I have a habit of not taking the weather forecast very seriously. I live in a little pocket of the country where more often than not, we miss the bad weather. This peninsula is sheltered, dry, and generally warmer than most other areas.
Therefore, I regularly take the forecasts with a pinch of salt, and sometimes I don’t even watch them.
Occasionally, this has cost me, like the time I planted out seedlings the day before 30 miles an hour winds. The unfortunate things didn’t stand a chance on an open area such as my previous allotment site.
Another Planting Out Cock Up
I have made this cock up again, but this time it is with my broad beans, and as well as wind, we’ve got snow too. To make matters worse, I covered the broadies with fleece overnight, which collected snow, gained significant weight, and flattened the plants. I forgot to shake the snow off the next morning. Oops.
Oh, and just to increase their suffering, the ground is still very heavy, but I still ploughed on with planting.
I’m putting my premature planting down to over-enthusiasm. With a new growing space, I am doubly excited for this year, which is why the rubbish weather is genuinely making me grumpy and at times, rather annoying to live with.
‘Shall I sow some parsnips, Ailsa? I could do, couldn’t I? No. No, perhaps I won’t. Unless I do them inside. Do you think they’ll be okay? Do you? Ailsa? Ailsa?’
Ailsa doesn’t care, and understandably so. We have a six-week-old child that requires attention. Parsnips aren’t really on her radar, however many times I ask.
In theory, the broadies should be okay. People overwinter these hardy plants, after all. I grew mine on a windowsill, before moving to the unheated greenhouse and hardening off for the last 10 days or so. They weren’t flattened for very long, and I’ve helped them stand up by pushing the soil tighter around the base.
Even so, I have found myself feeling sorry for the plants, and the unnecessary suffering of my broadies is causing me much eyebrow furrowing and pacing around.
‘Are you thinking about those broad beans again?’ Ailsa asks as I stand forlornly by the patio doors.
Yes. A lot. The poor things. If only I had curbed that enthusiasm.
Sorry broadies, I really am. Good luck out there. I’ll watch the weather forecast next time, promise.