Earthed: lots of food from small spaces
I came across this article the other day, which I wrote about 10 years ago. Here's a lightly edited version, brought up to date.
In 36 years of marriage, we’ve lived in eight different places. That means eight gardens, two allotments, one orchard and one greenhouse. I’ve gardened in tiny backyards, and large half-acre plots; in deep damp shadow, and on the dry windswept top of the second highest hill in Suffolk (101 metres, if you’re wondering); in clay, and on silt; in suburbia, in the countryside, and in the city. In all those places I’ve grown food, or at least attempted to, and I encourage others to do so too.
This article is not simply about my passion, nor will I say much about sustainability, organic food, supply chains, waste, industrialisation, health, malnutrition, obesity, exploitation, factory farming, pollution, or even bees. You probably know about these things, and they’ve been discussed eloquently elsewhere. But these issues spring from one root: we in the West (i.e. the developed, privileged, wealthy, post-industrial, just-in-time supply-chained world) take food for granted. If we didn’t, if we understood food to be the miraculous gift it truly is, we would take more care, we would in fact caretake more effectively than we do.
Taking food for granted means that in the UK we have become complacent about importing around 40% of our food, and wasting 30%. As individuals we may find this horrifying, but as a society we barely consider it. Taking food for granted means that supermarkets provide umpteen varieties of cheese, biscuits, frozen puddings, oriental sauces… It means the appalling quality of institutional food… It means out-of-season produce – strawberries and cherry tomatoes at Christmas – and turning a blind eye to food miles and wastage alike... It means no understanding of how long vegetables take to mature (3-4 weeks for radishes; 9-12 months for broccoli)… It means no government emergency stocks – supermarkets are supposed to fulfil that role. I sometimes wonder what would happen if our supply chains broke down because of communications failure or fuel shortages or war.
Were they alive today my grandparents would be about 125 years old. Born and brought up in London, they were Londoners all their lives. They always grew food in their small back garden, as well as flowers, and my frail grandmother was still bottling apples in her old age; it would never have occurred to them to take food for granted. I think they were fairly typical of their generation.
Many people have an oddly negative attitude to food gardening: semi-apologetic shrugs of the shoulders, an implication that there are perhaps more important things to do. Many of us are time-poor, but there are other factors too. There is the cult of the expert, the idea that there is only one way to do things – this may lead to fear of failure. Many people are so disconnected from Nature that they are scared of or disgusted by creepy-crawlies, mud, rain, and cold. Many believe that growing food is terribly complicated – all that crop rotation, all those timetables – or that you need a big space. Some think that veg beds are ugly and best kept out of sight. And the overflowing shelves of supermarkets lead us to be complacent. And yet I sense a movement of the Spirit, a renewed appreciation for the wonders of Nature, a curiosity about where our food comes from, judging by the gardening and cookery programmes, books, and magazines. Because we all need to eat! Isn’t growing food the most important job on the planet? Try thinking of another job that’s actually more important – ask your children and grandchildren.
My family’s latest home is in central Bristol. Our town garden is about 40ft x 40ft. When we arrived in 2011 it was mostly concrete and overwhelmed by massive conifers, therefore extremely dry, dark, and sterile, with no insect life.
We ripped out the conifers, dug up the concrete, and in June 2013 built two eighteen-inch high raised beds, 9ft x 4ft, filling them with topsoil and bagged compost, at a total cost of about £180 (this includes labour). Inspired by an article in Permaculture Magazine, I liberally scattered all sorts of vegetable seeds into the beds, all at once, and also planted courgettes, tomatoes and beans. As in the wild, plants mature at different times (lettuces quicker than beetroot, for example), and are harvested when ready. In late summer the beds are dominated by the larger crops; beneath are small winter plants just waiting for the right time. Wildlife has come back to our garden: bees, hoverflies, butterflies, moths, ladybirds, lacewings, even frogs. And it’s very pretty.
I kept a tally of my harvests: by September 2013 we’d paid off the initial outlay; by December we’d eaten about £500 of veg.
Raised beds have many advantages: no digging; everything visible and accessible (both weeds and crops); soil doesn’t get compacted by being stood on; plants develop good root systems; no waterlogging; ease of watering. Close planting (or random sowing, in my case) means that weeds don’t have a chance. Everything is edible. Tools are minimal. I have a rake, a hand trowel, and a watering can. My most useful items are gloves, bean poles, string, and small secateurs (scissors would do just as well). I spend only about 10 minutes a day on my vegetables, and it’s amazing to eat fantastic produce grown just five yards from my back door.
I’m sure you’re keen to know what we’ve eaten! In varying quantities: lettuce, mustard, nasturtiums, sorrel, parsley, coriander leaf and seed, carrots, radicchio, chicory, rocket, radishes, spring onions, chives, chard, spinach, cress, watercress, marigolds, broad beans, runner beans, French beans, sugarsnap peas, tomatoes, cucumber, pumpkin, courgettes, peppers, chilli (in pot), cabbage, kale, beetroot, carrots, mouli. You can cook and eat the leaves and shoots of all beans, courgettes, pumpkins, peas, and also beetroot and carrot leaves. In late winter, to maintain soil fertility, I spread compost/manure on the soil surface – no digging.
There are inevitably losses or failures, due to weather or pests, and sometimes gluts, for the freezer or to give away, but this underlines how dependent we really are on Nature. It encourages us to be thankful, and to empathise with subsistence farmers who are absolutely dependent on their harvests. We become attuned to weather and seasons, and as we immerse ourselves in the Creative process we rediscover that we are part of Creation, not set apart.
This is low-cost gardening, with big returns, not just financial! This type of gardening busts the myths of time, money, expertise, dirt, tidiness, prettiness, and many others. It’s not difficult to grow food; seeds just love to do what they do best - germinate, grow, and produce more seed. Children love to be involved. There are community food-growing projects around the world involving the displaced and dispossessed – the homeless, refugees, former prisoners, troubled teenagers – which have a real impact on places and people. Growing food together brings people together. It’s also been shown conclusively that small plots are more efficient than large farms in terms of volume and variety of crops grown, and the wildlife supported.
We don't all have access to a garden, of course, but for those of us who do, I encourage us all to take some of the strain off the system, to grow a little bit ourselves, and to stand in solidarity with those who have no choice but to produce their own food.
