Mini Garden Safari

Often when I go into the garden even for the shortest of times I’ll be amazed at the wildlife that inhabits our tiny patch of London soil. Just this afternoon as I hung out my washing to dry I was surprised by a comma butterfly landing on the laundry pile, briefly sunning itself then with a jaunty flick of its distinctive ragged wings moving on to a neighbours nettle patch. Any time you step outside at this time of year you may be witness to some fleeting wonder. Gardening gets you closer to the small things, and on a sunny day this week, tending our broad bean plants I felt I was on a mini safari.

The striking broad bean flowers are a favourite of bumble bees, and along with the Comfrey flowers they keep our garden buzzing. It was almost hard to work around them there were so many bees, but they are docile creatures and don’t seem to care much what humans are up to.

Miniature dramas revealed themselves one by one as we examined the plants. A large spider had made a loose tent in the leaves to protect herself and the silken egg case which she carried beneath her body.

She had picked a good place – when the spiderlings hatch they will wreak havoc on the many tiny pests our plants are host to, and so she is most welcome here. The tightly packed top leaves of the plants hid an astonishing multitude of earwigs, and ants scurried up and down the long stalks looking harassed.  Wherever I looked it seemed something was crawling, flying or trying to hide amongst the leaves and stems. A male Oedemera nobilis, or Thick Legged Flower Beetle waved his antennae vaguely while I admired the brilliant iridescent green of his body. Only the male has those bulbous back legs!

I was probably out in the garden for ten minutes at most, and yet the small task of weeding gave me the chance to learn of a new creature (that beetle and his gorgeous gold/green tailcoat). Most importantly, it impressed upon me the truth that wherever you go there are small wonders thriving and living out their dramas, as extraordinary and worthy of our notice as any creature of the African plains.

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Hunting the elusive Bee orchid

Whilst doing the seed bomb workshop a couple of weeks ago I discovered a delightful fact – allegedly there are Bee Orchids growing on Tottenham Marshes about a mile and a half from my home, and they are due to start blooming right now. How could I resist such a lure? I’ve been neglecting the marshes lately, so I got on my bike and went to see what I could see.

What I saw, alas, was not Bee Orchids. It hardly mattered though, since I was out and about on the last glorious sunny day of this summer so far, and what I did find was rather wonderful in it’s own right.

Zooming down Coppermill Lane through a dense tunnel of rank vegetation, assaulted by the shrill voices of wrens and the scree of nestlings in every tall shrub I wondered why I don’t do this every day. When I got to the drainage ditches at Springfield marina the air was filled with zipping electric blue sparks of Enallagma Cyathigerum – the Common Blue Damselfly. I sat down beside the water and watched their nuptial dances, and was lucky enough to find these two in their extraordinary lovers embrace. If you view mating damselflies from the right angle their joined bodies make a perfect heart shape. Most bodies of water on a still sunny day will yield views of these lovely creatures right now in the UK, and they are well worth looking for. I also saw a glorious Libellula Depressa – or Broad-bodied Chaser, a male dragonfly with a body the colour of powdered and bottled summer skies. Naturally he teased me by flying from his territorial perch every time I got him into focus but I don’t go on these adventures just for photographic trophies and it’s just as well – I would have been deeply frustrated that day!

After half an hour of happy damselfly and tadpole watching I got back on the bike and rode along the River Lea navigation towpath. Shoals of small fish swarmed in the still water and mute swans fussed over their huge nests, and overhead swallows chattered. I was at Tottenham marshes at last.

It’s not much to look at, perhaps, to some people. A swathe of rank long vegetation sandwiched between a busy road, allotments and a canal and with pylons, gasometers, bus depots and factories looming at it’s edges, it’s not many peoples idea of a wildlife paradise. But it’s truly wild, and this liminal post industrial landscape is where the revolution starts, you mark my words. It’s places like these that are home to undiscovered beauty, the covert reclamation of land by all the other living things besides the human. Of course it’s managed to some extent, but the beauty of places like these is that things slip in under the radar – this kind of land is the sort that will suddenly sprout, unexpectedly, a beautiful flower from seeds or rhizomes that have slept in the earth for years.

The air was thick with the scent of elderflower and pollen tickled my eyes and dusted my feet. The voices of many warblers made one territorial claim after another, each responding to the last in a singing chain, a necklace of song. I wheeled the bike along and searched in vain through the long, tangled vegetation.

Was I sad that I didn’t find any Bee Orchids?  Not at all, not when so many other beautiful things crossed my path. The bee orchids got me out of the house and may have been my stated aim, but their coy refusal to show themselves led me to other secrets every bit as marvellous.

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Seed Bombs!

Last Saturday I was lucky enough to get invited to help run a seed bomb workshop at  Haringay Independence Day. It was a perfect sunny summer day and we had our hands dirty for most of it, as well as getting to attend other workshops, jam sessions, swap gardening knowledge and give and get stuff for free. But let’s cut to the chase; what on earth is a seed bomb?

A seedbomb is a convenient way of sowing seed on derelict land in the hope of improving the environment either aesthetically, or by improving the soil, by encouraging native wildflowers or even planting vegetables or other edible goodies. Seed bombing probably came out of the Community Garden Movement that sprung up in New York in the 1970′s, when ordinary people decided to do something positive about the derelict land that blighted the city’s heart. They planted clandestine gardens in vacant lots, utilising seed bombs as a start when access to the desired land was proving difficult.  New Yorkers were not the first to practice the creative art of Guerilla Gardening which has a venerable history wherever derelict land and human need have coincided, but seed bombing was a technique the New Yorkers made their own.  So, what makes a good seed bomb, and why is it a “bomb” exactly?

A seedbomb consists of three things – the seeds, a pinch of peat free compost or topsoil, and the outer bomb casing for want of a better description. In our demonstration we used London clay for this,  which is perfect because it’s free (If you live in London you just dig down a metre or so beyond all the builders rubble and crap and there it is, a rich seam of beautiful clay) and also because when it’s dry, it becomes brittle and shatters easily. If you do not have a local clay soil, you can use newspaper pulped in a blender to make papier mache mixture instead. I guess you could even use a mixture of flour and water…

So, you need:-

• Clay or papier mache
• a small amount of rich topsoil or peat free compost
• seeds of your choice
• a bit of paper to wrap each seedbomb in

Grab a lump of clay or papier mache about the size of a golf ball or a little smaller, and roll it into a ball. Next, poke your finger hard into the clay or papier mache until you’ve made a hole. Then, put a small pinch of your topsoil or compost into the hole… it only needs to be a tiny amount. Now you are ready to add your seeds – you can mix up your flower varieties if you like but a favourite seed bomb flower of mine is poppies. Once you’ve tucked the seeds into the hole, close it up by smoothing clay over the hole or adding more papier mache, and roll the ball in your hands again to make it round. Then put your seedbomb somewhere safe to dry, like a sunny window ledge.

Make as many as you like! When your seedbomb is completely dry, it is ready to use.

How do I use it? And you still haven’t explained why it’s a bomb!

Well,  seed grenade is probably a more appropriate name, since what you are going to do is throw your seedbomb on the ground really hard in order to make it shatter. In the act of shattering, your seeds and their little bit of nutrient soil are dispersed much better than if you tried to sow them by hand and it’s much less fiddly… you can plant hundreds of seeds on the move and in an instant – you don’t even have to break your stride! So once your papier mache or clay balls are completely dry, put them in a bag in your pocket and go out looking for targets.

Where should I seedbomb? Any small neglected patch of land. Be creative in your choices! The dirt around a street tree might be a good place, or the long grass near some railings where the mower can never reach, or a neglected municipal flower bed. Grass verges around car parks that need brightening up. Traffic islands and roadside verges are great fun to seedbomb from a bicycle and the extra speed means they explode all the better! If you don’t have time to tend your garden – throw some down there!

Is there anywhere I shouldn’t seedbomb? Seedbombing is best done in neglected places frequented by humans – nature reserves or wild places should not be seedbombed! They may have delicate ecosystems that could get disrupted by introducing new plants.

What kind of seed should I use? Plants that don’t need a lot of looking after are best. If you just want to add a splash of colour to a neglected spot I would always recommend poppies. Poppies are a seedbombers friend because they thrive in neglected soil and wherever you live in the world there will probably be a native species of poppy you can use seeds from, so you are helping wildlife too! In fact, using native wildflowers is always better,  because they don’t need looking after and will not create a pest problem.  In the UK I’d recommend looking for a wildflower meadow mix as these will contain beautiful colourful plants that will do well in poor soil and with no extra effort once sown.

It didn’t shatter properly! Don’t worry, you can help it on it’s way by crushing the seedbomb underfoot if you can get to it; the weather, passing animals and insects will probably finish the dispersal for you. If it’s at least got a good crack running through it do nothing; the next time it rains the water will split it apart and disperse it naturally.

But what if my seeds grow and the council comes along and mows everything up, that would be horrible! The trick is be prolific in your seedbombing and don’t be too precious – of all the millions of seeds created by nature only the tiniest percentage survive to become thriving plants and for whatever reason this may well be true of your seed bomb babies. Don’t be downhearted… keep trying! Even if only a few plants make it you’ve brightened the world a tiny bit. There is a lovely saying – “If I knew the world would end tomorrow I would plant an apple tree today”.

We made hundreds of seedbombs on Saturday, and there was a handful left over that nobody took away. I’m going to look out for suitable sites to bomb and report back when I’m done!

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Gardening Grounds Me

It’s been a busy and disjointed time for me lately, too much living out of a backpack for one reason and another. One thing that’s helped no end is our garden;  our little plot isn’t huge, but this year we’ve all got gardening fever and I’ve been so glad of the garden as a way to ground me when I am home.

We’ve cobbled together an eccentric bunch of containers to grow potatoes and carrots in, and it’s amazing how many generous people have donated seed. Home made compost, home made bottle cloches, pots recycled from last years annuals and our garden table is groaning under the weight of potted seedlings raised on high as protection from slugs. The courgettes we sowed in an old water container about six weeks ago are already in the ground and almost ready to flower; I’ve barely been able to keep up with their growth. Our potatoes, buried experimentally in tyres stacked up near the house are already showing promise. Jerusalem Artichokes have shot up like rockets, with a promise of cheerful sunflower blooms and tasty tubers for the pot.

We’ve got beans, we’ve got chilli peppers – we’ve got whatever random things we could easily cadge or lay our hands on, and the practical tasks of planting, watering, weeding and just getting my fingers into the sweet earth has been bliss.

I’d been hoping to photograph our little seedling babies right from the start – a little garden diary documenting their growth, but the growing season is already in full swing and most of them are seedlings no more. Still, my experiment of growing carrots in a window-box is in early days yet so perhaps the second wave of plantings will make good subjects.

We’re not just tending a vegetable patch though. The garden also contains a fascinating and totally unplanned selection of ornamentals, things planted by tenants long gone, self seeded annuals that have made their way over the fence broadcast by wind, birds or in the fur of cats and foxes, and there are the humble garden centre plants we couldn’t resist for their cheap and cheerful resilience. A friend who works for the council frequently brings us rescued municipal strays; when the bedding displays in the local park gets changed she rescues plants that would otherwise get thrown away, and our garden is home to many.

The loveliest things so far have been the native plants – Lungwort earlier in the spring has been overtaken by its handsome and showy relative Comfrey, and both have sung with bees from the opening of the first flower.

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Where the wild things are

You don’t have to go walking in glamorous, beautiful country locations to find little patches of wildness. Any city, no matter how sterile on first examination has a virile crust of life that cannot be completely scoured from it’s surface, however hostile or oblivious the resident humans are.  I’ve churned out the rural eye-candy many a time here, but I’d be falling into a trap if I didn’t pay homage to the life I see all around me in London.  It goes about it’s own business; it does not care about or even notice us.  I love all the signs of wildness, the signs that we absolutely have not and hopefully never will subdue the earth.

The ferns in the brickwork where the drainpipe leaks

The mosquito larvae thriving unwanted in the upturned dustbin lid

The fox earth in the junk of a neglected garden

The pioneer weeds thronging a cracked pavement

The Kestrel falling out of a blue sky to take an unseen mouse a yard from where you stand, waiting for a bus.

The mouse it’s-self, uninvited, scratching in a cupboard.

Blackbirds quarreling over an apple core

Fireweed reclaiming derelict buildings

Ash saplings infesting a lawn.

The heron stealing expensive fish from your pond,

A mistle thrush and it’s drowsy song atop a tall lamp-post on a busy intersection at twilight

The robins singing in every single avenue tree as you reel home late from the pub

The patina of moss that returns again and again to the brick wall

All life is sacred.

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