We busily set to work sprucing up the garden with haste as our friends were coming for an outdoor dinner, much like how you do a quick clean and tidy of the house if you’re expecting visitors. Except the garden is much bigger and much messier. We’ve left the plants, including the beautiful grasses, to do their thing and haven’t devoted much time at all to controlling the vitality and determination of the weeds. I decide to start in a small section, it’s more manageable and easier to see evidence of my hard work. I try to avoid pulling the calendula but the buttercup has made a tangled web of stalks and mostly everything else comes out with them. I pull a handful of grass from around the young black elderflower and realise I’ve grabbed some Scarlet Pimpernel too. I’m sad about it, I say sorry.
My relationship with the plants is solid, friendly I think, I respect them and they show me who’s boss. I pick them a little, leave the rest for birds, rabbits and slugs. I admire them, I say thank you to them. I curse the thistle when I stand on it but laugh at it’s sneaky defensive spikes, I tut when the bramble rips through the skin on my arm but remember I’m invading its hard fought territory. I see the ‘dead’ pansy and pink daisy miraculously coming back to life, the sunflower beaten horizontal by the winds is growing up tall again and the broad beans once decimated by the slugs have sprung skyward and are safely out of trouble.
In the polytunnel the rocket has completely taken over, the courgette and squashes are battling for their space, tomatoes, basil, chilli and beans all jostling too and I’ve the genuine concern that everything will be ready on the same week. I start thinking about fermenting possibilities and the dream to have a little honesty box out the front of the house, or even better to use the garden bounty to feed people; friends and family of course but maybe widen the circle? It’s a little seed of an idea right now. Glutfest 2024 could be real though.
Suddenly I’m distracted by the sound out on the road, high pitched, it sounds angry and painful. With my cup of coffee in hand I walk around to the front barefoot to see the tractor with the flail mower attached moving through the small trees of the hedge. I gasp, I swear, I shake my head, I can’t watch it. After a few hours they leave, the field is unrecognizable, the hedgerows destroyed, all summer flowers, seeds and ripening fruit annihilated, never mind any life that called the borders home. I can’t believe it, a wildlife crime, I should report it really. Instead I walk further down the road to inspect the damage and I blink back tears, the pain is palpable, the mature tree branches have been ripped off, their orangey inside bark bare to the outside world and where once all was green and full, a mucky mess remains. I lift ragged gorse and hawthorn branches from the road, moving them with tenderness and apologising to them.
I need a diversion, I need to be in the wild wilderness so off to the hillsides of Glenshesk for a run around where nature is thriving. The berries are bright green on the hawthorn in the little sheltered dip at the stream, a cheery and confident wood sorrel is growing happily nestled in the cradle between the branches of a birch tree, the hillside is full of clover, eyebright and saxifrage and we see meadow brown, ringlet and speckled wood butterflies. When we get home I go out to pick some bits for dinner from the polytunnel and with giddy delight eat a warm ripe tomato, the sunshine still beaming in its juicy flesh.
The countryside produces food and shelter throughout the year supporting a whole host of creatures that completely and utterly rely on it. Our blind selfishness is forever putting humans on pedestal, as if we are the most important thing on this planet. Consider the green desserts of fields, the manicured lawns, the perfectly shaped hedges and the overuse of weed killer. Consider the ultra processed food, the use of plastics and the over consumption of chemicals in our diets. We are distancing ourselves from the natural world which we are part of and it’s scary, it’s sad and it’s very likely killing us. Our detachment will be our downfall. Our disconnect is our ruin.
I’m so fortunate I can grow food for the family, that I have the space and time. I may have to disguise some things for the kiddos but I know that when the peas and raspberries ripen it’s likely that none will make it into the kitchen. I wonder about me tidying up the weeds in the garden versus the destruction of the field, it feels a bit similar but I comfort myself looking at the wild corners, the pond, the native trees we’ve planted.
I think about how I bake and how committed I am (stubborn) to using quality produce, local or Irish/UK, independents, seasonal and so on. I weigh up how my baking would be if I used more standard ingredients; definitely cheaper and therefore more lucrative, much easier and therefore consistent, maybe even more popular; I could bake all the fads, all the current trends.
But I’d be unhappy, just like the me staring at the destruction of the field, just like eating a cold tomato on a winter’s day.
It's not ever just about the baking or the finished product and certainly not the profit, it’s about the relationships forged with small producers, the challenge to create something unique and delicious, to be reactive, to have integrity, to respect the ingredients, to be constantly open to learning and create a safe, welcoming space for everyone. Most of all it is the feeling of calm, confident happiness knowing I doing my best to nourish and nurture the bodies and souls of the community I know and love.
Know that your views are widely shared - so many people cherish local well-made food, native plants, protecting local wildlife, large and small. You are not alone. Keep doing what you are doing. Thank you for taking the time in your busy days to write down your thoughts and share them. Love the photos.
Got so much out of reading this. Thank you!