Lunchtime

This is Little Wood, just over the gate and into the next field, is where we go to have lunch, get out of the heat of the tunnels and run the dogs where they don't worry so much game. It's a small piece of ancient/semi-natural woodland with what looks like some Victorian Scots Pine planting, probably some oaks were extracted before WWII, but very little disturbance since then. It's absolutely pristine.

What a brilliant week its been. Not only has the weather been completely gorgeous but we've sold loads of flowers, in fact we've sold every flower that our hard working Sweet Pea plants have produced this week, about 250 in all. Most have been sold through Miller-Ashman florists in Midsomer Norton as bunches of 12 and have been snapped up within hours of being delivered. I can't quite put into words what a relief and satisfying feeling it is after all these months of hard work to have produced something that people want to buy. I'm looking forward to taking another 100 to Rachel's shop in Bath on Thursday because I know she's going to love them, they smell so gorgeous.

We've also had an order from Lesley's Flower Shop in Frome for 150 next week. These are destined for an organic bridal bouquet which is a lovely thought. I'll enjoy cutting those next Friday morning.

We've managed to help out Henrietta for her wedding as well. She tracked us down through Google in her search for a back up plan in case her first plan of growing her own wedding flowers didn't succeed. As it turned out, chickens escaping into her flower garden have put paid to her best intentions and fortunately for her we should be well and truly blooming by her wedding day in July.

Ripples

That was it - I remember now! It was a conversation, long ago with the one and only eco-visionary Liam Egerton (now measuring cow-flatulence for the Australian government in Melbourne) To put him in context, Liam appeared so far ahead of everyone else, he got bored waiting and moved on. When everyone eventually caught up, all they found was a pair of trainers, a Rush CD and some fluff. His take on 'transitional ethics' seemed brilliant to my troglodyte Welsh brain; i.e. how does one gets from A to B (where A = Bad, B = Good)? Easy, by substituting letters for integers and increasing the range i.e. from 1 to 10 (where 1 = Bad, 10 = Good) How does that relate to flowers, clay, Docks and beauty? I'm not sure, but I need to be at work . . . . . . .

visionary (adj.)

"able to see visions," 1651, from vision (q.v.). Meaning "impractical" is attested from 1727. The noun is attested from 1702, from the adj., originally "one who indulges in impractical fantasies."

Sweating like a . . . . (add your simile here, best answers receive a free bunch of sweet peas) . . it's been so warm?! Saturday, and Finn and I were up with Jo at Hackmead today, me; digging out the paths and raising the last of the usable beds, Finn potting up in the sweltering polytunnel heat, Jo planting out. It's all becoming real, the two dimensional idea ('let's do this!) into three dimensional actuality ('we WILL do this!') turning into 4-dimensional madness ('how the HELL are we going to do all that?!') Two days ago we cut all the sweet peas that were ready or nearing ready to go; 48 hours later; 142 new long stems, vase perfect and looking like they'd been there all the time and we just hadn't noticed them (like trying to watch the moon actually move across a night sky).

But the beds are getting there, we've lost a few that we've had to cover with mypex to the south, and some we've made mistakes with their construction, but most should all be ready to plant this week. And now it's the selling, the marketing, the pricing, the haggling, the valuing, the guessing, the hoping, the trusting and the luck (or is it skill?) of turning this all into revenue. I think that's as exciting as growing them all in the first place though!

....and for the next task

....you will need a trowel and a strong back. Over the next couple of weeks we'll be planting approximately 5,000 plants by hand, preparing the base for a new packing shed, picking and pinching out the Sweet Peas and trying to remember to breathe in between jobs.

The weather is absolutely perfect this week, it's been sunny enough to dry out our soggy old soil and remind me why I like working outside. The plants are behaving as if someone has just turned on the switch and doubling in size each week so once they are established them in their final growing space I can leave them to get on with it.

Oh yes, I've just remembered ...I'll have to start cutting then, won't I?

Best find my trowel.....

These are the sweet peas on Monday, just before cutting, which went to David (Ion Acoustics in the Wool Hall) for his wife Moira (Congratulations!) for their wedding anniversary and birthday. They had to compete with two shop-bought bouquets and a long hunt for a vase, we hope they didn't get bullied at night and that they hold their own this week. He probably looked a great sight, cycling through Bristol with them under his arm, like an extra from a Hugh Grant movie?! They've only been in the ground for 3 weeks (the sweet peas, not David and Moira, what they get up to in the the solitude of their own house is no business of ours) and Jo has to stand on a stool to pinch out some of them; there's fear in her eyes in the evenings these last few days. The sunshine has catapulted the plants into a higher state of growiness, potting on and planting out has jumped to the top of the list, in fact it's not a list any more, but a very long stream-of-consciousness sentence, with no punctuation. She's already sun-burned like a cowgirl with fingers twitchy for her mother-of-pearl-inlaid Trowel. It's not the Railroad that's coming, but the Rotavator, one cylinder, 4-strokes and spiked wheels of destruction . . . .The Tilth and and the Fury.

Bank Holiday Weekend! And it's been raining . . . .