up, but Gareth is happy to go down the recycling route.

Take the opportunity over the holidays to empty out all of your old planters and baskets that have old summer displays and remember to put the pots from your Christmas presents to one side to take down to Gareth too.


OVER THE FENCE
“Hi Ian, any point in buying a poinsettia as a present this year?” My makeshift rubber drive belt has flown away for the tenth time and in the resulting silence one of our neighbours has stopped to ask the question. “I see they are cheaper than ever.” They continue. “If you do get one, make sure that they come from a warm display area as they are sensitive to cold draughts” I advise as I rummage in the undergrowth for the hammock band. Do you know the history of the poinsettia? My neighbour asks. “I don’t,” I say… “Well here’s one for the readers of your gardening column.” And before I can unhinge myself from the brambles I get the story.

The Legend of the poinsettia
“The legend of the poinsettia comes from Mexico.” The story began. “It tells of a girl named Maria and her little brother Pablo. They were very poor but always looked forward to the Christmas festival. Each year a large manger scene was set up in the village church, and the days before Christmas were filled with parades and parties. The two children loved Christmas but were always saddened because they had no money to buy presents. They especially wished that they could give something to the church for the Baby Jesus. But they had nothing.

One Christmas Eve, Maria and Pablo set out for church to attend the service. On their way they picked some weeds growing along the roadside and decided to take them as their gift to the Baby Jesus in the manger scene. Of course other children teased them when they arrived with their gift, but they said nothing for they knew they had given what they could. Maria and Pablo began placing the green plants around the manger and miraculously, the green top leaves turned into bright red petals, and soon the manger was surrounded by beautiful red star-like bracts of leaves.” My neighbour goes quiet for a response….

“Sounds like there have been weeds around for ever.” I am not really listening. “It just confirms to me that they should be grown and looked after in hotter climates.” I say conclusively. I am at full stretch in the undergrowth but the rubber band is just out of my reach.

“I think you are missing the point.” Says my neighbour. There is a moralistic theme to the story about giving what you can afford.

I have an idea to get the rubber band. “Talking of giving, you wouldn’t throw me over that stick would you? Maybe I can get it on the end of that…….

THIS LITTLE PIGGY

TO MARKET TO MARKET
“It’s all because some lazy bugger couldn’t be bothered to take the bread out of the bags.” Tony has spoken. I have just asked the question about how the meat crisis came about to Tony, a self-sufficient guru from Leitrim. “The feed processing plant must have chucked everything into their vats and plastic bread wrappers allegedly went into the mix too. These carcinogenic chemicals have been passed on to the animals and in turn to us”, he explains with authority.

Tony has been growing his own for years, and not just vegetables. His three-acre small holding where we are walking around on a bright winters day is home to an array of animals, pigs, chickens, goats and they are all in some way destined for the dining room table. “Pigs are fantastic recyclers.” Tony is telling me. “They will eat anything, and I mean ANYTHING… but unlike a cow, the pig only has one stomach, which makes processing things such as old plastic bags a bit more difficult.”

BACON SANDWICH
Tony is a bit of a one for conspiracy theories and feels that the scare is just the tip of the iceberg. “It’s my opinion that the whole thing is just a ruse to get Ireland into signing the Lisbon Treaty. We are heading towards a one government world…..” I thought Tony was going into one of his rants but he takes a second and sighs. “If you listen to all of the theories it will drive you mad. You would be painting up the sandwich boards with slogans about the end of the world and parading yourself up and down the high street.”

Tony did the parading up and down the street thing for a while and still has a lot of conspiracy theories. He has yet to be proved wrong, mainly because most of them are about aliens, but has decided to spend his time being productive in the garden as he feels he should be part of the solution and not part of the problem.

“Pig farmers might need to pass on their stock if they can’t sell them on, it’s a perfect time to call in to the farm and get a hold of a little porker to bring home. Chickens can be picked up for 50cent after their productive laying life has finished and after some r and r they still give you a bumper batch of eggs too.” I think he is being a bit flippant about the whole situation but I don’t challenge him, I am more intrigued to know just how practical it would be to have a little Babe running around the garden, so I ask Tony how would you go about it.

WHAT’S IN A NAME
Pigs like to be together so get two or more so they can keep each other company” he begins. “If you want one as a pet, just a word of warning… they get very big very quickly. A friend of mine had a pet pig but had to put it down when it bit the butcher, (it’s a long story….) and she couldn’t eat a bite she was so upset. Basically if you are keeping pigs for food DON’T give them a name, or you’ll never sit down to a lovely roast pork.”

“How much room does a pig need, would you be able to put one in a town garden?” I ask. “Generally each pig will need at least 150square metres to run about in, so a smallish garden would do if you could stand the mess. They need to be kept secure as they can get out of the tightest spot, you wouldn’t want to be upsetting the neighbours now. I even found some of mine taking on an electric fence once, they wouldn’t back down and I had to switch the power off in the end, they can be very stubborn sometimes. If you do electrify a fence start when they are piglets so they get wary of them instead of thinking they can win in a fight,” he continues.

A ROOTING AND A SNUFFLING
“Do they help the garden at all?” I ask. “Well, they do a lot of rooting and snuffling so don’t expect any grass or flowerbeds. They are great for clearing areas and fertilising, but like all crop rotation, don’t leave them on one piece of ground for more than two years,” Tony advises knowledgeably. It’s funny for me to think of the pigs as a crop, but I guess that is what they would be.

“Are there different types of pigs you can get? I know of someone in Fahan who has pot bellied pigs but they are pets.” I say as we head towards the heated shed where Tony is breeding one of his sows.

“ There are different types of piggies.” Tony tells me “Berkshires, Tamworth’s and Middle Whites, they are the fastest growing ones. They all like mud but contrary to popular belief are quite clean animals. Did you know they have different names for different sizes? Tony asks me. I didn’t. “Go on.” I prompt,

“There are the Porkies weighing in at 60-75 kg. Then cutters at 76-85 kg and the Baconers at 86-104kg. They grow very quickly and sometimes it’s only a matter of weeks before they are at the Porkies stage.” Tony points to his pens. “ I made those out of sheets of corrugated iron and pallets. The pigs love them and they are easily moved around.”

“What will I feed them if I decide to invest in a couple?” I ask.

“Now there’s a question, feed them all of you scraps and certified feed, check out the DEFRA site, whatever you decide on, make sure you take it out of the wrapper first…”

NEW ADDITION

NEW ADDITION TO THE HOUSEHOLD
We’re off to get our Christmas tree. As usual my theories about how synthetic trees are better for the environment have been ignored and it’s time to venture out to get a sticky, needle-dropping specimen. I still think that keeping a plastic tree for fifty years and bringing it down from the attic at Christmas will use less energy that lumping the dismembered tree from the woods. “It hasn’t got that pine smell” my family tell me. You can get that pine fresh smell out of a bottle of disinfectant if that’s all it is. “No you can’t and we are getting a real tree.” Didn’t there used to be a time when a man was head of the family? But there are some arguments when it is better to go with the majority and as it is the season of peace and good will I may as well go with the flow.

So my job now is to protect the car. First job is to put down a rug to catch stray needles. Unfortunately the dog thinks this warm and dry blanket is for her and sits on it as I am trying to straighten it out in the boot. She usually sits in the foot well in the front but has decided to spread out in the back.

KEEP IT LOCAL
I have been talking a lot about supporting local businesses this Christmas and I think it’s important to keep the money in the community, so home grown trees from local growers are a great way to keep the money circulating around Inishowen.

It has taken us no time at all to get to the farm. Trees cut today lay on the side of the laneway going up to the farm. There is a wide selection of different types. It’s an impressive site as they are of a very uniform shape. We usually don’t buy a tree until the last day before everyone goes home for the holidays, this year we are on the ball and I can see why people shop for them early. It’s been a good crop with the looks of it.

YOU CHOOSE
I let the family choose the tree every year. I can never find one that is as uniform as a plastic one but that doesn’t seem to be the priority to the three Christmas tree critics as they weigh up the needles and branches. We are not alone. “You can feel if a tree is the right one for you.” I hear someone say just down from us. “You form a connection with it,” their friend agrees. My way of connecting is pushing the plug into the wall to light up the fibre optics, but hey, I thought, let’s get into the festive mood.

“Is it a bit early to be buying trees?” I ask the girl whose job it is to cram the trees into the boots of cars and use the green webbing gadget.

“You will be surprised how long a cut tree will last with a bit of care,” she tells me. “When you buy a tree make sure it stands in water, ideally cut off a couple of centimetres before you either put it in a watertight bucket filled with sand and water, or you can buy good stands that hold water.” She continues as she effortlessly pushes the tree through th tube to get it neatly packaged with nylon webbing.

“ Mine usually shed their leaves all over the front room carpet after a week” I say, trying to sound chirpy. “We have one of those water container stands, they’re very good, I’ll go and get it”. She disappears leaving the lads and me alone with a rather interesting piece of bailing machinery. It doesn’t take long before I have fathomed out how the tree-wrapping machine works and the lads have demonstrated first hand how you can get yourself wrapped up like a Christmas tree, having imitated the procedure and gone through the tunnel and out of the other end.

We just manage to compose ourselves in time for Jane to come back with the stand. “You can have it for €10 if you like” she says happily. I give it the once over. It’s not bad, strong grippers hold the trunk in place and the bowl holds about four pints of water. “I’ll take it.” I say.

“Have you any other tips for sparing the vacuum cleaner an overload with pine needles?” I ask.

There are four main types,” she begins. “There’s Norway Spruce , which is the most traditional looking Christmas tree. “That’s the one that smells like Christmas.” I say before I realise that I am speaking. “ Well I suppose so, if Christmas smells like pine trees.” She carries on. “If you don’t like sharp needles than Scots pine is the one to get. Then there are Lodgepole pine and the Nordmann, which are both very good this year too.” Jane knows her trees. “Remember too that you can take the trees to the recycling centre after Christmas too, so there’s no reason to by an artificial one.” I get the feeling that she has been tipped off about my preferences for plastic and realise that I am outnumbered.

INTO THE CAR
I have helped to drag the tree through the bailing machine and the next job is to get the tree into the car without taking the lining off of the roof. The seats go down and the pointy bit where the fairy will sit goes out of the front passenger window. “It’s going to be a squeeze, it’s too big.” It’s expected of me to moan so I don’t disappoint. “Don’t be such a grump” I hear someone whisper. Actually it does look a nice tree and we have some fabulous decorations that have been collected over the years to hang on the branches. For a brief second there I get a feeling of peace and well-being. It’s a brief feeling of peace though because Merry Xmas Evereebodee by Slade has just come on the radio…..

FIRST SANTA OF THE YEAR

“Where’s Santa? Is he here yet?” I’m shouting out of the window of my car at a bloke at the entrance of Willow Hill Nursery in Fahan. “He’s not here yet, we’re expecting a lot of people, so if you want to go up the road to the chapel and get parked there’s a bus service running every couple of minutes to get you back here.” He is silhouetted against the glare of an extremely powerful set of floodlights that they must have got from the GAA.

I’m here to see Santa officially open Willow Hill’s Winter Wonderland Fairy Grotto. This magical experience is open at certain times on Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday until Christmas. Now I don’t like buses much at the best of times, as I feel I lose my independence to come and go from places, so I ignore the man directing the traffic and park my 16 year old Nissan so tightly into the verge that the driver’s side wheels sink into the soft ground. I manage to get the car free and squeeze out of the door, getting brambled in the process, just as the full shuttle bus drives past me and pulls up in front of the well-lit entrance.

I walk into the sales area where a festive Dermott Walker dressed as an elf is trying to give change to customers who are paying in advance for their children to see the man in red and white. “We’re waiting for Santa to come and switch the lights on,” says the jolly but flustered elf, as he asks people to check their change “I think it’s ten euro but it might only be a fiver,” he cautions.

IT’S MAGIC
There are a lot of people turning up and anticipation is high, the entrance might be lit up like a football match but the garden centre itself is in darkness. Even in the darkness you can feel the excitement. It’s starting to rain too, but that isn’t putting anyone off as the fire engine siren is heard in the distance. There is a surge forward as the bright red fire engine crawls into the car park with a very smiley Santa in the passenger seat. As the machine comes to a stop he jumps out with a big Ho, Ho, Ho! and starts throwing boiled sweets up into the air for the youngsters to head butt as they come down to earth. As if by magic it stops raining as Dermott quickly leads the corpulent VIP to the “on” switch to get the lights working. “I now declare this grotto open” says Santa as he clicks on the power. “Oooooooh!” the crowd go appreciatively

The trees light up in a myriad of different colours. Polar bears and snowmen illuminate the garden centre. We also have a real live donkey in the corner of the site that looks to be very happy with the attention it’s getting now that the children can see it.

GROWING CHILDREN

Jackie has opened up the Grotto that has been built in her new polythene tunnel. The first thing that seems to be growing in it is the excitement of the children as they start queuing to see the big man. It’s surprisingly warm in the tunnel and Jackie and the team have been working hard to get the stage set up with a really cosy front room feel for Santa to greet the eager kids. I bump into Jackie as I walk into the tunnel. “We thought about this a couple of months ago and the idea just snowballed.” She says.

I use my powers as a writer for a local newspaper to squeeze my way through the crowd and get first in the queue to see Santa. “I’m taking photos.” I say to a couple of lads looking very displeased with this big grown up pushing in. Inside the grotto it’s actually very peaceful and Paul is there to take photographs of the meetings. “I’m here until Christmas.” He tells me just before he accidentally calls Santa “dad.” No- one notices so it’s down to business. Santa is fantastic, his personality and manner are everything you would expect, especially when the younger children can be so nervous. He is really putting everyone at ease.

CHRISTMAS PLANTERS

I think it’s time for me to wander about and let the youngsters have their fun, so it’s off to the display area of winter shrubs and planters. Even in the glow of the coloured lights I can see enough to know that the displays are looking better than ever this year and I am pleased to see that there are no spray painted heathers in sight. All of the plants look healthy and natural. Well-planted containers are a must for the doorway at Christmas, and all that is needed are a few hardy plants like an aucuba rhododendron or skimmia. The plants don’t even need flowers; berries and leaves are often bright enough to cheer you up on a dull day.

As expected, the queue is long for Santa. The kids have been very patient, but its time for me to go and slide my car out of the drainage ditch. I have just remembered as I walk out of the gate that I didn’t see the Giant LED teddy; it’s supposed to be the biggest in Ireland. That’s reason enough for me to come back next week.

Photo: Santa with Jackie, his little elf helper.

BEAUTY

BEAUTY IS IN THE AUDI OF THE BEHOLDER

I am starting my talk on gardening at a local club after putting it off for a long time. The room is full of enthusiastic gardeners and all are waiting to hear my ramblings about garden design and garden ornaments. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, especially when it comes to garden features, and it will be interesting to see what delights people have in their precious plots.

“I have an old car sitting at the bottom of my garden.” A woman declares as she pokes her face through two chairs on the back row. “What can I do with that? My son left it there, years ago and lives in America now.”

“When it comes to garden ornaments, it all boils down to finding items that are unique and special to you and that make you feel good. Every time you look down the garden at the old car, I’ll bet you have fond thoughts of your distant son over the pond.” I’m not sounding very convincing but I continue. “Have you thought about keeping chickens in it?” I’m making this up as I go along and that comment only gets a couple of disapproving grunts, so I continue.

“Many homeowners wouldn’t dream of putting any kind of art in their garden unless it was very traditional, preferring formal garden art like stone or concrete statues of angels, gargoyles and goddesses. Formal garden art also includes ornate birdbaths and heavy classical water fountains. These certainly have their place and can be well-loved additions to a garden. Other people have a different sense of aesthetics and prefer a more unique outdoor living area perhaps with a modern look and feel. This is where recycled products come in useful. A friend of mine collects old double glazed windows and has made some really useful greenhouses and sunrooms. OK they wouldn’t win the award at Bloom for the most attractive garden feature but they do the job and keep a few more things out of the landfill for a few years.”

“Do you know anyone who can take the bloody thing away?” The woman interrupts. I’m being heckled by a disgruntled back row gardener, who thinks I am in the scrap business.

“No”. I say rather unhelpfully and continue.

I did a talk on garden design a couple of years a go in Buncrana and everyone either fell asleep or had to leave early so I ask the 30 strong group a question to keep them on their toes and keep boredom away.

“Has anyone got an original garden feature, other than a car that they would like to mention?”

“I have an old shed that I wouldn’t mind shifting” chimes a man at the front. “It’s got asbestos in it so you have to be careful.”

A chain reaction has started. “My husband left three pallets of blocks on the driveway last Christmas. I wouldn’t mind those being lifted too” says a small woman holding a sickly plant in her hands for identification later.

This isn’t going well. “Is there anything in a garden that someone actually likes and gets pleasure from?” I ask. A hand goes up at the back “Yes” I say.

“I’ve got some gravel that needs shifting.”

TEA TIME

It’s nearly the tea break. I have a list of topics that I wanted to cover tonight. Winter gardening, garden ornaments and redesigning old paths. I fold the list neatly and put it in my pocket, it will keep for another day.

“Clearing your garden of rubbish in winter can be as rewarding as having it landscaped.” I’ve have found a new topic for the evening and everyone seems interested. “It sounds like most of us have something in the garden that shouldn’t be there. Let’s see if we can come up with some names of people that will do garden clearance, I’m sure we can find someone in the area.”

The car topic returns….“How many chickens can you get in a four door saloon?”

“I reckon you could get at least six, maybe more if the seats are taken out.” I haven’t a clue what I am talking about now and could have just given a very poor answer to a joke. “If it was a hatchback then maybe eight or nine.” What colour is it?” I ask the woman aimlessly. “I had heard somewhere that chickens don’t like brown because it reminds them of foxes.”

“Green” says the woman…... “ Green with moss.” She continues and get’s a giggle from the audience. “It’s an Audi I think.”

“Greens fine” I say reassuringly. “Chickens like green, it reminds them of fields and open spaces, it will blend well into the trees too and won’t be much of an eyesore.”

“I don’t have any trees.” Says the woman disappointedly. “My husband chopped them all down earlier on this year to make way for a shed”

“The man at the front has a shed he doesn’t want, all it needs is a new roof.” I am being flippant but am saved by the sound of the tea being poured in the kitchen. “Here’s the tea coming.” I am feeling relieved. “We’ll have a look at that plant after the break.”

GRASS

I’m outside trying to get the mower over the long grass on the lawn. At this time of year, you have to pick your time with grass cutting and wait until the rain has eased off for a few minutes so the blades work properly and not clog up every few yards. It hasn’t rained for twenty minutes, so, like the grass, I thought that was long enough and have decided to give it a haircut.
Lawns are a strange idea really, when you think about it. They do have their practical purposes if you want to kick a ball around or get the rusty golf putter out of the shed. Apart from that though they are just there to make the garden look tended even though the beds and borders are in disarray. It reminds me of a story I heard about God talking to St Francis. I thought I would share it with you as I am under the mower scooping out the clogs of mushy grass that are clinging to the blades.

GOD'S TAKE ON LAWNS
God: Hi St. Francis, you know all about gardens and nature. What in the world is going on down there in Ireland? What happened to the wild meadow flowers, dandelions, cowslips, thistle and stuff I started eons ago? I had a perfect “no maintenance” garden plan. The plants I chose would grow in any type of soil, withstand drought and multiply with abandon. The nectar from the long lasting blossoms attracts butterflies, honey bees and flocks of songbirds. I expected to see a vast garden of colours by now. But all I see are these green rectangles.

St. Francis: It’s the tribes that settled there, Lord. The Suburbanites. They started calling your flowers “weeds” and went to great lengths to kill them and replace them with grass.

God: Grass? But it’s so boring. It’s not colourful. It doesn't attract butterflies, birds and bees, only crane fly larvae and moss. It’s temperamental with temperatures. Do these Suburbanites really want all that grass growing there?

St. Francis: Apparently so, Lord. They go to great pains to grow it and keep it green. They begin each spring by fertilising grass and poisoning any other plant that crops up in the lawn.

God: The spring rains and warm weather probably make grass grow really fast. That must make the Suburbanites happy.

St. Francis: Apparently not, Lord. As soon as it grows a little, they cut it... sometimes twice a week.

God: They cut it? Do they then bail it like hay?

St. Francis: Not exactly, Lord. Most of them rake it up and put it in bags.

God: They bag it? Why? Is it a cash crop? Do they sell it?

St. Francis: No Sir. Just the opposite. They pay to throw it away.

God: Now let me get this straight. They fertilise grass so when it does grow, they cut it off and pay to throw it away?

St. Francis: Yes, Sir.

God: These Suburbanites must be relieved in the summer when we cut back on the rain and turn up the heat. That surely slows the growth and saves them a lot of work.

St. Francis: You are not going to believe this Lord. When the grass stops growing so fast, they drag out hoses and pay more money to water it so they can continue to mow it and pay to get rid of it.

God: What nonsense. At least they kept some of the trees in Ireland. That was a sheer stroke of genius, if I do say so myself. The trees grow leaves in the spring to provide beauty and shade in the summer. In the autumn they fall to the ground and form a natural blanket to keep moisture in the soil and protect the trees and bushes. Plus, as they rot, the leaves form compost to enhance the soil. It’s a natural circle of life.

St. Francis: You better sit down, Lord. The Suburbanites have drawn a new circle. As soon as the leaves fall, they rake them into great piles and pay to have them hauled away.

God: No. What do they do to protect the shrub and tree roots in the winter and to keep the soil moist and loose?

St. Francis: After throwing away the leaves, they go out and buy something which they call mulch. The haul it home and spread it around in place of the leaves.

God: And where do they get this mulch?

St. Francis: They cut down trees and grind them up to make the mulch.

God: Enough. I don't want to think about this anymore. Sister Catherine, you're in charge of the arts. What movie have you scheduled for us tonight?

Sister Catherine: “Dumb and Dumber”, Lord. It's a real stupid movie about.....

God: Never mind, I think I just heard the whole story from St. Francis.

FUNGI

“Hurry-up Ian.” Ruth is urging me outside. “Don’t forget the carrier bag.” I am putting my wellies on as quickly as I can. Ruth is very spontaneous and can get a bit impatient when she gets a notion. She is visiting us for a few days and has recently been on a “Fungi Spotting” course. So we have planned a forage in the local woods to provide some tasty treats for dinner. I follow her outside and into the crisp autumnal day. It is dry and sunny- perfect conditions for mushroom picking. As we walk down the muddy path into the woods, a rich earthy smell greets us. The decomposing leaves underfoot are shades of yellows and brown and there is a beauty in the decaying year.

“So how do you know which ones to eat?” I ask her as I attempt to keep up.

“I don’t know them all,” she replies, “but this guy took us out every Sunday morning for a month and we had great fun gathering the mushrooms and frying them up for lunch.”

She stops and kneels down by a clump of trees. “These ones are tasty,” she hands me a white, fluffy puffball for the bag.”

“Where is the best place to find wild fungi?” I ask carefully placing the small white ball into the bag.

“There are a lot of edible types growing near beech trees and pine trees”. Ruth answers. “Most natural woodland has a good selection of fungi if you know where to look.”

“What mushrooms will we find round here?”

“Let us see what we find. Don’t worry” she says as she looks at my face. Visions of being rushed to Letterkenny with an acute case of poisoning must be showing on my face. “I will only pick the ones I know.”

We tramp on through glade. “Which ones taste good?” I ask her. “Well, “ she replies “I love the taste of the hedgehog fungus, they have white spikes sticking out of the base. Then there are Chantelles, which are funnel shaped and orange. They have a lovely hot taste. Here’s another one that is quite common”. Ruth picks up a tiny brown mushroom “This one is an amethyst deceiver, it is delicious fried up on its own and eaten with wholewheat bread and a slice of wild smoked salmon.” We add a couple to the bag. “There are other ones like the horn of plenty, but unlike the name, you don’t see them very often, it’s a treat when you do”.

“Ooh” Ruth stops abruptly, and pounces on another treasure. She hands me a white mushroom that looks like one of Mr Spock’s ears. “That’s an oyster mushroom, it’s delicious fried up.” In the bag it goes.


Ruth pulls a pair of blue surgical gloves out of her pocket; I am a bit concerned “What are they for?

“I always carry these around when I’m picking fungi. There was a woman in Rathmullan who picked some hallucinogenic mushrooms by mistake and ended up in a right state, not because she ate them but because the chemicals were absorbed through the skin on her fingers. You can never be too careful, especially if you have children with you, they should wear gloves too”.

We are heading back up to the house ready to start cooking tea. “Do you think more people will turn to the woodlands to feed themselves with the credit crunch going on”.

“I don’t know” Ruth replies, “Hand picking mushroom has always been popular for people with an interest”. Their distinctive flavours are heightened by the thrill of collecting them…. and they are free. The current trend for foraging is not a threat to the future of fungi. But trampling and the picking of rare species is. The increasingly lucrative nature of fungi, sought after by top restaurants which pay up to €120 a kilo, increases the pressure. In China, there are more than 10 million people working in the fungi industry. Shiitake and oyster mushrooms, two of their major crops, have become relatively common in the UK and Irish supermarkets and delicatessens…”

We walk in through the back door, take off our boots and spill the contents of the bag onto the kitchen table. There are some good, bad and very ugly ones to choose from. “ Here are chanterelles, boletes, wood hedgehogs, puffballs and the beautiful amethyst deceivers” Ruth points out the ones she knows. “I think these are boletus “I’ll get my book, it’s sometimes as important to know what not to eat as well as what to eat” Ruth had a reference book for identyfying edible species. “I wouldn’t be without this book”. She says showing me the compact, fit in the pocket edition of the Collins Mushrooms and Toadstools of Britain and Europe book. “Even experts get it wrong sometimes and I don’t want to be giving you a dicky tummy.”

“Is it worth the risk?” I ask as I get the frying pan out.

Ruth gets on a favourite soap box and starts a diatribe of the endemic health and safety culture. “Don’t get me started, ” she starts. “There are risks in all walks of life but if we practice personal resposibility and take the rnecessary precautions, we’ll be fine. The current health and safety stuff makes me so mad, Do you know that traditional Christmas puddings are to go on sale with sixpence coins attached separately because they are a choking hazard. Children at a primary school have been banned from making daisy chains in case they pick up germs from the flowers. Handstands, tag, conkers, yo-yos and even skipping and running have been banned in schools in England. A district council felled a line of conker trees to stop youngsters injuring themselves. A union-produced guide advised work managers not to put up any mistletoe in case it encouraged sexual harassment at office parties. Oh and don’t have balloons at the party in case it sets off a latex allergy….”.

“Yes Ruth, shall I get the salt and pepper?”

Ruth’s tips for delicious wild mushrooms

Cut them from the base, don’t pull them up as they wont re-grow.
Don’t peel them. The nutrition is in the skin.
Don’t wash them. They absorb water.
Add them to any dish or fry them up on their own. If you are new to the taste try making chicken volevonts.
Never pick or taste anything that you are not 100% sure of.




Photo: Fresh puffballs are delicious fried up. As they get older like these, their innards turn to powder.

APPLE CRUNCH

We’re out in Burnfoot collecting apples from a friend’s garden. Apples haven’t heard about the recession or the credit crunch and this year has brought an abundance of the tasty fruits. I have been designated ladder holder as the kids wobble their way to the top of the tree for the reddest, most perfect fruit are hanging on the uppermost branches. I ponder on the human tendency to feel that the best things in life are just out of reach and try giving the tree a shake. Julie is collecting the windfalls from the ground and is chewing appreciatively comparing the crisp apple texture to that of a coconut and making rather disparaging comments about shop bought golden delicious. She stops to throw me a filthy look as my shaking quite literally bears fruit and one of the perfect apples bounces from the top of the tree onto her head. The kids giggle and continue to fill the bags to capacity. On our way home we discuss the treats in store for us. Apple pie, stewed apples, pork and apple sauce. When we get back, the juicer is dragged out from the back of a cupboard and after a wipe down we start to experiment with the apples adding carrots, cucumber and celery for different taste experiences. The colours are fabulous and the taste is like a high intensity vitamin shot. After that we have enough energy to make some apple jelly. I get out an old pillow case and hang it over the backs of two chairs to drip the concoction overnight ending up with a golden transparent conserve -yum yum. Early apples like these tend not to store as well as the later varieties and go powdery after a short time. Later apples can be stored in a cool shed wrapped individually in newspaper. The apples get drier and sweeter as the winter goes on.

WE HAVE A WINNER

Thank-you for all the entries for your favourite season gardening competition I have enjoyed reading the letters and comments from gardeners around the peninsula.

However, there was one entry that stood out. Judith Doherty from Greencastle thinks that we here in Ireland have the privilege of an extra season. Judith is currently on a horticultural course in Templemore, County Tipperary and her mother kindly sends her down the gardening articles from the paper. Congratulations Judith and I hope you enjoy the prize –the Dr Hessayon books. No doubt they will be useful in your career in horticulture.

I think you will agree that Judith’s observations are worthy of first prize…..


MY FAVOURITE SEASON

Ireland has a fifth season! This new season is an unusual combination of spring, summer, autumn and winter. Many days throughout 2008 have confused us with this situation of having four seasons in one day. An hour of June sunshine was followed by April showers, which preceded a darkening autumn sky that promised a winter afternoon. Watering the hanging baskets this summer was few and far between. The strong sun followed by windy gusts rarely dried them out, as there was always a certainty of a downpour on the afternoon.

If we gardeners are rather perplexed by this new season, imagine how confused the animals, birds and plants are. The swallows, which traditionally depart from our shores mid- September, prolonged their stay until mid – October. The mimulas that I planted in early May, have rejuvenated themselves into producing a third flush of canary yellow flowers, with no sign of fading. The white Lobelia has still got many buds waiting to burst open, instead of joining the compost heap.

Even though the Halloween festivities are looming, I am still enjoying the summer garden. As a result of this extension of the season, the plugs of winter pansies and violas I recently bought are staring angrily at me! They are waiting to get settled into their new homes for the next seven months or so. If only I’d take out the Busy Lizzies and Geraniums, which should be happily enjoying the shelter and the warm provided in the front porch by now.

So I guess I’d have to say that my favourite season id this new Fifth Season. I am still enjoying the summer flower displays. I have all of my spring bulbs planted. The autumn/winter bedding is lined up on the garden bench in polystyrene containers. But I don’t know when I am going to plant them because I do not know what season it’s going to be tomorrow!! – Judith Doherty.

MAKING LEAF MOULD

With the autumn weather well and truly established, I have finally given up waiting for the summer to come and I have decided to embrace the season. To celebrate, I went out and bought myself a pair of fluffy slippers this week and they are a great way to save on the fuel bills. I feel all nice and cosy. I think I’ll get a pipe next. Another way, I am keeping warm is to go outside and get a bit of work done in the garden.

One job that always keeps me toasty is sweeping leaves. I used to get top bonuses on the council when I worked in the parks department by saying that I swept all of the paths everyday to free them of these slippery bits of organic matter. The damn things just kept coming back though….. In reality I was warm and cosy in the cricket pavilion having a crafty snooze. Of course I am too mature now to skive off the daily duties so I am up to my neck in the soft tones of autumn. I have raked up huge piles of leaves now so what is the best thing to do with them? Well it’s not the best idea to burn leaves; it’s probably illegal now too, so I’m going to speed up nature and turn them into a useful addition for the garden. Most leaves can be turned into leaf mould, but some take longer to compost than others. Oak, alder and hornbeam will soon rot down, while sycamore, beech, horse chestnut and sweet chestnut take a little longer, but who’s in a rush?

There are quite a few conifers and evergreen plants in the grounds and these leaves take between two and three years to compost so I won’t be using many of these leaves and of course as I pride myself on being a lazy gardener, I’m leaving all of the fallen foliage that have ended up under the hedges and other out of the way areas, where they are. They are not untidy, they will add goodness to the plant when they rot down and they may be used as hibernating sites by hedgehogs and other creatures. So how do you make leaf mould?

WHAT IS LEAF MOULD
Leaf mould is a form of compost produced by the breakdown of shrub and tree leaves. Making leaf mould is a cold process that makes it different from composting. The decomposition is mostly done by fungi whereas composting relies on bacteria. I am collecting the leaves in biodegradable bags with a few holes punched in them, so let’s hope they last long enough for the leaves to rot down. After placing the leaves in the bag they will need a good watering to speed up the rotting process. I try not to collect them from the side of a road, as there will be a lot of pollutants such as oil and old crisp packets..

Due to the slow decaying nature of their lignin (cellulose) content, autumn leaves break down far more slowly than most other compost ingredients although you can still throw some in the compost bin. I will be cutting the grass soon too, this is the fastest way to get the leaves off the lawn and the mower shreds them, which helps the leaves to rot down faster,especially now that the grass is nice and wet.
The leaves I am cramming into the bags will take between one and two years to break down into rich humus with a smell reminiscent of ancient woodland. While not high in nutrient content, leaf mould is an excellent bulky and fibrous soil conditioner

TIP
If you have a big garden then a leaf bin might be an idea. All you need is some galvanised chicken wire and a few posts.


5 GOOD REASONS TO USE LEAF MOULD
It's clean and easy to handle
It's good for the soil
It cuts down on watering
It can be used on any soil
It can be used at any time of year


SO MANY USES FOR YOUR LEAVES

I’m putting the leaves into the bags and will just forget about them until next year. There are things you could do with the freshly fallen leaves though.

Newly fallen leaves
Winter cover for bare soil; handy, but may have to be removed in spring for sowing and planting. Mulch for informal paths.
Make into leafmould.

The leafmould has a multitude of uses:

'Young' leafmould 1 or 2 years old leafmould will be beginning to break up and should be easily crumbled in the hand.
Use it for mulching around shrubs, herbaceous, trees, vegetables.
Dig in as soil improver for sowing and planting, autumn top dressing for lawns and
winter cover for bare soil.

Well rotted leafmould

2 years old leafmould will be dark brown and crumbly material, with no real trace of original leaves visible.

Use as for ‘young’ leafmould above or as a seed sowing mix.

Use the leafmould on its own, or mixed with equal parts sharp sand and garden compost.

For really good potting compost, mix equal parts well-rotted leafmould, sharp sand, loam and garden compost.

PUMPKIN IDEAS

HALLOWEEN PUMPKINS

“You couldn’t just look after these two could you?” A friend of mine has just called in and is looking flustered. “ I have to go into Derry on short notice and I can’t take them with me.” Before I have time to answer, I’m babysitting. Well childminding actually, the two lads are both nearly ten.

“Well lads, what do you fancy doing?” I ask them, hoping that they will say they can look after themselves, which will leave me free to carry on my afternoon power nap. David, the eldest lad suggests the telly, which sounds fine to me. Walking across the sitting room, I turn the television on, but before I have time to change the channel, Jess chimes up.

“I don’t want to watch the TV. I’m bored, I want to do something else.” He runs out into the garage and appears a brief second cradling a large pumpkin in his arms. I had bought some pumpkins to decorate for Halloween, as well as to make some warming soup. “Can we cut this out?” He puffs as he heaves the pumpkin on to the table.

I had hoped that we would be decorating our own pumpkins this year. We had a bit of a mishap with our veggie patch though as some sheep, and later cows, got in through the fence and destroyed everything. They even pulled up the carrots. The pumpkins were not eaten; the cows trampled them on route to the curly kale and broccoli that were destined never to grace our plate this winter.

“All right.” I said “Have either of you done anything like this before?”

“Yes!” they both shout and go running to the cutlery drawer to pick out the sharpest knives they can find. “Hang on a minute!” I shout, desperately trying to slow things down a bit. “Now, we need to cut the top off first and then hollow out the innards.” I have adopted my best teacher voice. I cut off the top and then give Dylan and Jess spoons, which are a bit safer than the carving knifes they were just holding. They are having none of this and plunged their hands straight inside to pull out the seeds and pulpy flesh. “Ugh! It’s like witches guts.” They both shout as their hands went in again to pull some more out. I am bustling out to get some old newspaper.

“You can dry the seeds and string them into a necklace.” I say as I transfer the ‘guts’ from the table to the paper. “You could make one for your mum later.” This was ignored.

“How do you grow them so big?” Jess asks me as he splats the last piece of mush onto the chair. He thinks I grew it and I am not about to disappoint him by saying I bought it from a shop.

“Well,” I begin. “ You need good seed and good luck.” I say vaguely, then realise a bit more information is needed. “Well you need lots of manure, a big patch of ground, sunshine and you also need to keep the slugs and cows off of them.” Jess and David have lost interest in me and now have the knives. “Lets draw a scary face on the pumpkin first and then we’ll cut it out.” I am stalling for time again, anything to spare me the anxiety of seeing two under 10’s hacking the orange flesh of the vegetable to bits with knives. I draw the face as simply as I can in bold marker pen. “Here, cut those shapes out. They do and they make a good job, even though I am hovering, anxiously. The eyes are like diamonds and the mouth has that toothless grin that you would expect a ghoul to have at Halloween. “Here put this in.” I light a tea light candle and pass it to them. I keep hold of the matches. It looks good.

The lads wipe their hands on the curtains and look at their masterpiece. “I’m bored” David announces, “Have you got any good videos?” I put on Snow White in the hope that the witch will scare them silly and spend the next half hour cleaning up.

Maybe I will read a few ghost stories to them later to keep in the Halloween mood.

COMPETITION
Don’t forget to get your answers in for the competition to win three fabulous Dr. Hessayon gardening books. Simply tell me: What is your favourite season and why? And send it to me on info@gardening.ie or drop it into the Inishowen Independent office. The closing date is Friday of this week

FORGET THE CRUNCH-GROW YOUR LUNCH

I am enjoying a fabulous autumn sunset in a pretty English village, not far from the town of Grantham (famous for Margaret Thatcher and being voted the most boring town in England). The village, however is very pretty, boasting a picture postcard church and red-bricked cottages with sweetly scented roses growing around their doorways. I am out taking an evening stroll to one of the three immaculately tended allotment sites in the village to visit my old friend Stan.

We are sitting next to his wood burning stove in the makeshift shed cluttered from floor to ceiling in things that might come in useful one day. (I am not quite sure what use a pogo stick will be in the garden, but you never know). We are sitting on old threadbare armchairs, enjoying a bit of warmth as the heat goes out of the day. The subject is composting. “If you get your old straw or manure from somewhere that has been using chemicals, you could be asking for all sorts of problems.” Stan is a devoted organic vegetable grower and is very careful about what he puts into the soil. “If you are into organics, you need to check out your sources,” he tells me “I wouldn’t eat carrots that were grown with chemicals and I don’t want the chemicals in the soil of my allotment.”

Stan retired nearly twenty years ago because of ill health; he spent too long in the coalmines and the coal dust collected in his lungs. You wouldn’t guess now though. He started on the allotments soon after finishing work to get out into the fresh air and keep active. It has worked wonders for him -he is fitter than me.

“Do you think that there are any financial benefits to growing your own vegetables? I ask Stan. “The credit crunch has sparked loads of interest in growing your own. I wonder if you could put a price on it?”

I take a grimy cup of hot liquid from Stan who just poured it from a kettle on the stove. “If you put a price on it then it turns into economics.” Stan hands me a soil- covered biscuit and puts the kettle back on the plate, which keeps it boiling. “Let’s imagine that you would put a price on what I do here on the allotment. At the very least I will come here about one hour a day, that’s to grow and care for enough fruit and veg for the wife and I. That’s 365 hours a year, which is pretty manageable. Say I charge about €50 an hour.” I splutter at the thought of getting such a reward for my labour and my half eaten biscuit ends up on the floor.

“This is just it you see, you can’t put a price on these things. But that’s what I would charge. You would be looking at a cost of 15 and a half thousand a year. That’s not taking into consideration tools, seeds and feed. You could add a few hundred a year onto the amount.”

“Tomatoes are always really cheap in the shops when mine are ripe.” I add supporting his theory. “Mind you,” Stan says thoughtfully,” With the global market and discount shops, fruit and veg are cheap enough all year round really.” He turns to open the door of the shed. The steam from the kettle wafts out, and the musty smell of his new delivery of horse muck creeps in. “I grow my crops because I know what has gone into producing them. The taste is far superior to anything you would buy. I love gardening. It’s my life. It keeps me active and the social scene here at the allotments is great. There are about twenty-five of us and we help each other out when we can and share our surplus when we can’t get through it all.” Stan pauses to flick a drowning woodlouse out of his cup. “Did you know that some onions that you buy in the shops could be two years old?”

“I didn’t.” I say, not surprised. “There’s nothing tastier than a nice lump of cheese to go with a freshly dug onion, I used to take the odd one from allotments when I was a kid.” I confess.

“We grow extra on the allotments to allow for pests.” Stan continues giving me a disapproving look. “You can keep your costs down when you are growing your own. There doesn’t have to be a big cash outlay. All you need are some planks for raised beds and some good soil to put the seeds in. The secret is to start small, with just a few plants and not spend a lot of money. If you were really thrifty you could get the seeds from other growers, we swop a lot of seeds here, and young plants too. My carrots were grown from seed that I saved last year.” Stan handed me a freshly dug one from a bunch sitting in his rusty wheelbarrow. “Here taste this.” I wiped the soil off and bit through the silty deposits still on the flesh. It was delicious and went well with the biscuit.

“There are NO financial advantages to growing your own and feeding yourself. ” Stan says conclusively. “It can be a hard slog; bad weather such as drought and floods can destroy all of your hard work. All of the crops can be devastated by pests and disease.”

I am almost feeling sorry for Stan when there’s a knock on the shed door.

Hi Stan.” It’s Dan and Susan from the adjoining allotment. “We’ve got couple of bottles of last years gooseberry wine, fancy a taste? Without hesitation the dust is blown off four of Stan’s cleanest jam jars and are put out on the worktop. The cork is pulled, the wine poured and the ritual of tasting begins. Stan is right. You can’t put a price on this.

COMPETITION

BUSY DOING NOTHING

The barometer on the hall wall has moved from Change to Rain and its feeling cold, so I am not taking any chances of starting an outside job. There’s plenty to do though, especially leaf clearing, but I think I will head out and visit another gardener and we can talk about jobs to do instead of doing them.

I pick up the phone and call Jacqueline from Willow Hill Nursery in Fahan. “Hi Jacqueline.” I am shouting. I do that quite often on the phone, I think people can hear me better. “Would you be up for a visit today?”

“Hi Ian. You’ll have a job on catching me in,” replies Jacqueline. “I am in and out at the moment, I have a lot of people to see about landscaping work and I am very busy working in houses that are up for sale. Developers are keen to get their homes sold and realise that a well-planted garden and indoor plants could make the difference between a sale and the customer walking away.”

“Yeah” I reply conversationally. “I was reading yesterday that estate agents are giving away Smart cars with their houses to entice sales. But making the garden look good is a far better way to help sales” the confirmed gardener in me is coming out.

“What else are you up to in the garden centre?” I ask. Jacqueline has a lot on. “We are really busy,” she bubbles. “There is a lot of work to on, and we have started getting young shrubs ready for next year. We are also setting up a new tunnel especially for growing bedding plants as well. We are also busy getting in the bare rooted trees.” She continues. “We are stocking hawthorn, beech and hornbeam, which are ideal for the coast. A lot of farmers buy them in bulk as part of the REPS scheme, but we do sell small quantities too. They will be ready to plant at the end of the month.”

This is interesting. “What’s the best way to plant them?” I ask.

Jacqueline continues. “The REPS recommendation is to plant the whips into the ground and cut them down to 6 inches, then push the black polythene over them. I think it will be a better idea to put the polythene in place first and then push the whips through the polythene after making a hole in the soil and plastic with a crowbar. This will reduce the risk of the buds being damaged. Whichever way it’s done, the polythene is vital for large areas as the weeds would be a real problem.” Jacqueline continues. “If you were planning a hedge in the garden you would work on the soil to improve it before planting but in a field it’s a different matter.” She advises. “Now is still a good time for planning any hedge though, Escallonia, fuchsia and griselinia will all do well”

She pauses and then adds thoughtfully. “If the ground isn’t too wet you can work in the garden for most of the year.”

“It’s great to hear that the horticultural industry is still buoyant in these unsettled financial times. Thanks for that Jacqueline” I say. I can hear that she is in the middle of a downpour and obviously getting wet through, so I let her go. She is a busy woman.


WIN THREE FABULOUS GARDENING BOOKS

There is no better way to while away a wet afternoon than look through a good gardening book. I have used the Dr Hessayon books for years now and find that they answer most gardening questions. Dr Hessayon’s best-selling guides have had a big influence on gardening over the past 50 years, I’ve still got some from the mid 1960’s and they are still relevant today, well apart from using DDT to get rid of blackspot.

I have three brand new editions to give away as a fabulous prize this week.

Dr Hessayon: The Bedside Book of the Garden.
Dr Hessayon: The Vegetable and Herb expert.
Dr Hessayon: The Easycare Gardening Expert.

All three of these books will be an interesting read for the lucky winner. The Bedside Book because that’s the best way to garden when it’s cold and wet, the Easycare Book is great for reluctant gardeners who would like to learn some labour saving short cuts, and the Vegetable and Herb Book because in today’s credit crunch climate, growing your own is the way to go.

To win these three fabulous books valued at over €40, all you have to do is to answer this simple question.

What is your favourite season and why?

E-mail your thoughts to me with your name and contact number, or drop it into the Inishowen Independent office in Buncrana. The closing date is in two weeks so there’s no excuse to not enter. It’s that simple. Closing date- 22nd Oct 08

Send your entries to: info@gardening.ie - or the Inishowen Independent office.

DIARMUID GAVIN-WHERE ARE YOU?

Photo: Julia Zimmerman from DG Design tackles the probing questions from the audience in Carndonagh

“Thank you for your patience.” A soft voice came over the tannoy system in the hall of Carndonagh Community College.

I am happy to wait as Diarmuid Gavin is due to entertain the 100 or so people that have turned up tonight to see the plans for the new Barrack Hill Park project. I picked my seat carefully tonight as I want to get a good view, so it’s four rows up from the front for me. Not too close though, just in case Diarmuid picks on a member of the audience. I am wary of this from when I was a young lad at a Christmas pantomime starring Mike and Bernie Winters. If you can’t remember who they are, think of Morecambe and Wise without the humour. I was singled out in front of the vast audience and asked to go on stage to have cotton wool snowballs filled with boiled sweets thrown at me. Bernie Winters gleefully said to the laughing crowd “Oooh, she’s so excited isn’t she!” Why the floor didn’t swallow me up I’ll never know, but that was the price us boys paid in the 70’s if we wore our hair long.

There was a tap, tap on the microphone from the stage at the Áras, then the soft voice continued. “Apologies for the late start. We will be with you in a minute when the technical problem is sorted”

I remember the first time I was here to see Diarmuid. I was taking a few photos and Aideen Doherty, (the Community and Enterprise Development Officer) came up to me and said, “Hi Ian, I am sure you would like to interview Diarmuid. He has a minute before he goes on…. Diarmuid meet Ian, he is here to interview you”. I didn’t have the time or courage to say that I wasn’t there for an interview so after shaking Diarmuid’s hand I proceeded to come out with the biggest load of rubbish that you have ever heard. “Where are you staying? How long have you been interested in gardening? And the rest, until thankfully he could escape onto the stage and I could slink away kicking myself for not being prepared. For that reason I am keeping a low profile tonight.

“Hi and welcome, I am Julia Zimmerman from Diarmuid Gavin Design, I will be talking to you tonight about the exciting new development that we have put together for Carndonagh”. She begins “ I am afraid that Diarmuid cannot be with us tonight as he is ill, so I will go through the plans”

What……Diarmuid can’t be with us, he didn’t turn up the last time either…..No. I had even phoned up the caretaker of the school this afternoon to make sure he was going to be here.

There is a deep sigh from the audience and I am getting the feeling that most of us are disappointed by his absence. I feel let down and although it shouldn’t make a difference I feel that Diarmuid is the face of the project and he and he alone is the one that should sell the idea to us. I know it shouldn’t make any difference who does the presentation, after all Diarmuid won’t be on hand to do the maintenance after it’s finished. I want to be entertained and although Julia is a professional landscape architect and knows the site plan off by heart, she isn’t a famous person off the telly. I can’t listen anymore as she points to a dark photocopy of the site to show us where the cycle track, maze and ball areas are located.

“Is everyone happy?” Julia is asking. It’s the end of the presentation and I haven’t heard a word of what is being said, I am a celebrity casualty, who has missed his idol. Julia is scanning the room with a look of anticipation. There is a silence, which is lasting an eternity. It doesn’t look like anyone is happy.

“Why are the water features not included?” Someone is breaking the silence with a question. “It’s the maintenance costs mainly.” Says Julia.

“When will it be ready?” Asks someone else “How will we stop drinkers?” “Where’s the labyrinth?” The crowd are greedy for answers and it looks like Julia is doing her best to placate them.

“Who’s looking after the maintenance?” A voice is asking on the back row. Julia has stopped in her tracks. “I’ll pass you over to Aideen,” she says. “She will be able to answer that question.” The microphone is quickly passed over, with obvious relief.

“It’s the Council’s responsibility overall but residents will play a big part, especially over in the allotment area.” Aideen is well prepared but I am still not listening. I am amazed at the power a TV celebrity has on me. I am questioning why I am interested in the Barrack Hill project. Without the celebrity endorsement it is feeling like just any another design by a Landscape Design company. Let’s hope it is more than that.

I am questioning whether I should hang around or make a discreet exit (I should have sat at the back). Councillor Bernard McGuinness makes it easy for me.

“Thank you,” he says. “That’s it, it’s all over. ” I am not hesitating. I’m away……

Let’s hope Diarmuid makes a full recovery and is with us next time……….

FORBIDDEN FRUIT

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“God you look old.”

I am happily walking my dog around Swan Park on a beautiful autumn evening when a voice breaks my daydreaming. I turn towards a smiling, unshaved man holding a carrier bag full of apples.

“Thanks” I say. “It must be the light.”

“Well, not old as much as bald, what’s happened to your hair?”

It’s Joe, who I last saw three years ago in a pub.

What’s in the bag? I say, intent on changing the subject.

“Oh, I’ve just been getting some apples from a tree in the town. All you have to do is lean over a wall and it’s rich pickings.”

“I call that Scrumping?” I say. “Apples always taste nicer when they are someone else’s.”

Joe is looking confused, then corrects me “Ah, you mean Progging.” Then continues. “Well the person that owns them leaves them for the wasps and slugs, so I collect them every year and I haven’t been chased away yet. Did you ever do it, you know, Proggin’?” he asks me.

“Well funny you should ask,” I say. “I used to do quite a bit. The worst one was at a friend’s house, they had a large, beautiful apple tree with the sweetest apples on them. Another friend and I did a midnight raid, but with a twist. Instead of pinching the apples we took one single bite out of each one, carefully leaving them on the tree. I felt so guilty afterwards I had to confess to the person what I had done.”

“Was he still your friend afterwards?” Joe asked as he sat down on a bench near the new poop-a-scooper bins the Council have put on the park to try and get dog owners to be responsible.

“Well, he was, and if my memory serves me well he got his own back by stealing a load of tomatoes out of my dad’s greenhouse. The last laugh was on him though because he ate the fruit without washing it first and it was in the days when hideous chemicals were sprayed over everything in the name of pest control, he was ill for a week…..”

Joe interrupts. “I’m making a pie out of these,” he tells me, biting into one of his booty. I know they’re not cookers but when you put some blackberries in with it you can’t tell. “Here’s a tip I’ll tell you,” he continues, whether I like it or not. “Don’t pick blackberries from near the road or low enough for dogs to wee on.”

“I’ll remember that Joe.” I say counting how many exchanges of words it has taken Joe to reduce the conversation down to bodily functions. “There are a lot of berries around at the moment, autumn is really on us.” I say loosely as I am ready to carry on my walk. The dog’s bark has gone up an octave as she impatiently tries to urge me around the park and onto the beach.

“What sort of berries?” Asks Joe as he fastens up his padded jacket, brushes his hair out of his face and begins to walk just behind me.

It’s times like this that I wish that Julian, my old lecturer at college was with me. I used to think it would be a great idea to have a miniature version of him to fit in the top pocket of my jacket. He was a mine full of information and could be on call to answer any question. I don’t tend to store much in my head, that’s what the Internet was designed for, but as neither was to hand I had to rely on my own, rather flaky memory.

Julian gave me the best piece of advice when I left college though, he said, “Just remember four or five Latin plant names and drop them out in conversation. People will think you are a genius.……” That pearl of wisdom has stood me in good stead for years.

“Well,” I began, “There are Cotoneasters, especially dammeri with their red-berries, the birds love them. The Mahonia aquifolium is very attractive, providing us with blue-black berries which look great with their shiny evergreen leaves.” Wow, that’s two Latin names, just one more and Joe will think I am a real pro.

“Then there’s Pyracantha “Orange Charmer,” these have vicious spikes that would deter even the hardiest apple progger. Viburnum opulus is a native shrub that provides shiny red berries resembling coloured glass.” I’m on a roll here, one more and I am in the Super League. Have you heard of Sambucus niger?” I ask, “These are known as wild elderberry…” I turn around to get an answer.

Joe is moving away from me at a fast pace. “Look Ian, it was good talking to you,” he says, looking rather agitated. “I have just seen the bloke who owns the apple tree on the other side of the river”….

And as if by magic, Joe disappeared into the undergrowth and within a few seconds all I could hear was the sound of his carrier bag rustling in the distance.

“There’s holly…. I know the Latin name for that too….” I mumble to myself as I carry on my evening walk. The dog’s happy.

TALKING PICTURES

I am sat out on the patio on a gloriously sunny autumn day looking for inspiration for a script.   I am re-inventing myself yet again and moving into the production of Talking Pictures to liven up the gardening.ie website. It all sounds very glamorous but what I actually mean is that I have made a few silly clips to put on You Tube.

YouTube is an endless source of snappy home made films that are ideal for people with short attention spans, like myself.  When I first started writing articles I used to turn to some trusty reference books, but now I surf the net. If I don’t find what I want in a couple of seconds I am onto another site. TV surfing is another indication of my short attention span.  I can’t watch a telly with satellite channels, as I am too busy flicking, I tend to just make up my own story from all of the short clips I see when I change from one channel to another. I once watched all 50 channels in little boxes on one screen for hours until I got a very nasty headache and had to stop.

 

I got a bit carried a way with my first attempt for YouTube. The film is called “Recycling in the Garden” and I wrote the script whilst waiting in an airport lounge, which was a bad idea, as I had to wait two hours for the plane…..  You can do a lot of writing in two hours….

Pacing myself isn’t my strong point and by the time I had recorded the piece and read the script it was up to ten minutes long and full of…. well rubbish really, which is quite fitting I suppose as it was about reusing rubbish.  I really don’t like watching it back though as I have this slight grin on my face (stage nerves I think) that makes me look as though I am verging on self-parody. 

 

SUPER 8

Although I came from the generation that only occasionally recorded their voice on a cassette player, I did do a couple of films using the Super 8 cameras back in the 1970’s. These required developing and manual splicing of the film.  When I was ten, my friends at the time Matthew Beardsley and Barbara Hibbert and I made a film called “5 Years” (named after the David Bowie song of the same name that was popular at the time), which was about the end of the world.  Not the happiest of titles, I admit, but it was great fun to do.  In the film, Barbara and I were happily living in a caravan (an old green one used as a tool shed on an allotment if I remember) in idyllic bliss when tragedy happened.  With the use of loads of red filters on the lenses, we ran around in various locations around the town and country, in true Edward G. Robinson manner, dying slowly as radiation engulfed the planet after the A bomb exploded.  There were lots of scenes of us leaning on lampposts holding our throats and gagging as the toxic fumes finished us off.   

We made it for a programme on the telly called Screen Test and, not surprisingly it didn’t win, get short listed, or even get a showing.  It was good fun to do though if a little morbid and in hindsight it probably wasn’t the happy family viewing stuff they were looking for.

The other epic we did was of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table.  That really did last for hours.  I played the part of Merlin the Magician, which thankfully spared me from having to wear body hugging coloured tights over our underpants and parade around holding wooden swords and cardboard shields.  I did wear my mother’s oriental dressing gown and a pointy hat made from the top part of a traffic cone though, so in hindsight, maybe the tights would have been a better option.  We never did finish that film as it ended up being too long, a bit like my first attempt on YouTube.   

 

I am still no clearer what to do the latest short film clip on.  My lad has offered again to do the camera work so I might try and jazz this one up a bit with some fast, jerky camera work like you see on Jamie Oliver’s cookery programme or a fast paced American drama series.

 

ANY IDEAS?

You could give me a hand here and send in some ideas.  Are there any aspects of gardening you would like to be shown how to do on film? Send in your ideas and it might inspire me to put something together, as my short attention span has meant that I am now heading off and starting another project…. making the tea. 

 

KICK BACK

I am sitting, sweating on a large rock at the bottom of the garden, covered in grazes from brambles, being attacked by wasps and dopey flies. I have on two pairs of gloves, leather traps (shin guards usually worn by jockeys), safety goggles and a pair of earmuffs that cut out all sound barring my racing pulse. It didn’t say anything about this in the instruction manual for my latest toy.

I had been considering buying a chainsaw for months, especially as I usually cut branches with a bow saw. It’s far too labour intensive and I thought a bit of external power was needed. After extensive research, (checking the catalogue shops on the internet), I decided to get a top of the range, 4 litre turbo Black and Decker with auto this and safety that, which was packed in a very pretty box that masked the seriousness of the piece of equipment that lay inside.

It came, like these things do, in quite a few pieces, with instructions on the assembly in fourteen languages. It wasn’t that difficult though as there were pictures to follow. You tighten a bolt here and put lubricating oil in there and I had it set up in no time without any bits left over that I could see. Then I thought it would be a clever idea to read the instructions (or RTFM as my lad says if I ask him a technical question). Well I can honestly say it scared the begeezus out of me. Lots of images of something called kick back warned me that if the blade was angled incorrectly it would fly up and…. well, thankfully the pictures were not in colour. It was this that prompted me to put the pristine piece of machinery back in the garage and leave it for a few weeks until I plucked up enough courage to pull on the rip cord and start the angry beast up.


DIZZY HEIGHTS
I have to be careful about how I phrase this next bit. I daren’t describe how I have been “playing with the new chainsaw” because I don’t want another stream of health and safety warriors to descend on me from across the globe. In this article last week (which also goes out on the internet), I happened to mention that I ate a sweet crinodendron seed at a family party last week. I was inundated with remarks about how irresponsible I was and should be lynched for my disregard for common sense. Still it’s not surprising when you read that there is a new law out where you need a qualification to climb a ladder. One Council in England have had to abandon their speed cameras because there are not enough qualified people to leave the ground anymore to put them on top of poles along the road. It’s not all bad news then….

TRAINING
Anyway, I digress. I have just had a happy hour practising cutting the wood and I am getting into the swing of it. The spikes on the front of the machine appear to keep the kickback at bay and my confidence level is increasing. Cutting logs for the fire is still heavy work and although the chain is cutting through them like butter, I still have to lift the chainsaw up and steer it in the direction of the wood. I will also have to carry the small logs back to a dry place to store for the winter but that can wait for a time when I am not being pestered by wasps and horse flies (I think the horse traps are attracting them).

It is important to have training with any mechanical equipment though, as (without wanting to sound like a Health and Safety Officer) they are all dangerous. Strimmers, mowers, chainsaws and even non motorised tools like shears, spades and rakes are all potential hazards, but surely I don’t have to tell you that (unless you are four then ask your parents to show you how to use them properly)

So I have overcome my fear and if I can find enough wood to cut, we should be warm and cosy this winter without having to spend too much money on coal and oil. I have managed to pile up enough wood to last a week in the last hour and a half, so it’s a pretty good use of my time.

As a wise old salt once told me “Wood is a great source of heating as it warms you twice. Once when you cut it and once when you burn it”. (Three times if you count carrying the logs up the hill….)

TRY ONE OF THESE

“Here, try one of these” Nicola smiles as she passes me a ripe berry from the pod of a crinodendron tree in our garden, “They taste rather sweet”. The seed is dark brown with a soft white coating and looks like a pale version of a pomegranite seed. I duly pop it into my mouth, roll it around my tongue and swallow. “I didn’t know that these were edible.” I comment in a trusting manner. “Neither did I…. are they”? Nicola replies quizzically.

I enjoy trying new foods, but I am a bit wary of the unknown, more so since my five year old son started eating lupin seeds, after enjoying a summer of popping peas into his beak. This innocent act resulted in a desparate call to the poisons help-line and an anxious couple of hours wait on all systems alert watching for vomiting or other symptoms which would precipitate a mad rush to A and E.

Now Nicola is well trodden gardener and a family relation of ours and is up visiting from Dublin for a short while. “They taste sweet and edible and nature has a way of telling us if something isn’t for eating. Inedible seeds and fruit are bitter”. Nicola continues with the confidence of a person that has survived in the wilderness for years. “Let’s have a look around your garden to see what else we can eat.” She takes me by the arm and leads me down the garden while I discreetly check my temperature and wonder if my glands are swelling.

I know there are tasty treats in the garden, we picked a few wild rasberries which are very safe and the blackberries are a winner with everyone and very distictive, so no ambiguity there. “Rising food prices may make foraging a cheap way to keep the fridge full”. Nicola is telling me. “There are hundreds of plants growing in the wild which can be safely eaten raw or made palatable by cooking. Most people know what a stinging nettle looks like and try to avoid them, but eating the cooked leaves fills you with iron”. Nicola has found one of the the patches of nettles in the garden. “Nettles are best eaten when young in a soup - older leaves can have a laxative effect though so you know where to come if you are blocked up”. She happily tells me waving a stem under my nose. “The London diarist Samuel Pepys spoke of enjoying nettle pudding in 1661 so it’s not a new thing.”

I am begining to realise that Nicola has been studying the art of foraging for food.
“What can you do with these?” I ask her as a test, pointing to the rose bushes. “The Victorians used rose petals to add delicate flavours to their food but it is not done much now.” she replies instantly. “Most petals can be used for decoration but give them a good wash and don’t take them if they have been sprayed with chemicals.” Nicola warns as we venture further down the garden.

“Look at that dandelion,” she says pointing to a small victim in the crazy paving. “You can eat every part of the plant, though I wouldn’t fancy the fluffy seed heads, mind you you can use them for lighting the campfire”.

I am intruiged. Has Nicky been hiding in the woods all summer, living off the land? Nicola cuts into my ponderings.“The roots can be eaten like carrots and the leaves can be used in salads but are best picked in cool seasons or from shaded areas or they could be bitter. Dandelion is also used to make wine and there is the old dandelion and burdock drink. You can also roast the roots to use as an alternative to coffee if dried and chopped”.

“So what else is edible”? I ask. “Well”. Nicola pauses as her head turned in true Excorsist style to survey the area and then contuinues. “That wild rose hip is a great source of vitamin C. Hawthorn berries can be eaten, but I think have a nasty aftertaste, then there are sloes for your gin. Rowan (mountain ash) berries can be made into jelly and the Wesh make an alcoholic drink called diodgriafel that is supposed to be very tasty.”

“Hey this is good stuff, I might write about it for my article this week” I tell her.

“Well” she cautions, “you might want to add a disclaimer and probably a few words of warning. The common elder has edible berries but some people can react badly to them.”

“What else should I warn about” I ask her.

“Yew (Taxus baccata) seeds are regarded as one of THE most poisonous and deadly. I remember seeing a gardener suck on the red flesh and spit the seed out, but this isn’t to be recommended. The inner brown-black seed is deadly poisonous and must not be eaten.” Nicola warns. “There are loads of others, Bittersweet (Solanum dulcamara) from the hedgerows. Holly berries can be very nasty; Ivy has black berries that are very toxic”. Nicola turns her attention to a hypericum we have in the garden. “These plants have pretty berries too and are used in medicine, don’t try this at home though. The dogwoods you have are poisonous too”.

We are at the end of our walk. We have eaten marigold flowers and sorrel leaves, a few sunflower seeds and a plum like fruit from the red fuchsia bush. And, as suggested by Nicola, a few words of warning to protect myself in these health and safety mad times.


NEVER take any chances with berries.If you do not recognise a berry as being one of the edible onesDON'T PUT IT ANYWHERE NEAR YOUR MOUTH.

PS. Crinodendrons are part of the Lily of the valley family and classed as poisonous.

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