If you google fungiculture, you are most unlikely to be rewarded with this, the earthwoman guide to growing marvellous oyster mushrooms. You will more likely be bamboozled by hugely scientific case studies that involve sterilisation of straw bales, along with temperature and humidity controlled apparatus.
Having spent 3 years in advanced scientific endeavours, beavering away in a dark lab, meticulously recording my every move, I have to say I can no longer be fagged with real science. I prefer my experiments to be random and uncontrolled.
Besides, I also recently heard on Gardeners Question Time that oyster mushrooms were dead easy to grow and didn’t require precision cultivation techniques. I think the suggestion was that you could sprinkle spores on the compost heap and wait for the bounteous harvest to follow.
So with this in mind I created my own recipe and mixed up the non-sterilised concoction scavenged from the compost caddy and the wormery. I tossed it all in one of Lynn’s old t-shirts and now I’m hoping for the best.
I’ve popped one on the top shelf of the wormery, the other in the leaf mould bin and the final one in the edge of the big compost heap.
If you want to follow my tried and untested approach to oyster mushroom cultivation. Here’s the recipe and how-to video.
I love autumn on the plot. Most of the plants are finishing off and I get to start clearing the beds and tidying the plot ready for a long winter.
This weekend we ripped out the corn and intertwined squash plants, leaving us two beds waiting for overwintering prep. There followed a flurry of back breaking but hugely satisfying activity.
The double compost heap was turned with the most processed compost transferred back to the plot, leaving us with one full heap ready to be tucked up for the long process of decay, and a brand new empty bin for the seasons ahead.
In the cleared beds we spread compost and manure and started topping with newspaper and grass mowings in order to recreate the forest gardening technique that worked so well with my beans. Unfortunately I can’t produce anywhere near enough grass for a quarter acre of mulch so this topping off process will take an absolute age and realistically won’t be complete by the start of the growing season.
I’ve planted some field beans in there as well, which should all add to the organic matter when I chop them down in their prime.
I need to do everything I can to break up the clay in the far bed. This year we had beetroot growing in there. They did well till the sun came out and the bed cracked like crazed paving. Beetroot globes, once stood proud but now slumped half in, half out of a gaping chasm.
I suspect they would do better with a deeply nourished fine tilth and that is now my main allotment focus.
Hopefully by May we will have a completely renewed growing medium.
If that wasn’t enough back breaking work for one day, we then dragged the tiller over one bed and planted onion sets and a couple of rows of Aquadulce broad beans.
After that we collapsed on the grass path and squealed our way through an allotment yoga session.
I still haven’t recovered the ability to touch my toes though.
You probably have just enough time left to follow in our footsteps and create the worlds most delicious hedgerow jam.
Two weeks ago we stumbled upon a laden bullace tree and decided to gather ourselves a few fruits for a stewed pudding. They were so abundant and easy to reach that a few fruits rapidly turned into a carrier bag full and I had inadvertantly created myself the chore of an evening’s worth of jam making.
I am deep in the depths of a sugar free, gluten free, dietary phase so jam making is not high on my to do list.
Fortunately the kids are less faddy than me and were happy with the opportunity to sample.
Bullace jam is apparently the “best jam ever”, and two weeks post production it is still the preserve of choice. Today I was told it forms the perfect accompaniment to applewood cheese and toast, beating quince jelly hands down.
So if you are quick, you might still be able to gather some wild plums for your own supply of champion jam. Here’s the recipe:
Arguably the world's best hedgerow jam......
- 2lbs of bullace wild plums
- 1.5 lbs granulated sugar
- 1/2 pint water
- wash the fruit
- put all the ingredients into a large preserving pan and bring slowly to a boil
- spend ages stirring and fishing out the stones
- bring up to the boil and either heat to the jam setting point 105'C (test with a jam thermometer) or test for a set on a cool saucer.
- pour into pre-sterilised jars, seal and wait for the bread to toast.
- Some suggest cutting the fruit in half to check for bugs and to remove the stones but all the unpalatable bits float to the surface for you to fish out. It took an age to retrieve all the stones but I think on balance it was quicker than cutting out the stones.
- I used the thermometer method but the moment it reached setting point it managed to turn the base of my pan to a fruity toffee consistency and I had to quickly remove from the heat.
Earthwoman Allotment Blog http://www.earthwoman.co.uk/
I’ve long been attracted to all things faddy and ever since I read about the Back to Eden project in last month’s permaculture magazine, I’ve been itching to turn the plot into a forest garden, layered with inches of paper, woodchip and manure.
Although I’m eager to dabble with the latest fad, I’m not overly keen on being outed as a crackpot so I decided to start yesterday by very gradually transforming the plot.
Just as well really, the tiny corner that I did start to cover, took one newspaper, a bag of manure, the grass clippings from both the front and back garden and the best part of a sack of bark.
If I don’t call in a dumper truck of municipal wood chip this little project will take me at least a decade to complete but at least no one will notice that I’m slightly deranged.
I’ve started over the bean trench but my next patch will be over the squash bed. A little too much to drink at a recent party resulted in the opening of the seed cabinet and ended in a”squash off” challenge being set. My squash bed now needs to be lush and moisture retentive to encourage the best curcubits I’ve grown for years.
I’m holding out particular hopes for the Spaghetti Squash. After many failed and bloody attempts with the spiraliser, I’ll be grateful for a squash that comes pre-noodled.
I’ll no doubt be cutting the lawn on a weekly basis now, and may even extend to the neighbours, in an effort to gather enough mulch to turn my patch into an oasis of biblical proportions.
In search of suitable bottles for the preparation of the annual glug of sloe gin I found last years experimental sloe port.
I planned on leaving it for 2 months to mature but here we are 10 months later and I can only say that it has matured fantastically.
It is a crying shame that I have an 8am Monday morning presentation but if they knew how smooth this tipple was, I’m sure they’d forgive me for a lacklustre performance. I can only hope so anyway.
This time of year, watering can become a major trauma on the plot. I can almost hear the squash and celery plants screaming at me to come over and flood their roots.
I rarely make it to the plot more than once a week so I’ve made efforts to increase the water retention in the soil around the most thirsty of plants. The celery, squash and butter beans have all been planted into trenches that were filled with partially rotted kitchen waste in the spring. In addition, the squash have been set into valleys so that I can tip a bucket of water around each plant without it running off to nurture the surface weeds.
Watering on allotments can be a contentious practice. Effin Frank will forcefully inform any newcomer to the site that they shouldn’t “effin water them plants or you’ll effin burn the effin roots”.
He could be right if watering means a scant drizzle from the rose of a watering can. The trick is to drench a plant if you’re going to bother watering at all. Send the roots downwards rather than encouraging them to stick close to the surface where the soil will bake in hours.
At home my problems are much greater. Most of my garden plants are in pots and although I technically ought to be able to water my plants daily, they rarely get considered from one week to the next. When I see the pathetic wilting of the entire plant I rush out with my jug of water and attempt to saturate the compost. It’s a futile effort. If you’ve ever let a pot plant dry out (I’m sure everyone has) its darn tricky to get the compost to absorb more than a thimble full of water. The rest whizzes through the drainage hole at the bottom of the pot and nourishes the weeds in the cracks between the paving slabs.
I was recently sent an easy watering kit to set up amongst my pot plants and it has proved to be an ingenious way to re-saturate dried out pot plants and deliver a steady drip of water during the summer months.
You get an awful lot in your kit for the money. The drip irrigation kit I used was just under £30 and provided enough drippers for 20 pots and huge length of the main supply pipe, with connectors to allow you to cut and split the supply so you can water pots in different areas.
I set it up before I went away on my summer holidays and I have arrived home to find my pots looking extremely healthy, which never happens when I go away.
I’m extremely happy with this kit but if you keep your pots on different levels it takes a bit of faffing to ensure a steady drip to all pots.
- accurately delivers drips of water direct to your plant
- most efficient way of watering pot plants without run off
- takes a while to install, laying out the feeder pipes, cutting out the dripper pipes and inserting the connectors
- can lead to different rates of dripping if you have pots at different levels
I have written often of the frustration of the Rotovator. Our particular torment comes in the form of a very old and cranky Mountfield M1 Gardener:
I am beginning to hate the rotovator. It offers so much in the way of pain free cultivation but its always such an arse to use. It weighs a tonne, requires repeated muscle wrenching yanks to even hint at a splutter and then when you finally get it started it roars for a matter of seconds before choking its way to a pathetic end. Then the process repeats.
I went back to the old fashioned method of forking over the soil while Lynn continued off and on, to wrench her arm out of its socket trying to get the thing to spark.
This year we treated ourselves to a secondhand Honda tiller which we were told would actually start, first time. Of course I didn’t believe it. What petrol motor with a pull cord actually starts first time? We’ve tried the M1 Gardener umpteen times, and don’t get me started on the Stihl petrol strimmer, both have resulted in near dislocations and marriage-threatening arguments.
This weekend was a revelation. I tipped petrol into the Honda tank, flicked an assortment of switches and then grabbed the cord for a tentative pull. I wanted to start gently so I could gauge the tension before beginning the heavy duty yanking. To my complete surprise the engine spluttered and more importantly remained on. No shoulder wrenching yank-athons required.
What joy! Marital harmony may have returned to the plot. I can choose to use the tiller on a whim without risking the next 2-3 hours spent arguing over the position of the choke cable and who’s turn it is to pull the blasted starter cord.
Yes, my new Honda tiller is a dream come true, if a little bouncy.
The beans have been tremendously successful this year which can only mean that the Annual Broad Bean Giveaway will be more challenging than usual.
This event sees us sneaking from neighbour to neighbour trying to catch them unawares so we can thrust a carrier bag of un-podded and usually unwelcome beans into their hands.
Typically the neighbours are one step ahead of us and have closed the curtains, plunged the house into darkness and feigned longterm absence.
One may wonder why I grow so many unpopular beans. I don’t much care for them myself actually, but it’s hard to turn your back on the singularly most success crop and besides I do so enjoy the groans when I put them on the teenagers dinner plates.