I’ve only been gardening properly since I sowed my first seeds in February 2021. I definitely gravitated towards to the dream of self-sufficiency that’s made manifest in growing vegetables, but as I’ve commented on before, it’s neither practical from a view of self-supporting, or financially efficient to grow one’s own vegetables on a tiny urban roof. The value of that is more along the lines of the fun of growing and picking food you can actually eat, and the cosmological orientation that brings.
I will continue to do grow veg, hopefully one day on a larger plot, but I’ve come round to the idea that growing flowers, especially ones that the bees like, is a totally righteous activity. Part of the fun, the ritual if you like, with flowers is saving their seed and sowing them oneself. Detailed below is this year’s adventures.
On July 15th I made the third and final harvest of my miniature raised bed. A cabbage had grown in the carrot patch so this came down. And the carrots and beetroot came up. For a brief period I left the largest carrot plant flowering, thinking of maybe letting it run to seed, but then I thought better of that. I covered the bed with mesh and sowed spinach and rocket in the space vacated to grow through the winter untroubled by pests. Finally I composted the knackered looking beetroot tops, not deigning to eat them this time.
This year on my raised bed I grew beetroot, carrots, and leeks. All from seed I hasten to add.
The Beetroot odyssey started way back in March. The leeks were the only one of the three which didn’t do well. They are still like big blades of grass.
I decided to pickle the beetroot as opposed to just roasting it as usual. Those are Kilner jars sterilising in the oven.
I roasted the carrots with soya sauce and honey.
The recipe I followed for the beetroot pickle advised roasting it rather than boiling it for a better flavour.
I boiled up a pickling vinegar made of coriander seed, mustard seed, chilli, bay, white and red wine vinegar, and a little sugar.
The carrots were delicious this year. Last year I grew a different variety, Amsterdam Forcing, which tasted filthy (dusty in fact…). This year I rooted for Nantes 2.
I ended up with two large jars of beetroot pickle. The pickling vinegar was a bit too tart so I added a little more sugar.
The ICA are holding a wonderful exhibition of the work of Moki Cherry which closes on Sunday 3rd September 2023. This has been co-curated by her granddaughter Naima Karlsson. The exhibition especially benefits from being seen in the flesh. I went along with my old pal Sacha.
The mood of these works is playfully organic. Although Moki was a skilled pattern cutter, free reign is given to her enchanting child-like style. In that sense the work is of a kin with her husband the musician Don Cherry’s own naturally unfettered improvisation, itself rarely abrasive or ugly, often straying back and forth between comforting jazz tropes and extemporised flights into freedom. I swear I hear a lot of Vince Guaraldi (via the Snoopy soundtracks) in Don’s piano work.
Don.
I couldn’t resist posing under this tapestry which was used on the actually not-so-great “Hear & Now” LP. Funnily enough this LP also cropped up in the relatively recent Tantra exhibition at the British Museum.
Me.You.Hear & Now LP cover.Relativity Suite.Organic MusicEternal NowBrown RiceLive in Ankara
Moki’s beautiful tapestries were, for a number of years, fixtures on Don’s albums covers. We wondered, rather sadly, what happened to the relationship between Don and Moki in the end.
If you have time please watch this vintage documentary to get the feeling of their life together in Sweden. I used a small excerpt from it, of the team all reciting the Om Mani Padme Hum mantra, in one of my Retreat videos.
An exquisite drawing. There’s much evidence of both their fascination with Indian music. He wasn’t one of the main disciples, but Don was a student of Pandit Pran Nath’s at one point. Moki herself played Tambura pictured here.
Again with the Tibetan Buddhism. Tara, or Green Tara, is alongside Chenrezig the key Tibetan deity. Tibetan men identify with Chenrezig, the women with Tara.
Moki is a perfect figure for today’s revision of female artists. Equality here means just that; equality between different races, genders, even generations.
Some of Moki’s videos were playing on a loop. Here’s a fleeting shot of her Chenrezig tapestry.
Later the same evening that I visited there was a concert by the improvisor and percussionist Kahil El’Zabar. El’Zabar’s background was with the Chicago organisation AACM. The hall was decked with Moki’s tapestries.
Neneh Cherry stage left.The awning.
This was an excellent concert. Kahil El’Zabar conducted the “orchestra” – by sonic queues and gestures, guiding what was more a free-ranging groove than the skronk traditionally associated with improvisation. In some sections it reminded me of CAN at their quietest and most rapturous. It was a thrill to see Neneh Cherry providing background vocals, the whole exhibition and concert somehow having a family feel. It was as though the whole diverse audience were being welcomed into their Cherry family. Thank you, Naima. Thank you, Moki.
It all started so well in April. And for a while I was convinced that my cunning plan to grow melons in my study was going to work.
23rd May 2023June 25th 2023
When the flowers showed, and indoors in the absence of insects, I thought I would have a go at pollinating the plant myself.
I tried to identify male from female flowers, once I’d found what I thought was a male flower, I stripped its petals away to expose its pistil, and jammed it into the female one. Fascinating that some of the flowers are bisexual!
What I guessed was a male flower with its petals removed.
This was a really hopeless shot in the dark. It was really hard to tell which gender was which, and obviously there was no indication that what I’d done was correct. No visible orgasm for instance! Right there I gained yet more respect for the work of insects in pollination.
Insemination unlikely.1st July 2023
Then at the start of July I started to notice a mould on the leaves. I tried spraying the plant with a very mild solution of bicarbonate of soda – which is supposed to help. However, jammed up against the window it was hard to get at all the leaves. The problem is apparently lack of airflow but there could be other reasons why the mould had spread.
It was quite sad seeing this mould spread so I decided that, given that the roof garden area is very warm, and because central London is a concrete heat island, there might be a chance that the plant would survive outdoors. I reasoned I would be able to give it a proper spray outside also, and that might help.
I very carefully took it down and transported it outside. I had done the same thing last summer with a tomato plant I started in my study (until it became too unruly), and that had worked very well, so I reasoned I stood a good chance of making this work.
At first it looked pretty good. And I was delighted to see some hover flies working the melon’s flowers. Somehow, then, it might stand a chance of being pollinated and therefore bearing fruit.
15th July 2023
However, recently it started to look in very poor health.
Some of these leaves look particularly unwell. Others I guess less so. But it seems highly unlikely these three plants, sown so lovingly and with so much hope for their future, are going to bear fruit. Sick veg for real.
My son Sam’s biology teacher gave him some Nigella seeds. I sowed them in October 2022 over where I had previously grown Buckwheat. The Buckwheat, which is leguminous and puts nitrogen back into the soil, was with a view to restoring the container to use. Before the Buckwheat I had grown Broad Beans, itself also leguminous.
Over the past three years I haven’t dug up any containers or pots. This has been to see whether the no dig principles work in this context. I have never pulled old plants out by the roots (unless they have been Beetroot or Carrots!), only cut them off at the base of the stem, and have just dressed over the previous patch with some compost.
Over the course of a season the soil level subsides. This is partly owing to compaction through gravity but is also because the plants’ growth is the soil’s output of matter, of carbon. So it does make some room for compost to be layered on top. So far this has worked fine for me.
In January 2023 I could see some slight signs of growth, but really I thought these were weeds, or possibly the Buckwheat growing back. I’m not expert enough to identify plants at this size.
These were taken in March and April. I was excited about the growth, but was still pretty sure that this was a weed or the Buckwheat growing back (itself sometimes viewed as a weed!).
By mid May the growth was looking luscious and I was beginning to be hopeful that I’d had some success with the Nigella seeds.
Then it became clear from their alien bulbous heads and magnificent flowers that this was Nigella and that the experiment had worked.
These two images below taken on my phone through a magnifying glass I got for my birthday. There’s a pretty chromatic aberration and a lovely background blur from the shallow focus. The architecture of these flowers is just exquisite.
In the first week of June things really took off. There is some kind of ecstacy at this time of year. Indeed in the period leading up to the summer solstice on June 21st one’s garden is truly magnificent. Thereafter the promise of the summer feels like it is ebbing away quite dramatically.
Before I gardened I definitely got the feeling of summer as being a longer phenomenon. It’s interesting how the practice connects you to the seasons. In London it might still be hot, giving the sense of a perpetuating season, but the reality is different.
I’m still planting new seeds though now directly outdoors: Rudbeckia, Hyssop, Buckwheat, Lady Di Beans, Courgette, Lettuce, Leeks. But this maybe with a view to hopefully squeezing a crop in before the end of the year, and expecting less growth.
This was taken on the 8th June – not a great shot but shows the full flowering.
And this on 21st June at the solstice. As you can see all the petals have fallen away.
With the flowers giving up the ghost I got a bit more relaxed about the cats wanting to wander in the bed. Here’s the Grey Cat enjoying herself. I love her expression in the second photo: “I am not here. You can not see me!”
At the start of July I cut the flowers and hung them to dry in my study window. The day before yesterday I noticed that the seeds had started to drop from the heads onto the window-ledge.
This morning I put the whole bouquet in a large, clear, plastic bin bag and shook it gently. Then I decanted the seeds into a jam jar.
Nigella Sativa, to give it its fancy name, is an ornamental flower but its seed is also used a spice (sometimes called Black Caraway or Black Cumin) and is also implemented in traditional medicine systems, Unani and Tibb, Ayurveda and Siddha. In this sense it’s also a crop. I will probably try eating some, maybe as a spice on some of carrots, and then sow the rest in the autumn.
Wormy Truth of Gardens drawing for us by Ben Watson.
At Luke Davis’ poetry book launch last June I met the writer/musician/activist Ben Watson. He is chiefly famous for his artist-endorsed writings on Frank Zappa. Ben has been a friend of Luke’s for a long time. I knew beforehand that Luke and his fellow poet Jim Clarke had participated in Ben’s improvised music events on Friday at lunchtime at the Betsey Trotwood on the Farringdon Road.
AMMAS March 31st at The Betsey Trotwood.
Ben is a force of nature. He’s one of those rare people you encounter in life who is truly an individual. Very friendly, he’s not shy of taking a controversial position. I really enjoy his company even though I don’t feel I bring a tremendous amount to the table having given up being “an expert” on music, being too uptight to drink, and preferring at the times I’ve been along to the Betsey Trotwood to sit in the audience and enjoy the experience rather than participate. They make a tremendous sound at the BT and the collectivity of the action is truly thrilling.
As far as I’m concerned the best thing about improvised music is that it entirely eliminates the need for technical abilities. To talk about famous improvisers is to some extent miss the point. When you do so you are entering the domain of the appreciation of musical virtuosity. That’s ok but maybe it’s not its real value? To some extent that explains the DIY punk edge to AMMAS, Watson’s improvising group.
Since childhood, out of total incompetence, I’ve improvised on a range of instruments: hours tiny at the piano at my grandparents’ house, for many years alone in rooms doing so when I should have been practicing violin (or even in the middle of the second orchestra’s performances at school when I was entirely lost from the score), and on the flute. Then later, more recently, on electronic keyboards, electric guitar, bass guitar, drums. All the while making a horrible racket mainly for my own appreciation. And that’s the way it will stay with me, as a private negotiation. Right now I’m quietly mucking around with a recorder. That seemed like a sufficiently disparaged instrument to want to play. Though, as I now appreciate, there’s a lot to be said for it as an activity you can practice in a group.
Ben is in fact a pretty serious musician, with I believe, some degree of actual musical talent. If you’re curious check out this recent piano improvisation which has garnered well-deserved recognition.
In early May I posted about Wild Mitchell Street. I was excited to see at the end of June that things had really run riot. I was poised to return to the space to take some more photos.
However, it seems I was too slow. In their infinite wisdom the council arranged for it all to be cut down. Of course no one entertained the idea of “chop and drop” to at least let the vegetation work as mulch and rebuild the soil – to what end I suppose?
The true Permaculture garden is supposed to be nothing but vegetables. And I know that Charles Dowding dismisses growing flowers as child’s play. Dowding does grow a few though.
The thing is I have such a small space that growing vegetables is largely meaningless. I feel I’m actually performing more of a service to the world to grow flowers that insects like. Two of the flowers here, the Wild Rocket and Courgette are actually vegetables of course…
The odd one out here is the Dahlia. My grandmother used to love Dahlias and Mrs. Ingram wanted me to grow them. They do look very ornamental don’t they? But to balance that civilised element out, the Bristly Ox Tongue and Fringed Willowherb are weeds that I have cultivated. I had no idea what they were but the app “Picture This” says that’s what they are.
Until today I was sure the Bristly Ox Tongue was Hyssop, which seeds I sowed there but obviously didn’t germinate. It’s an incredibly exotic weed gotta say. Needless to say Hyssop doesn’t look anything like it.
Are you suffering from hay fever at the moment? Maybe you are not sniveling and sneezing but still feeling brackish? The pollution load in the city can make matters even worse.
Rather than reaching for an anti-histamine tablet, try taking Vitamin C. It’s extremely effective as an anti-histamine. Right away you will notice a radical improvement in your symptoms. You are also doing yourself a lot of good.
I like these NaturesPlus tablets. They’re food-based. I just take 250mg which is very low. Any Vitamin C tablets would probably be as good. Honestly, try it!
