|The leaf-strewn path to the patch|
|A north-eastern autumnal scene; the womenfolk are tilling the land|
|My nemesis. "Ah, Mr Bindweed. You know, we're not so different, you and I..."|
There's probably nothing quite so satisfying as pulling up huge piles of this awful bounder of a plant. Slowly but surely, with every turned-over paving slab and every grabbed handful of roots, we'll prevail.
In harvesting news, we dug up the rest of the small patch of parsnips we planted way back in the spring. These probably win the prize for most amazing smell as they come out the ground; vegetal, peppery, floral and maybe a bit vanillary too- unbelievably good. As I've mentioned before, we really didn't do anything with these, although I have read that they do quite well in soil that isn't too rich with manure or fertiliser, which can cause them to split and send down additional roots. They've grown in a section that we had previously referred to as "death-patch", in recognition of it's amazing germination-preventing properties. Good old parsnips bucked that particular trend.
|All cleaned up|