Archive for the ‘son of soil slaves away’ Category

Raised bed stomped into place, filled with loam (from the turves I scutted off two years ago when I got no 16) and strawbs planted, a row of garlic (Solent Wight) and a row of chard alongside.

Today's planting progress.

However, the satisfaction of that was offset by turning another patch of ground and encountering a snake’s honeymoon of couch grass:

Weeds of satan.

And yes, that’s the setting sun on the piles of turves behind. The couch grass roots are going onto a bonfire. 12 more sweetcorn seed were planted in fibre pots, 50 basil seeds planted and…this is entry is smelling of things-accomplished self righteousness. Time to stop.


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photo by Frank Meadow Sutcliffe

photo by Frank Meadow Sutcliffe


Frank Meadow Sutcliffe was a Victorian photographer par excellence, and probably Whitby’s most famous artist. The woman with her scut pyramid will have been from the area…for all we know the two scut pyramids shown were built on the very same spot.

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by product of the Herculean labours of the Allotmonaut! He should really have posed beside it for scale, but to give you an idea, that white thing in the background is a bathtub.

We’re going to build a house out of it when the Apocalypse comes. The scut, not the bathtub.

(Allotmonaut update: ‘scuttin’ is the local verb for cutting the top few inches of grass off as turves, the resulting ‘scut’ is stacked to break down into loam overa couple of years.  The next round of scut will be stacked to make the walls of the compost heaps, thus inventing dryscut walling.)

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