Hello! I do hope you’re all well.
Welcome to this month’s Into the Orchard, a letter in which I share what’s been occupying our time, and minds, in the orchard for the last month. I’ll tell you about the orchard itself, the seasonal work we’ve been up to and share a recipe that you can make now to make the most of what’s available now (and what you can grow).
If you enjoy what you read, do hit the little heart at the bottom of the post and leave me a comment, I’d love to hear from you all!
As I gaze down to check my footing I spy a welcome leaf. Small seedlings that strive to reach beyond the meadow grasses to the skies above. Somewhat reptilian in their appearance; the yellow rattle lurks amongst the sward. Each year it spreads a little further; new to this patch this year. We focus on the spaces that surround our growing beds, where scything becomes tricky. The aim to quell the insistence of the grasses that invade amongst the soft fruits.
The gloom of the mornings has been disorienting. Blustery south westerlies blundering through branches unprepared for the chill they bring. The kind of wind that raises the question of where you lost your second glove and persuades tears to stream from eyes yearning a return to the warmth of the duvet.
For so many days this month the winds have called to the land. Grasping at late blossom and young fruit, transforming meadow to sea. The orchard is unsettled. Buds that have burst have set but under flat skies. Hail has smote the remaining petals and bitter winds have followed. By mid-May my mind is back in March.
March winds, April showers. The rhyme is unprepared for Mother Nature of recent years.
Young trees have gasped in relief as we quench their roots under a resistant sky. Seeds refuse to germinate and expose their delicate leaves to the cold. A sentiment I can relate to.
With the winds have come a sympathy for flying creatures. The swallows have returned and race with incredible finesse to snatch invisible insects. Linnets chatter in their parcels. Meadow pippits rise from flowing grasses. Pheasants scatter from undergrowth as we move too near. Hedgerow birds chitter as the sparrowhawk commutes above. Butterflies and moths rest frozen, waiting for radiance.
The remaining bees are thriving. Their queens laid well in early Spring; the potential for swarming always keen this month. Squalling showers, cool weather and heavy winds have added extra uncertainty on when they might choose to seek new refuge. One of the few warm days welcomed a swarm from a neighbouring keeper. In their most passive state, thousands of bees swirled around our heads in ever diminishing circles as they followed their roving queen into the heights of a holly tree in the hedgerow. A mystical experience enveloped in the vibrations of innumerable wings beating under the midday sun. Their common purpose mesmerising and enchanting. Gone by the evening, their innate drive forcing them one step ahead of their keeper. There’s an intimacy in experiencing the proximity of a swarm, the society of a hive mind. A privilege in the gentle partnership we offer. A respect in our appreciation for their wares. A mindfulness in their occupation and ours.
As the month draws to an end the temperatures nudge upward. The rains returned briefly and the trees look healthy, with blossom that surpasses our expectations after the efforts of last year.
How many fruits will set and how the trees will fare against the caterpillars remains to be seen as the summer advances.
The Orchardists
May feels like the month when the riot breaks through the meagre barrier holding it at bay. The unruly masses of bramble and nettles spring forth and multiply from hidden strongholds. Mice and rabbits rejoice in fresh shoots (and voles in roots) and nesting birds endeavour to gather under all the daylight hours. Hours that go beyond the stamina we can muster.
Some trees are bothered by caterpillars returning from last year. Leaves stripped down to mere stems or glued together in a meshwork of sticky nesting and cocooning. Hand picking the worst of this is challenging in the cold. We will the birds to get a taste for squirming and work a little harder to help maintain a balance.
We welcomed many of you in sharing the orchard on our open day. Woolen hats and anticipatory raincoats shone as beacons from amongst the trees. Fellow cider makers, orchard keepers and guardians joined and shared tales, skills and music over this harvest’s orchard ferments. The strengthening community you offer is a wonderful thing!
In early May I was hit with a cold. Let it be known that I am not a good patient. Unwilling to succumb I grumble along ungracefully growing ever more frustrated at my diminishing ability to perform the most basic of functions and get on with the things I want to do. Like writing and sowing seeds (admin and other such boring-adult-jobs are on the list but not in the ‘want’ category). For ten days I was insufferable. To myself. Then I jollied off Out of the Orchard and had a rather lovely time!
Amongst a month of unpredictability the returning crop of perennials has been a particular delight. One of the first crops (of non-orchard fruit) I planted was asparagus. Something I rarely bought but was eager to grow and harvest myself. Our soil is heavy, water retentive and clay based. Fertile but not the friend of many a crop. Raised beds were constructed and filled with a mix of hugle, barn floor and sand. Crowns planted I waited. The next year I planted more. In total twenty one crowns were welcomed. After ants and mice only eight remain but all eight are mature and fruiting. I’ll take that. If my adversaries would call a truce that would be lovely! So it is that, in predictable springtime form, I share an asparagus fuelled memory from this month. Nothing revolutionary, a classic and a worthy one.
Poached duck egg, crispy Parma ham, juicy asparagus spears and toasted pumpkin seeds. A light dusting of grated parmesan and a sprinkle of vetch shoots for fancy (if that takes your fancy).
Nothing fancy, no complicated techniques, just simple ingredients speaking for themselves.
We paired this with a still, single variety Ashmeads kernel cider - a russet apple that ferments out bright, clean and juicy with a hint of nutty depth.
Coming up in June
4th June - Fermentation panel discussion and tasting with Rose Whitehouse at Shillingford organics
6th June - Wellington Independent Market
13th June - Bridwell Artisan and Makers Market
13th June - Bridport food and drink festival
20th June - Exeter Quayside Market
20th June - Midsummer picnic at Rull Orchard
27th June - Ashridge Wood Fayre
27th June - Nest and Nettle Artisan and Vintage Market
Do come along and say hello!!
I love these windows into the orchard life, and am very glad to hear your cold has passed!