Just the other day, I discovered a partially finished bottle of an energy drink left behind in the euphorbia trough by one of the scaffolders. An architect friend joked, “Are you sure that’s Lucozade?” which made me see it differently.
In short, the garden is a bit of a mess. But there’s a lot to be said for negligence; after returning from holiday, I spotted a sunflower growing in the back corner.
This week, though, some necessary firefighting is underway. As I’m expecting a baby, I’ve enlisted a professional gardener to remove troublesome weeds like green alkanet and young tree shoots from the neighbour’s tree, but keeping desirable plants. Then, in the open patches, I’ll be sowing green manure.
Green manure are superheroes when it comes to boosting soil quality.
My gardening friend Claire has written about green manure, as they play a key role in crop rotation for edible gardens. However, the only things I’m harvesting from my garden right now are a few foraged apples and some woody herbs.
My garden goals are modest and consistent – and enhancing soil health is my main priority. To update concerned readers, the scaffold is for roof repairs, and the garden boundaries are still wobbly, but the neighbours are on board with the plan.
Cover crops are like superheroes for your garden’s foundation. Bare soil invites weeds, which is why weeds appear. Yet by sowing vigorous crops, you can control weeds, bring in bees, host pest-eating creatures, and enrich the soil with nutrients.
Green manure plants aren’t always showy – though some, like lupins ‘Blue Sonet’ and bird’s foot trefoil, have pretty flowers – but their purpose is to grow vigorously rather than look decorative. After they’ve grown, you can turn them under, cut them for compost, or leave them on the surface for worms to incorporate. The real magic happens below the surface.
Autumn is perfect for sowing these cold-season plants. My selection includes forage rye, which breaks up heavy earth, a nitrogen-lifter, a weed-suppressor, and field beans.
It feels rewarding in sowing something knowing it’s temporary – at least above ground.
