Patricia Thompson moved with her husband, Brian, to the secluded little Henstridge holding of Quiet Corner Farm 40 years ago. It included an orchard of about eighty apple trees. She has worked hard over the seasons to be a good caretaker of the land she tends. The orchards now comprise aged and younger, recently planted specimens.

“I’ve done my best to preserve an old orchard,” Patricia told me as we drove to the Bath & West Showground with a consignment of her own apple juice a fortnight ago. “The tithe map of 1839 shows the orchards were already in existence. When I first came here in 1970 Rosie’s Cider came to collect the apples.”

Gradually commercial interest dwindled so Patricia decided to use the fruit herself. She started to sell boxes of apples at the farm gate and then, about eight years ago, touted her wares at Farmers Markets in Wincanton, Sturminster and Shaftesbury. As raw fruit apples are a low value crop but much fun was had.

Then Sue Place from The Balsam Centre in Wincanton approached her with a proposal to run an independently funded juicing project.

“Without really knowing what we were doing, we brought a press and crusher,” Patricia recalls. “Seven villagers did but the work was hard and heavy. It started well but gradually drifted. In the end a Slovakian girl and local mum came every Tuesday and Thursday. We sold juice at Farmers Markets. Then we lost them too.”

Inspired by the potential of her annual crop, Patricia got better kit and invited anyone with apples to bring them along and make their own juice. It was a roaring success. In 2009, over forty people came.

Patricia says the process is remarkably simple. Apples are pressed, the juice strained and collected, bottled then heated to 180 degrees C to pasteurise. After that caps are fitted and, hey presto, you take home your own homegrown juice at a bargain £1 per bottle.

Quiet Corner Farm juice is Patricia’s pride and joy, and the reason we’re headed up Shepton-way. She’s entered juices in the Single Variety Apple Juice Class (Warrior, a Dorset apple and Ashmead’s Kernel, a Russet-type) and also the Mixed Class, which is a random blend of varieties. She confesses to feeling excited after refining her technique to produce something which, I can vouch, is an absolute delight to consume.

“It’s a learning process. The secret is tasting juice straight off the press as it pours out. Put a glass underneath and have a good drink,” she grins. “If it’s too sweet shove in more Bramley’s or something sharp-tasting.”

It’s the day before the Show opens. Patricia could have taken her entries to Gaymers in Shepton to be collected with others from as far a-field as Truro in Cornwall and Bradfield St Clare, Suffolk, but she wanted to do it personally. Combining luck and judgement, we locate the Cider Tent, which is where the juicing competition will be held. There’s a makeshift bar taking shape, full of demi-johns and bottles. She hands over her entries and we sit down for a spot of lunch. She says she’s unhappy with her presentation. “I wasn’t thinking about things like matching bottles,” Patricia confides, slightly gloomily. “I think that sort of thing helps.”

Four days later she rings me with great news! Quiet Corner Farm won Second Prize in the Blended Class. “I feel quite elated really,” says the soon-to-be 81-year old.

Copyright, Joe Hashman June 2010

www.dirtynails.co.uk

This week Dirty Nails has been both sowing, tending and eating cabbages. This green-leaved doyen of the veg patch comes in many different varieties that can be sown and harvested practically year-round.

On the plot, he has just put down a line of January King 3. This handsome customer is a big, fat, heavy ‘winter cabbage’, so-called because a harvestable state is attained from December. Warm, moist, weed-free soil is ideal for receiving cabbage seeds. Dirty Nails works from flat wooden boards which spread his weight and protect the growing medium. He turns and rakes the earth into a fine and level tilth, then marks out straight rows with string tied tight between two canes. After carving out a 2cm-deep furrow with a finger tip and depositing the magic pieces sparingly but evenly into this, the back of a hand is employed to brush soil back over and pat it gently even. Soon baby cabbages will be emerging and, when large enough to handle comfortably, the weakest will be removed so that those left standing are at roughly 5cm intervals.

Filderkraut is the German cabbage variety of choice for making sauerkraut. It is a ’summer cabbage’ which, from a sowing made in the greenhouse during February, should yield really sizeable, pointed heads of densely folded leaves from late July to September. Dirty Nails planted his charges out into firm and fertile ground in April. They have thrived since then but a couple succumbed to the cabbage root fly at the weekend. This insect lays eggs around the stem base. Hatching maggots burrow to the cabbage roots and feed away merrily before pupating, emerging and repeating the cycle. Afflicted members of the cabbage tribe go pale and droopy. With no roots for anchorage, the gentlest of tugs will pull them out. Swift removal is advisable. The only non-chemical solution is to fit 10cm-square pieces of carpet underlay, or purpose-made collars, around the stem to act as a physical barrier. But as with all good plans, sometimes even that don’t work!

In the kitchen, the superb so-called ‘spring cabbage’ Wheelers Imperial is on the menu. Seeds were sown on 12 August last as advised on the packet and, since May, some wonderful flame-shaped hearts have graced the dinner table. Spring cabbage literally melts in your mouth, being arguably as near to a gourmet vegetable as a cabbage can be.

SEEING THE LIGHT

There’s something special about the light in June. Perfect cloudless blue-sky days are an obvious example, but when sun-rays break through the cloudy blanket after a showery outburst the crystal-clearness can be truly breathtaking. Perhaps it’s the essential moisture that enhances such vivid lushness. Birds certainly sing in those first few minutes of sunshine from rooftops and billowing hedges with reinvigorated gusto.

The happy gardener, that is he (or she) who has braved the rain and in appropriate clothing carried on regardless, is rewarded with being in amongst it at just the moment when already amazing colours become brilliant.

The warm kiss of sun on his back is what prompts Dirty Nails, head down amongst his crops and weeding, to stop, look around, stand up from crouching, place his hands on hips and stretch his back whilst absorbing the life-enhancing spectacle of plants in their prime, growing.

Such moments may be fleeting or might last all afternoon, but they are one of those freely available perks of the job which get him up and at ’em first thing every morning.

Copyright, Joe Hashman June 2010

www.dirtynails.co.uk

The pace of growth in the early summer garden can come as something of a shock. May and June are prolific months in terms of the quantity of ’biomass’ (green stuff) which emerges from a patch of ground then develops into some quite amazing flowering plants. The vitality of weeds never ceases to amaze even Old Hands, with years of growing experience behind them. It is not unusual to occasionally feel overwhelmed by the regenerative power of the plot at this time of year.

Dirty Nails is no exception. This week he surveyed the scene of a wonderfully productive but recently neglected vegetable garden. In less than a month straight rows of potatoes, onions, shallots and beans had been lost in a ruck of quick growing, ground covering, ’ruderal’ weeds. Many were at the point of flowering and what comes next is thousands of seeds. Worse still, throughout this mix the strangling stems of bindweed, or ’withy-wind’, was twirling and curling wherever it could find a vegetative scaffold on which to get a hold. Even the rhubarb had been swamped and a tempting spread of strawberries, themselves flowering in advance of fruit, had become a lush carpet of green.

Dirty Nails started by reclaiming the paths, using a trowel to loosen the roots of larger flowering specimens and tease them carefully, roots and all. It was the same with the dreaded bindweed, though he never expects to extract the whole plant. Bindweed roots are phenomenal. It takes years of consistent shoot pulling to weaken the offenders to a point where one might be tempted to claim victory. Given that many weeds will ripen and distribute their seeds even after hoiking out the ground, and that mixing even tiny lengths of bindweed root in a compost heap is always a mistake, Dirty Nails resorted to flinging the lot atop a hot bonfire and letting the flames work their sanitising magic.

This was just a start. But defining clear access encourages further work. Tidy paths and edges immediately call the place to order and show to all and sundry that, at the peak of the season, someone cares.

Copyright, Joe Hashman June 2010

www.dirtynails.co.uk

A characteristic of the Dorset landscape is small, remote, so-called ‘farm woodlands‘. These tend to be pockets of inaccessible trees. As with so many things these days, their survival depends on being financially viable – in other words, in order to please the eye and play a crucial role in nature conservation, they have to make money.

Not so long ago this wasn’t a problem. As recently as the 1940’s, woodland products provided for all sorts of everyday bits and bobs from fencing to tool handles to building materials. Post-War, life changed. Wood was superseded by other, cheaper and supposedly more durable materials.

Farm woodlands suffered as a result. After generations of consistent management, during which time people and wildlife had established a mutually beneficial co-existence, the copses and spinneys often became neglected, grubbed out to carve bigger fields or planted with shade-casting, soil-acidifying, non-native conifers.

The reason why working English woodlands are so rich in plants and animals is because constant cutting, regrowth and cutting again creates a patchwork of different sized and aged trees. It is precisely this range of development which wildlife finds so beneficial. As my mother always told me growing up, “Variety is the spice of life.”

Last week I turned off the beaten track and up into an isolated woodland to meet charcoal maker Jim Bettles, a few miles south of his Hazlebury Bryan home. Jim has been breathing new life into the countryside for 14 years now and I wanted to witness the man and his team, Sam Lewis and Mike Frost, in action.

Jim explained how wood is cooked in a number of circular, metal kilns. A bed of half-burnt logs called ’brans’ is laid down. Logs are stacked on the brans, around a narrow chimney in the centre with charcoal at the bottom. When the kiln is full, the chimney is removed. Ignited charcoal is dropped down the core onto the charcoal at the bottom. This catches fire and ignites the brans. The fire spreads out then up. Air flow is strictly controlled via vents and the kiln, now lidded, is left for between 12 and 20 hours depending on the type of wood and how dry it was to start with.

Jim monitors the colour of the smoke which rises. It begins thick and white, changes to dirty brown, thins considerably then turns blue. The best charcoal results just after the dirty brown stage, as the smoke is thinning. At this point Jim and the lads block all the vents to starve the fire of oxygen. 24 hours later the fire will have died and the charcoal cooled enough for removal and packaging into brown paper bags.

Jim has over a hundred retail outlets across the county. He delivers personally and to order. His charcoal costs £4.50 for 3kg which is often a pound dearer than the imported stuff. But he believes this extra cost truely reflects the work involved and the ’green’ credentials of locally produced charcoal. Also, he tells me, it is a much higher quality product.

“English hardwood trees make charcoal which is less dense than rainforest wood or mangroves. There are many more channels for air to get into it and so it’s much easier to light. You don’t need to mess around with firelighters, just strike a match.”

Jim’s equipment is mobile. He works with foresters to utilise timber anywhere in Dorset. This negates expensive haulage costs so the landowner, contractor and charcoal maker can all profit from sustainably managed woodland.

Dorset Charcoal Company, 01258 818176 or visit www.dorsetcharcoal.co.uk

Copyright, Joe Hashman June 2010

www.dirtynails.co.uk

This week I’ve been been picking the broccoli-like shoots of a quick-growing vegetable known in its Southern Italian homelands as Broccoletti and elsewhere as Rapini. As seed in local shops and garden centres it comes, pre-packed, as Broccoli raab ’60 days’. Five hundred magic pieces cost the same as a loaf of sliced bread. The returns, by way of the pleasure derived from cultivating and eating these vitamin and mineral rich ’greens’, is considerable. Raw or steamed, everything is edible including stems, leaves, buds and yellow blooms. The mild mustardy taste is arguably at its succulent best when flowers are on the cusp of opening.

Broccoli raab ‘60 days’ can be sown a little and often directly into soil from February through until September / October. Early and late sowings will perform better if afforded the protection of a cloche. This might be a small wire tunnel of stretched horticultural fleece or clear plastic, or fleece simply laid on top but weighted at the corners (a ’floating mulch’).

Seeds sown in the peak growing season are frequently ready to crop within six or seven weeks. A sunny patch of the garden is recommended but partial shade is wholly appropriate for raising Broccoli raab ’60 days’ in high-summer. Every weed and remnant of root must be studiously removed and the soil broken into a fine and crumbly medium with a rake to create a crumb-like ’tilth’. Any well-rotted manure or compost incorporated into the top 25cm or so at this time will only improve returns.

Mark the rows with string tied tight between two canes and, when planning to establish more than one parallel row, allow 30cm between. Then, using the string as a guide, take out a 1.5cm deep drill right along the length of each row with your finger tip. A drill is simply a shallow trench which will receive the seeds.

The drill is best thoroughly moistened before sowing with a gentle but consistent dribble from a can. I find this important aspect of seed-sowing preparation is much easier to execute accurately if the can is only half-full to start with. It is far less unwieldy that way. Keeping the sprinkler attachment which fits on the end of the spout (correctly but confusingly called a ’rose’) in place also assists with manipulating the flow. Once the pre-moistened drill has absorbed its ration of the good stuff, sowing demands unhurried concentration.

Broccoli raab ‘60 days’ seeds are tiny brown spheres, very much like the turnip (to which raab is closely related). Even and measured sowing is helpful in ensuring the contents of a pack go further and that future thinning out of seedlings is less wasteful. If you’re a leftie like me, cup the seeds in the palm of your right hand and take a pinch between thumb and first-finger of your left. By rolling them softly together you should be able to deposit the embryonic pieces more or less one at a time.

Germination can be swift in June. After a few days it is sensible to remove weak and overcrowded specimens so that the fledgling plants are not touching. Further thinning affords ever more room for the seedlings to grow. In rich, fertile ground I afford around 10 to 15cm between his charges, which is considerably less than commonly recommended.

Generous and regular watering (in the evenings) keeps leaf-nibbling flea beetles at bay and produces luscious plants. With care, a row of Broccoli raab ’60 days’ can be picked over numerous times.

Copyright, Joe Hashman June 2010

www.dirtynails.co.uk

It’s just under a month until midsummer. Plenty of time to make plans and keep our fingers crossed that the weather is going to be lovely. Hot and sunny at all the right times (weekends and Bank Holidays preferably) is what most of us want. I’ve no crystal ball so, like the next person, listen to the forecast with half a tongue in my cheek and look up at the sky each morning on stepping outside.

One of the nations favourite pastimes on a warm and pleasant evening is to have a barbeque. When our kids were younger I came home with a metal barbeque and announced we‘d be eating dinners ‘al fresco‘ for a few nights. It was after at least a week of this that my step-son put his foot down and insisted he wanted to have his grub on his lap in front of the telly. And quite right too!

If you’re considering having a barby this weekend then think about where your fuel comes from. The harsh reality is that ninety per cent of all the charcoal burnt in the UK is imported from some of the most exploited and endangered habitats in the world. Remember the Indonesian tsunami of 2004? One of the reasons why it was so devastating was that the mangrove swamps which act as a buffer between land and sea had been destroyed to such an extent that there was no natural protection. Mangrove is one of the commonest woods used for cheap charcoal imports.

I remember being shocked some years back when I read the small print on a bag of charcoal for sale in a petrol station here in Shaftesbury. It said ’Product of Sumatra’. It could have been mangrove or tropical rainforest, another endangered habitat which is absolutely vital to the long-term health and survival of life on earth.

Imported charcoal costs so little because the raw materials are dirt cheap. This includes the price of labour. Those who make charcoal in these far off places get nowhere near what could be considered a ’fair wage’. So, while the businessmen who run these companies make a hefty dollar, the environment and people who do the hard work get ripped off. I made an ethical decision not to make the purchase. As a member of the public, actively choosing not to buy in to that system is the most powerful statement I can make.

Local charcoal is better in every respect. It is sustainable and encourages a diversity of wildlife in woodlands by managing them in ways which are gentle and sympathetic to the needs of plants and animals. Think of a bluebell wood. Those flowers have evolved to bloom early, before tree leaves come out and cast dense shade. If a bluebell wood becomes so overgrown that shade is permanent then they, and other spring beauties, can’t flourish. Regular cutting of the trees every few years, known as ‘coppicing’, ensures that there are always good conditions for wildflowers, the trees live indefinitely and, happily, excellent bird nesting opportunities result as different stages of coppice re-growth create a mosaic of habitats.