Making leaf mould

How to Make Leaf Mould

We have two rather large, overgrown and overbearing Sycamore trees that loom over The Smallest Smallholding. Together with the cherry, ash, damsons, crab apple and apple trees, we are subject to a rather large dump of leaf litter each Autumn.

But this year, instead of cramming the leaves into old compost bags and leaving the ugly bags strewn asunder, I decided to be a bit proactive and try to convert one of the old compost bins into a proper leaf mould bin.

Keep it Simple

Of course, old compost bags turned inside out with a few punctured holes for air and drainage work really, really well. But I’m trying to streamline everything and live life a little less haphazardly. I’m aiming to declutter – hence reclaiming the old wooden compost bin and using that instead.

The old compost bin was made by Rich –well aerated, with slats of wood spaced evenly around all sides. For leaf mould bins, some people opt for wooden poles, wrapped with chicken wire or fine mesh wire – probably the better option – but with us, it was a case of ‘make do and mend’ and this particular bin was ready and waiting!

autumn_garden

Compost Bin/Leaf Bin

But it had disappeared over the summer under a canopy of tangled brambles, nettles and bindweed, utterly neglected and forgotten whilst I waddled around with an ever-expanding baby bump, tried desperately to keep up with the veg plots despite a ballooning middle section. It’s only in the quiet, darker days of December that I’ve managed to turn my attention to composting, and start to tidy up the detritus of autumn and another growing season gone over.

To get going, I did a quick and cheerful chop around the bin, clearing away inch-thick brambles and tearing up whole networks of nettle roots. The bin was mostly empty, save for a few inches of gorgeously rich, dark and crumbly compost from our days of ex-battery hen keeping. Chicken poop and straw is just brilliant.

I then set about carting over wheelbarrow after wheelbarrow of leaves, already soggy from the rain and mist, so no need to moisten with a sprinkle from the watering can.

There’s still plenty of leaf mould to collect from under the damsons and cherry, but there’s no particular rush. It’ll stay in situ for a year or two, before eventually decomposing down to a light and fluffy soil conditioner.

Here’s some quick tips for making the best leaf mould:

  • If it’s dry day, try mowing the dry fallen leaves into clippings; they’ll mulch  down and compost much faster, and you can add a little extra nourishment from the grass clippings too
  • Whether you opt for old compost bags or a purpose-built leaf bin, make sure it’s in a sheltered, preferably shady spot
  • Make sure the leaves are moist (but not soaked) when collected and readied for storage
  • Pine needles can be used for mulching, but may take 2-3 years to break down sufficiently
  • The bigger the leaf bin/bag, the quicker the leaves will break down

 

 

You can’t beat homegrown garlic

Garlic on drying rack

I’ve been banging this drum for years; you simply cannot beat the flavour of homegrown garlic. That’s why every year we plant some bulbs, grow them organically before harvesting enough to get us through a few months without having to resort to sub-standard supermarket fare that’s been flown halfway across the world.

This year we tried two varieties; Cristo (one of our favourites) and Solent Wight. We did have a pretty bad case of rust, but it just seemed to affect the leaves and not the bulbs (and it means we won’t be able to grow any allium on that patch for a few seasons). The Cristo definitely outperformed the Solent Wight in terms of bulb size, but I feel like we didn’t have enough of a cold snap at the beginning of the year to promote bulb growth and division.

Regardless, we’ve seen got a few decent sized bulbs, and crucially, they smell just amazing. Last year I lost a lot of bulbs as I harvested them during a prolonged spell of rain and damp weather, and they went soft and mildewy very quickly. This year, we’ve had the intense heat and lots of sun, so the bulbs have been drying out nicely on a rack in the greenhouse. I’ll wait until the outer layers of the bulbs are papery and crisp before transferring them indoors to store somewhere cooler but with plenty of air circulation.

Garlic growing in spring

Garlic growing earlier in the Spring

One of my simple pleasures in life is to make homemade vegetable soup from homegrown ingredients. The addition of homegrown garlic and onions brings a new level of flavour and fragrance to my cooking and just takes it into a realm of its own. Rich is more of a fan of homemade garlic bread, and we both enjoy the zingy fresh flavour in homemade pasta sauces too.

After eating slightly disappointing shop-bought garlic for a few months, I really don’t realise what I’m missing until I take that first taste of homegrown. Next time, we’ll grow even more to get us through the year. And if you haven’t tried it, you should. You’ll never look back.

Rain and Sunshine

Earlier this week we had a thunderstorm of pretty epic proportions. In fact, I have no shame in admitting that I almost crapped myself a couple of times, thanks to some ear-splitting booms and claps that rolled out of the skies.

Downpours in Bedfordshire

It wasn’t just a show of sound and light though; after a long build up in which the bump and I slowly melted under a fairly oppressive cloud of intense humidity, the heavens opened. The downpours were long and penetrating – just what the veg patches needed – and the Smallest Smallholding has, as expected, gone into overdrive and everything is growing at a rate of knots.

Raspberries, calabrese, parsnips, peas and more in the long patch

Raspberries, calabrese, parsnips, peas and more in the long patch

My onions and perennial wallflowers were the only plant life that took a beating from the storm, whilst everything else has thrived with a heady combination of hot days and squally showers. Another benefit of this mix of sunshine and rain is that the soil is virtually fluffy, so weeds (even the mile-long tap roots of thuggish alkinet) are so easy to pull. This, together with my no dig approach, has meant that keeping on top of the veg patches has been so easy.

Bumble bee enjoying a geranium

So it’s the first week of June and the veg is romping away, the roses are blooming and the Smallest Smallholding is just so full. This time of year is so invigorating. Armies of honey bees and fat bumblebees are jigging and rubbing themselves with tangible glee all over our geraniums, lavender, foxgloves, toadflax and alliums. The fledged blackbirds are out in force, and the hedgehogs are resolutely on slug duty at night. I’m having a battle of wills with an undisclosed feathered or furry critter who keeps pulling out my strawberry plants (two miserable looking plants have survived) and it’s all a bit wild and out of control… and when I stand back and look… there’s still so, so much to do.

But do you know what? It’s totally OK. It’s keeping me busy, occupied, and dare I say it… happy.

Podding peas

And in three weeks I shall be on maternity leave. Yes, we have a list of things as long as my arm to do in the house before my due date, including some significant renovations and decorating, but I can’t keep my mind off my vegetable patches, my borders, my plans for everything.

I should be worried, I should be brimming with anxiety and how the hell I’m going to cope with the weeks and months ahead. The state of the house should have me wringing my hands and raging. But somehow, my garden is taking that energy and channelling it into something positive. Something I can build on in the future, and something I can make good with.

Early pea flowers