So, the soup making has abated a little, mostly through being away a bit.
In the meantime, the seed potatoes passed on by Mum have actually been planted, and are starting to come up.
Mum and Dad grew potatoes in pots last year, and we were with them one weekend when we earthed up a pot. “Treasure!” said one. “Lucky dip bran tub!” said the other. (The parents, not the pots.) It is quite fun reminding yourself that potatoes do come out of soil, rather than pre-printed bags from the Co-op…
So, this year, we were given six seed potatoes, nestling happily in an egg box, with a useful instructions postcard which explained that we should put them in the soil, they grow, we put more soil on, they grow more, and we put yet more soil on.
I can’t tell you it was excitement I felt when I checked today and saw they’d done the first growing spurt, and were due their first soil top up. But at least they were doing the stuff.
Those of you who knew our previous flat in Inverleith would have seen our garden all in pots. I became confident with things that grow in shade, damp or both. (Scottish gardening at its best??) Moving to a garden with soil and grass, I became a bit afraid of the big stuff. Doing a job where activity peaks in spring and autumn doesn’t really help for gardening either.
Anyway, now we have some plants in the two flower beds, and plans for a further one. I suspect we’ll enlist the mums again. But for now, it’s back to stuff in pots. Self-contained (naturally) and satisfying. Almost as much as picking snails off things and whanging them over the fence into the gap between our garden and next door’s wall. That’ll set back their plans for world domination…for a few more hours.
I will of course give you an update when it’s tattie howking season, but if I’m lucky, I might even manage another food crop like lettuce before then. (The snails meanwhile think I’ve planted several: clematis, magnolia…)