Just the other day, I discovered a partially finished bottle of an energy drink placed in the euphorbia trough by one of the scaffolders. An architect friend commented, “Are you sure that’s Lucozade?” giving me a new perspective.
All this is to say, the garden is in disarray. But there’s a lot to be said for negligence; after returning from holiday, I spotted a sunflower sprouting in the back corner.
Now, however, some necessary firefighting is underway. Being six months pregnant, I’ve enlisted a professional gardener to remove invasive plants like green alkanet and robinia saplings from the neighbour’s tree, but keeping desirable plants. Next, in the newly cleared patches, I’ll be sowing cover crops.
Cover crops act like heroes when it comes to improving soil health.
My gardening friend Claire has previously discussed cover crops, as they play a key role in crop rotation for vegetable plots. But, the only things I’m harvesting from my garden right now are a few foraged apples and some hardy herbs.
My ambitions for the garden are simple and steady – and improving the soil is top of the list. To update concerned readers, the scaffolding is for roof repairs, and the fences are still wobbly, but the neighbours agree with replacing them.
Green manure are like superheroes for your garden’s foundation. Soil likes to be covered, which is why unwanted plants pop up. But by sowing vigorous crops, you can suppress weeds, bring in bees, host pest-eating creatures, and enrich the soil with nutrients.
Green manure plants may not look exciting – though some, like certain lupin varieties and a flowering legume, have pretty flowers – but their purpose is to thrive rather than look decorative. After they’ve grown, you can dig them into the soil, cut them for compost, or let them decompose for earthworms to incorporate. The real magic happens below the surface.
Now is the ideal time for sowing these cold-season plants. I’ve chosen rye grass, great for clay soil, a nitrogen-lifter, a weed-suppressor, and field beans.
It feels rewarding in sowing something knowing it’s temporary – on the surface, anyway.
