Salt of the Earth (Part 2)

The Victorians were happy and so were the people – sort of. An estimated 243,000 allotments by 1873 meant that one in three labourers had a piece of land to grow vegetables amongst the Dark Satanic Mills. The other two out of three no doubt continued to fight, steal and starve, as the clergy who pushed for land reforms always feared they would.

Altruism,eccentricity and social reform aside, you can count on the British for two things: the weather is our number one topic of conversation, and we think there’s nothing quite like a good war to sort things out. Franz Ferdinand did more than launch a World War: he also thrust the carrot, the parsnip and the cabbage into the limelight.

Wars send young men off to a foreign field to knock seven shades of shit out of each other,leaving behind women, children and old geezers with empty fields, empty shelves and no handy banana boats for their dinner. Cue the First World War Victory Gardens, when the UK Government commissioned 1,500,000 back gardens and allotments to grow food for the masses.

It was a huge patriotic success with everyone doing his or her bit for the war effort. Hooray for vegetables and three cheers to the masses! And then the war ended and the Government quietly took all the land back whilst everyone Charlestoned and bobbed their way into the Jazz Age. Who needs patriotism when the Great War was the war to end all wars? Flowers are far prettier after all, and one Austrian a century is quite enough upheaval for anyone.

To be fair to the British Government they did pass a series of Parliamentary Acts in the 20s to strengthen the allotment – provision for annual rents, jurisdiction in the form of committees and local authority responsibility. From the 20s onwards you could keep hens and rabbits on your allotment and put up a shed. The shed is a wonderful place to listen to the radio of a wet autumn afternoon, particularly when the second Austrian of the century decides to turn the world on its head.

With German U-boats on the shore and rationing removing the daily egg and bacon for breakfast, the allotment once more was a saviour for the masses. There were nearly 2 million Dig for Victory allotments during the Second World War,producing a staggering 1,300,000 tonnes of food per year. And once again, the Government took back the extra allotments after the war.

The Act states that local councils must provide alternate land if they take allotment space back. Most allotments in the UK are on the side of a hill or down by the railway cuttings – they were never going to be prime real estate in the first place – and “replacement land” doesn’t specify the actual presence of earth. There are an awful lot of deserted car parks and bombsites in the UK...

Comments

[K.]

It being September, how about a little garden roundup from the readership?

Despite a blistering heat wave, my tomatoes are only now ripening properly. The standouts were the Ukranian blacks, mahogany colored bodies with green shoulders and a nice rich tomato taste. Great for slicing. I've been making pasta sauces with whatever heirlooms I collect that are too poorly formed for eating, and the results are just heavenly. Plate licking good.

Peppers are better this year, but still not yielding well. Likely I'll do them in pots in the front yard, which is almost desert like in midsummer. That said, Jimmy Nardellos were a standout, prolific and early ripening and sweet/hot goodness.

A great year for figs and prunes, I now have enough dried figs to last a year at least, and enough prunes to feed an army. A fresh prune is really a plum, and the bad associations with the name are completely unfounded. Drying them produced an OK product, but fresh or frozen is where it's at. The figs on the other hand _must_ be dried, as the fresh ones last only a few days and drying concentrates the sugars and make the whole taste like candy. In fact, I discovered chopped figs and honey applied to a graham cracker makes for a tasty desert.

Another thing about figs and prunes. The pleasure of eating them is matched by the pleasure of picking them. In the early morning hours, when things are still silent, you climb up your ladder into the waiting tree. Each fruit is felt for ripeness, the only way to determine when to pick. After about an hour of this, the humming birds begin to come, drawn by the smell. The shade of the Redwood and Doug Firs keeps everything cool well into the morning, so the work goes very easy and without sweat or strain. Bees amble by, looking to pollinate things, and pass without concern for the big monkey. Golden hours, these.

Herbs all did well; much basil oregano and thyme. After trying a few methods of preservation, I am finding that mixing the raw herb with olive oil and freezing to be the best way to preserve the fresh flavor. Pine nuts are so expensive now, and my stone pine is only 2 feet tall, so for now pesto is being made with toasted walnuts. By the way, don't be a fool and use a blender for this, _chop_ the ingredients with one of those half moon shaped knives in a steel bowl. You want a fine textured mix, not a paste. Despite growing about 50 basil plants, there will never be enough pesto.

As always, there were some spectacular failures. Young cuke plants were all eaten by birds, and the broccoli never sprouted. About the only thing I've had good luck direct seeding were snow peas and beans. Squash were OK but doing them in pots in the front yard was a mistake. Too hot. Still having difficulty getting the caneberries to bear properly, but this year there were no deer so I have some nice solid raspberry canes now ready to bear fruit next year.

[texas scott]

wow.what storytellers you both are.
please,i'm begging,tell us more!