Radishes There is always something wonderfully encouraging about the first crops to appear on the allotment. Long before the tomatoes begin blushing red or the beans start climbing in earnest, the radishes quietly get on with the job, pushing their ruby shoulders through the soil almost before you have finished sowing them. They are one of those vegetables that reward impatient gardeners. Within just a few short weeks, neat rows of bright pink globes are ready to harvest, oft

Tomato and Basil Grown together smells devine! Every gardener has their little rituals. The old habits that return each spring almost without thinking. Seed trays appear on windowsills, muddy boots gather by the back door, and suddenly every available surface seems to hold a pot labelled in slightly smudged handwriting. For me, one of those rituals is planting basil and French marigolds alongside my tomatoes in the greenhouse. Some people may think it looks a little chaotic c

There is always something rather hopeful about this time of year in Dorset. The garden begins to wake properly, seed packets appear on kitchen tables beside cups of coffee, and every year I seem to convince myself that this will be the year I grow the perfect tomato. This spring, however, I may have got a little carried away. Tucked amongst the usual dependable favourites was a packet of rather unusual tomato seeds called Ananas Noir — a name that sounds more suited to an old

Calendula There is something wonderfully old-fashioned and joyful about growing edible flowers. Once common in cottage gardens and country kitchens, edible blooms are now making a welcome return — adding colour, fragrance and delicate flavour to everything from salads and cakes to teas and summer drinks. Better still, many edible flowers are incredibly easy to grow. Whether you have a sprawling garden, a greenhouse, raised beds or simply a few pots on a patio, you can grow fl

There is a moment each spring when the garden quietly changes gear. The soil begins to warm, the light lingers a little longer in the evenings, and suddenly the rhubarb patch bursts into life as though it has been waiting patiently all winter for its grand entrance. Those first rosy stems feel wonderfully reassuring. They arrive before the soft fruits, before the tomatoes, before the kitchen garden truly gets going — a cheerful reminder that the growing season is properly und

There is something deeply satisfying about a new gardening experiment, especially when it promises thrift, tidiness, and a dash of ingenuity. This spring, with seed trays crowding the greenhouses and not a spare pot in sight, I found myself turning to the delightfully named “seed snail” method. It sounded whimsical, practical, and just a little bit eccentric — which, in my experience, is often the mark of a very good gardening idea indeed. The principle is beautifully simple.

There are some outings that feel less like errands and more like the gentle opening chapter of a season. My recent trip to the Somerset Levels in search of the Somerset willow growers farm, to purchace some green willow turned out to be exactly that — a afternoon full of fresh air,warm sun, muddy tracks, and the kind of quiet enthusiasm that only gardeners truly understand. A Spring Journey to the Levels With the car boot cleared and a flask of coffee packed, we set off , he

The asparagus bed and I have reached that familiar stage of a long-term relationship: five years in, still hopeful, slightly exasperated, and convinced that this season might finally be the breakthrough. When I first planted the bed, I imagined armfuls of spears each spring. The reality has been… more modest. It’s improving, certainly, but not quite the abundance I had pictured when those crowns first went in. Gardening has a wonderful way of gently adjusting expectations wh

There’s a particular morning each spring when you step outside and realise the countryside has quietly changed overnight. The air feels softer, the hedgerows have that faint green haze, and the garden suddenly looks as though it has shrugged off winter. Around here, that moment means one thing: asparagus season has arrived. For a few fleeting weeks, farm gates sprout handwritten signs promising Fresh Asparagus Today. Supper plans change. Market baskets fill with green bundles

There’s something about this time of year that really gets the motivation going again down at the allotment. After the slower winter months, it feels good to finally get things moving, and this week I’ve made a proper start on one of my beds. I’ve decided to experiment a bit by planting a mixed bed of carrots and garlic together. The idea behind it is simple but (hopefully) effective — using companion planting to help keep pests at bay. In this case, the strong smell of the g

This is a guest post kindly send to me from one of our readers David. Carrots are root vegetables, first grown in Afghanistan around 900 AD, and a hundred years later in the Middle East and North Africa, both domestically and wild.They were found in Europe six hundred years later.This vegetable is best known as orange coloured, but early carrots were purple, yellow or white just like the “new breed “of carrots on sale today in supermarkets. Plus ca change! The orange carrots

This year, I’ve decided to switch things up a little with my pea growing. Instead of the usual varieties, I’m focusing on mangetout, along with another favourite returning for a second year — the purple magnolia sugar snap peas, grown again from my own saved seed. There’s something especially satisfying about sowing seeds you’ve saved yourself. It feels like the allotment coming full circle, and I’m looking forward to seeing how this year’s plants perform. To give everything

There’s a fresh mound of chocolate-brown earth right in the middle of my allotment, as neat and round as a cottage loaf. Another one appeared overnight, and then a third by the freshly planted Swiss chard seeds. It seems I have acquired a new tenant — a mole — and while I admire its industry, I can’t pretend I’m thrilled about the redecorating. Now, I’ve nothing against the little fellow. In fact, I rather like the idea of him tunnelling away beneath the soil like a tiny, vel

If you ever find yourself meandering through Dorset lanes with a few spare minutes and a boot that isn’t quite full of plants, I can highly recommend a detour to Mill House Nurseries in the delightfully blink-and-you-miss-it village of Owermoigne. I say “detour,” but in truth it has become something of a ritual. If I’m passing, the car simply turns in of its own accord. The tomato temptation problem 🍅 This time of year is especially dangerous because the tomato house is in

I had one of those small but special moments at the allotment recently — the kind that reminds you just how full of life these spaces really are. While turning over a compost heap, I came across a young slow worm. At first glance, it’s easy to mistake them for a small snake, but on closer inspection, you realise they’re something quite different — and actually a very welcome sight. I quickly and very carefully put it back in its hide away and covered it back over. I felt quie

When I first started growing from seed, I did what most gardeners do — I bought a bag of seed compost, filled a tray, scattered my seeds, and hoped for the best. Sometimes it worked beautifully. Other times I was left staring at a forest of thin, leggy seedlings or patches of bare compost where nothing had germinated at all. I blamed the weather, the seeds, even the position of the windowsill — but rarely the compost itself. It wasn’t until I began paying attention to what wa

There is something quietly miraculous about the moment you realise that spring has truly arrived. Here in Dorset, that shift feels especially sweet. One day the air still carries winter’s bite, and the next it is softened by birdsong, pale blue skies, and that unmistakable scent of warming earth. Over the past week, I’ve found myself lingering outside just a little longer each morning, cup of coffee in hand, sitting on the back step noticing the tiny signs of change. The gard

There is something so uplifting about stepping into the garden in March and noticing, almost overnight, that it is beginning to breathe again. After months of muted browns, silvery frost, and rain-soaked paths, those first flashes of green feel like a quiet celebration. Every tiny shoot pushing through the soil is a promise that colour is on its way — and oh, how I have been longing for colour. The beds that looked so still in January are now stirring with life. New growth i

At this time of year, my allotment feels quieter. The frantic abundance of summer has long gone, the beds mostly emptied and tucked in for winter. No more armfuls of courgettes, no tomatoes ripening on the vine, no beans daring me to keep up. What’s left standing now is sturdy, dependable, and a little understated: leeks. They’re the last ones out there, really. Tall, mud-splashed, and unfazed by frost, they feel like the allotment’s way of saying, don’t worry, I’ve still got

February can feel cold, grey, and far removed from gardening season—but for keen gardeners, it’s an exciting time. While outdoor sowing is still limited due to frost and cold soil, February is ideal for starting seeds indoors or under cover and preparing for a productive spring. My fingers defiantly get itching to start planting towards the end of February as do many keen growers. What you sow now depends on whether you have a heated propagator, greenhouse, cold frame, or w