Gone to Pot - Autumn 2010

It doesn't seem any time at all since I was planning and executing this year's edition of the garden. Having come this far I feel that comments on the success and failures should be similar to those in some subjects on my school reports - could do better! However, the terrace has been awash with colour and the vegetable garden has kept us well supplied since the beginning of June and hopefully will continue to do so for another month or two at least.

I am always somewhat bemused by the number of courgettes that repeatedly appear and even more bemused by the fact that it is nigh on impossible to give them away as no-one particularly enjoys them, including my family. Then they become marrows whilst one's back is turned, useful for decoration in the Church at the Harvest Festival but not much good for anything else. I must remember this when I sow seeds next year or perhaps I just won't sow any at all.

The colours of autumn leaves remind me of Joseph's technicolour coat - John Clare, the 19th century poet, in his poem Autumn said "The summer flower has run to seed, And yellow is the autumn bough, And every leaf of bush and weed, Is tipt with autumn's pencil now." One day they are covering the trees, the next they are on the ground! Before gathering them up I take childish delight in kicking about in the leaves, smelling that rich aroma that only fallen leaves have. Having had my childish moment I rake them up and, always with good intentions, mean to put them in sacks to rot down and make leaf mould. However, they are usually parked on the soil with the intention of digging them in, but then a capricious breeze sends then swirling round the garden again, so with a slight air of defeat I give up and leave them where they are.

There is so much tidying up to be done at this time of year, which inevitably results in mounds of material which is either to be composted, burnt, disposed of or utilised in some way. Although an unwilling recipient, my husband was given a shredder for Christmas - as he is not the gardener, I felt this was a little unjust, but that is by the by. It had remained boxed until now, but with little enthusiasm he put it together and then demanded material to be shredded. It was definitely toys for the boys as the 'men' have become quite excited about the pile of shreddings. I must admit that it has made a veritable heap into a much more manageable pile to be used as a mulch round the garden.

I somehow don't think Keats was a gardener. I read somewhere that if he had been he would not have had time to muse under his cherry tree. He would have been too busy putting grease bands around the trunks of his fruit trees to protect them against pests such as winter moths and caterpillars!

Floreat Hortus