Hello! Welcome to this section of my Substack called ‘Notes from the garden’. I have long had a dream of growing my own food. Follow me as I go from supermarket shopper and absolute garden novice, to growing and creating. The articles will be composed of two halves; a literary walk through my latest experiences followed by some more practical tips if you’re a novice gardener too. If you are a grower or a wannabe grower, I would love to hear your thoughts/tips/support in the comments. Anna xx
Caught between the hazelnut tree and beds of soon to be cabbages, it was almost a walkway. I looked this way and that. Here we are, she said. Unsure of what it was I was looking at, I knelt down to touch the ground. It’s just a patch of grass. We’re going to dig it up? To make a raised bed? To my knowledge raised beds were small and rectangular, perhaps with a bit of wood around the side to keep them up, they certainly didn’t require a patch of grass the size of a small table to be dug up for such a feat. If I’m honest I wasn’t even sure I had the muscles for it. Despite my light digging the week before at the butterfly patch, hefty groundwork with the spade had not yet been tested on my pre gardening arms. I had kind of hoped that I’d be eased into this community garden lark. That I’d perhaps be dancing among the daisies, a little light planting here and there, have a few seeds that would miraculously turn into a forest. Even a bit of watering. I could handle that. But the Saturday group leader had other plans. Big plans.
The garden already rested on the principles of permaculture with its own composting scheme, water collections and a hidden away forest garden. But we were to take it one step further, out in the open for all to see. A hügelkultur. The term hügelkultur she said, came from the German word for mound culture. Aptly named as some can reach up to 6 feet and are rich in bacteria and fungi; a self fertilising wonder. They start with a supply of rotting wood at the base with mulch, decomposing waste (think egg shells, manure, and vegetables) and compost piled on top. These layers encourage long term nutrient release. Over time, it would be self sustaining as the wood would slowly break down. The glorious microbiome of the soil tending to the fibrous barks and soft wood, with each colony of bacteria releasing enzymes to tackle the outer barks and carbon rich logs. Energy would be released fuelling the microbes in their day to day life; reproducing, feeding, attaching. With the breakdown of these organic molecules much needed nitrogen is released from proteins and DNA both within the tree and the decaying waste. Initially this nitrogen is used to break down the rotting wood by forming part of the biological structure of the bacteria and fungi themselves as they grow in size and number. Overtime, in a cycle of life and death and decay, the fungi, bacteria and wood will, on balance, release more nitrogen than they take in and therefore the hügelkultur itself becomes self fertilising.
There is something almost holy that appeals to me about this process, as if it is a message or some divine intervention. These days, death is never far from my mind. Before this particular day in the garden, Dad had asked if we would mind if he was buried, not cremated as set out in his will. Six months ago I would not have entertained such a conversation. With fear rising in my throat, it would almost seem an admission, a willing that the leukaemia would take him. But on that day as we watched the waves roll in, it seemed ok, and I found that I could almost…almost, breathe. As I grapple with endings on a daily basis, the sadness and the dark clouds that it may bring, I realise I am to nurture something that encourages this death that I am so desperately trying to avoid. Here in this bed it is an elixir of life. The DNA, the genetic blueprint of these trees, break down, re-entering the soil and the atoms of nitrogen within it begin to make a new structure, a new genetic basis for life to continue. The plants that we grow here in time will become part of us, the insects, the soil, the birds, as we all enjoy the fruits of our labour.
There are friends at the garden who also tend to the wildlife plots within the grounds of the churchyard, who see this magic in action. The atoms from souls now within the trees and the flowers that decorate the soil. It’s moments like this that make me feel as if I have stardust in my blood. The ever present connectedness of this life, the atoms of others within the fabric of our being, yet to become life in some other organism. This is my own elixir.
Would you like to know more about who I am, and this Substack Tides and Seasons? Click here to read my about page, here to read my first ever article, or here to read about why I started community gardening.
As we begin to dig into to the soil, the spades hardly entering more than a few centimetres, we laugh at the task ahead, barely imagining what it may or may not turn into. Fuelled by chocolate biscuits and an almost endless supply of tea, the conversation flows as we talk about impending trips to Canada, removing ourselves from the rat race and the results of a local election. Did you know there is a photographer taking pictures of the town’s oldest trees? With each cut into the soil I become more sure of myself and my spade. Spades I have realised, are like wands. There is only one spade for you, if you are lucky, two. And today I had found an awkward acquaintance with a rusty squared headed spade, with a light wooden pole, slowly splintering at the sides. A bright green handle with just enough grip allowed me to leverage out sections of top soil. It had seen many a gardeners hands. We were yet to flow together but we made progress nonetheless, the spade and I, in this unfamiliar arrangement.
A rush of air passed my ear, the robin glides by, her feathers just grazing my arm. As she takes residence in the nearby hazelnut tree, her head cocked to one side, her beady black eyes on us, I feel she knows something we don’t. There is almost an excitement about her as her head bobs, her tail wags, and she jumps from twig to twig. I feel elated at achieving this. Whatever this is, a patch of turfed up soil yes, but a commitment to something, to a new life I am prepared to live. To be a gardener. The sweat glistens on my brow, despite the lack of Winter sun. Somehow I end up with soil streaked across my face, a symbol of the war I am going to with the soil and myself. Before we know it, we’ve struck gold. This is what she was waiting for. As we turn the soil over we unearth the hideaway for some chafer grubs, living below the surface, feeding on the roots of plants found there. We had unwittingly taken away its supply. Worms fat with detritus, deep purples and pinks, woodlouse running over the soil and the nearby logs we intended to pile. As we lifted the logs. sacs filled with spider eggs became visible. The robin was thankful, this is what she had been waiting for. As we abandoned our patch to collect the logs, she swooped and soared, deftly collecting the lunch we had provided for her.
After piling the logs, the final act of the day was to remove the thorny bush at the end of our hügelkultur site that threatened to rip our arms to shreds on a daily basis. We talked as we snipped and pulled, and I found myself verbalizing all my thoughts and fears about Dad. I stop suddenly, catching my breath, annoyed at myself, worrying this is all I have to give these days. A melancholy, a discussion about life and death. But later on I scold myself once more when I receive a message from one of the Saturday team talking excitedly about what we have managed to achieve. To them it was just another part of the day, the beauty of the site and work that we do. When in life do you really get to talk about such topics. With the garden and the hügelkultur teasing it out of the depths of our minds, the discussion never felt out of place, in fact it felt quite the opposite. Soothed. Held. Heard. Whilst reading Weathering by the wonderful Ruth Allen, she reminded me of the quote by mythologist and storyteller Martin Shaw; ‘we make things holy by the attention we give them’ he says. Although to others this hügelkultur may seem like a big mound of dirt, to me it holds answers that I am yet to reveal. And as I turn over the soil for one last time, I take in the life I see in the depths and hope for the best. Or at the very least a better spade.
Starting your hügelkultur
Mark out an area you would like to use, and keep in mind that it is likely to be 3-4 times the size of your log pile, so plan accordingly. When you see our final version you will see we did not estimate ours, but it has brought us lots of joy (and laughter) to see it expand. It was called Colin the Caterpillar but now looks more like the Eurostar train!
Hügelkulturs do not have to be large, they can be very small, starting with just one log suiting more small to medium sized gardens.
Ensure the area is cleared so you have bare soil. If it is already bare, consider digging a trench for the hügelkultur so it can provide you with some additional soil, and a blank slate to work from.
Keep the top soil you have dug as this will be used as your final layer ahead of planting. You’ll need space for this. To make the job easier ensure it is somewhere nearby.
You need to use an open space and not a container to ensure oxygen can enter the hügelkultur and so that excess water may drain. It holds a wonderful amount of water, and keeps moisture beautifully, however on very rainy days and seasons it will need to be able to drain into the soil.
Ensure you have the right number and type of logs available to you. Soft woods are best. There are a small number of trees that release toxins that inhibit plant growth such as the black walnut which should be avoided. Often willows are more widely available, but you must check that they are completely dead before using. Willow will just start to grow again, and take the nitrogen away from the plants we are trying to fertilise.
The logs can come from dead or fallen trees, it can also include twigs and branches. If using a mixture, start with the logs first.
And so with that we have come to the end of the first step of creating the hügelkultur. I have to admit I did think the hügelkultur would be just one post, however, I am realising that there is just so much to say. This process is a slow and mindful one. It has taken us 8 weeks working on it once a week to get to a point where we can begin planting. This of course could be sped up if worked on daily. However, leaving the bed to settle between each layer, allowing the rain to set in and the kultur to naturally shift and fill any gaps on its own has been useful. There are many articles that suggest starting this process in early Winter and leaving to settle for a month or two before planting. If this isn’t the right time for you now it might be something to consider as you go through the year.
Next week I’ll be sharing more about the forest garden as we finish the planting on our hügelkultur. But don’t worry there will be more to come on the layering process in future weeks as well as tips for avoiding the scrapes and scratches I inevitably ended up with! And maybe, just maybe I might have found a better spade!
Looking forward to hearing your thoughts in the comments below.
With love,
Anna xx
I am writing this essay as part of the 24 essays club with the wonderful
you can read more about the essay club below.
Interested in reading your posts about this
Gardening is so powerful. I'm glad you're finding joy amidst sorrow.