FILLING THE EMPTY SPACES WITH AN ECHOING CROAK: An inconsequential record of a highland vegatable garden in spring.

For the first time we have decided to move outdoors this year. Having commandeered Norrie's shade tunnel in which he and his parents had nurtured their ever extending family of Rhododendrons, I re-covered it with plastic and started to grow leaves. Leaves; the one form of food that could transform our diet in the least space.Those of you who know me well may know that in my next life or my last I was or will be, a rabbit. Salad is my favourite food.

On December 8th 2011 we had a hurricane here and the poly tunnel, along with its plastic cover, flew to Aberdeen. We were then introduced to a sympathetic lose adjuster who helped me with the paperwork and eventually a new poly tunnel rose from the ashes of the massive destruction we suffered. A new, smart, tightly covered with proper doors type of poly tunnel, with rolling sides and ventilation control rather than the old sail flapping thing we had covered ourselves. It was erected by a Scotsman called Polanski which gave Norrie a bit of excitement thinking of films as he does most of the time.

My vegetable growing continued to flourish with more and more leaves, some bought from the catalogue of my sister who is clever at finding new strains. We sampled more or less peppery versions of mustard and rocket and radish and are still slowly learning which varieties do well in our short season and cold climate.

Of course poly tunnel gardening accentuates the seasonal climatic conditions. In the winter the air is still and cold and damp and mildew proliferates. In the summer the heat can become intense and everything is capable of bolting within a week, so you start with a bountiful food supply and you end the seven days with woody stems and massive seed heads. Of course I cant bring myself to pull them all out because many look too sculptural for the hens or the compost heap and so the growing space gets smaller and smaller. This year I have a vintage Kale plant that must be two or three and each time it flowers and then goes to seed I cut them off and hang them up to dry with a fantasy of making Christmas decorations.

Last winter we decided to make raised beds. Outside raised beds to grow ordinary vegetables to swell our larder of organic food especially during the winter. Having constructed robust boxes from offcuts provided by Sandy after Norrie has helped him with a day at his sawmill, they were filled with sandwiches of tasty things that plants like to eat. First, a very heavy dose of seaweed, decorated with beads of mussel shells and occasional rounded pebbles attached to straps of kelp, went in at the bottom. The contents of a large collection of black plastic darleks, or compost bins as Henry Doubleday would describe them, came next. When you eat as many vegetables as we do, and having been a Zero Waste Scotland volunteer, it is amazing just how much half rotted organic matter a household can supply. Along with all the envelopes and cardboard packing, we fill about ten a year. Much of the time they do little but slowly rot as the chance of aerobic digestion is slim in this cold damp climate and so it was with glee that we emptied them all as the tasty filling in our raised bed sandwich. The final layer was our own compost. As our garden is a woodland variety we have industrial quantities of leaves which we painstakingly rake up over the winter months of November to March. Made in huge bins and layered with all the cardboard the Ardgour Stores can provide, along with more seaweed and chicken manure, our compost is a heady mix of delicious nutrients once the ribbons of parcel tape and occasional piece of cutlery have been removed.

Having got this far, our excitement had to wait as the boxes remained swathed in, this time, black plastic; the remains of a roll of damp-proofing from when the house was restored.
Despite the occasional glance under the plastic, we knew there was no point starting too early. Instead, I satisfied my impatience by sowing rows of radishes under fleece in the poly tunnel; seeds that take seven days to germinate, so that I could monitor the soil temperature and appease my impatient nature.

Things have changed now. We had some warm weather over Easter and again today. Every morning I watched, hawk like, to see when the first broad bean popped through, only to be bamboozled by the odd rouge potato that has sprouted from over enthusiastic peelings and disguised itself as a broad bean. It took three days to tell the difference from neo potato and broad bean and there were three or four occasions when my excitement was dashed by yet another fake. Things are at full throttle now and growth is surging. Suddenly you want it to slow down, to savour every small change and enjoy each prolonged moment. That is not the way of living in the North. Seven months of hibernation are replaced by growth that seems to have taken hormone powder and all you can do is sit an enjoy every breath, allowing yourself to get catch on the incoming tide of green.