Soilman

This is getting ridiculous. April 22nd and still not an asparagus spear big enough to cut.

I’ve been fantasising for weeks about just-cut, fresh asparagus, one of the great rewards of growing your own vegetables.

It’s a taste sensation you literally can’t buy – no shop can get it from plant to plate fast enough to preserve the gorgeous sweetness. The only way to enjoy the true flavour of asparagus, as God intended it, is to grow your own.

Trouble is, you have to wait. And Jeez, is the waiting painful.

I’m stunned how early it’s come. After the winter we’ve endured, I didn’t expect to see any asparagus until May.

Did a few hours at the plot today, but without enthusiasm. The piercing wind and grey skies got to me. If it were July, I’d have ignored it. But after five months of winter – and a tough old winter, at that – I’m just sick of it. Enough already.

That’s the thing with winter: like radiation exposure, it’s cumulative. I totally get what happened to Van Gogh. Always a tad unstable, the poor bastard painted one too many wacky clouds from his garret window and thought: “Right, fuck it. That’s it. Can’t take it any more. Where did I put that gun?”

Yuck, yuck, yuck. Asparagus beetle eggs laid on the tips of the spears.

I don’t get much grief from asparagus beetle. They get squashed, with maximum prejudice, when I spot them. But it’s rare, and they do very little damage to my plants.

They do, however, lay their eggs on my supper. I’m sure they’re fine to eat, but I do find myself assiduously scraping them off. It’s the thought, you see: creepy-crawly eggs. Yikes. I’m a non-celebrity allotmenteer – get me out of here!

If this is a taste of what’s to come, I’m all for it.

Today was sensational. Sunny, warm, barely a breath of wind. And the vegetables are loving it.

This is the asparagus I planted in early April. The fronds are a bit feeble, but that’s to be expected in their first year. They’ll thicken up well next season.

Sadly, I can’t attack ‘em even then; you shouldn’t cut asparagus until its third year. Just as well I’ve got another established bed, which is still producing enough spears for dinner four times a week.

We’ll be SO sick of it by mid June.

My neighbour made the superfluous observation that these look indecent. He’s not wrong. Brandish one carelessly in a public place and you could get arrested.

Thick asparagus spears are delicious if properly prepared – but woody and chewy if not. If you don’t know how to do it, I made a video last year about harvesting and preparing thick asparagus for the kitchen (mp4).

The onion sets are sprouting nicely. Only three got pulled up by birds, which is a result; most years I can count on replanting 30% thanks to the magpies.

Less good news is that weeds are already rampant. I’ve decided that the World’s Worst Weed is definitely couch grass.

I know, I know: Marestail is ineradicable, but at least it’s fairly easy to control. Ditto brambles and nettles, which both hate determined cultivation.

Couch, on the other hand, is the Daddy of weeds. I hack it up, grub it up, pull it up and rip it out. I burn it, bury it, hoe it and bin it. Couch destruction figures in my dreams.

But there it always is, waiting for me every time I visit the allotment. On my plot, Couch is King.

What’s your most loathed weed?

The countdown’s begun. Just a few days now –  a week at most.

The asparagus kettle has been dug out and dusted down. The free range eggs have been assembled for the hollandaise sauce. Air freshener has been bought for the khazi.

Only time stands in the way of the year’s first asparagus pig-out.

If you’re thinking about planting asparagus crowns and haven’t done it before, this may help. And if you have done it before, you can tell me what I’m doing wrong…

A guide to planting asparagus from Soilman on Vimeo.

It’s, like, TOTAL excitement: The globe artichokes seedlings have finally germinated. After almost 3 weeks.

That’s not all. My new asparagus crowns have arrived. Which means I’ve GOT to get the bramble bed ready to receive them this weekend.

Which means I’ll need to get some compost. And dig it in. And pull out the remaining bramble roots. And perhaps make a movie about it. And… and…

* Nurse! The sedative! *

I have to face two cruel facts:

1. I’m lazy
2. I’m fat

Proof of the first: Since Christmas, I have completed but one task at the allotment – manuring the asparagus. That’s it. Sod all else. This is a dismal performance, even by my low winter standards.

Proof of the second: None of my trousers fit. Some don’t even come close.

So I have a plan. To counter the laziness issue, I plan to do… nothing. And my response to being a porker will be… nothing. Because the main thing, when you’re in the shit, is to Face Up To The Truth. Action can come later, if ever.

I feel so much better for tackling the problem head-on. See how some simple, home-spun philosophising can change your whole outlook? I tell you, I should bottle this stuff.