Today has been a busy day. Dick van Duck was wide-awake and ready to rumble only ten minutes after he stopped squeaking for his (adoptive) mum in the early hours, or at least it seemed that way.
I don’t think Dick will fit in the laundry basket for much longer – he can already jump quite high and could, possibly, escape.
Knowing that once Dick is awake, there is no point in trying to sleep, I transferred him from his cage into the laundry basket. This has become a bit of a routine: while he is out of the cage, I can put it out in the sunshine to dry out the spillages from his water bowl.
Dick tucked in to the fresh bowl of food in the laundry basket, as I carried him upstairs to the kitchen. (Did I mention our house is upside-down? Yes, I did.) Once the basket was safely on the table on the roof terrace, I made a start on my job for the day.
Tucked behind the barbecue, out of the way, I have a black plastic dustbin that serves as my compost bin. A short length of hosepipe drains any liquid from the compost into a bottle. This nectar serves as plant food, and is largely responsible for the exuberant growth of our tubs of mint.
Not much room for many more plants. The compost bin is lurking behind the BBQ
Last night, I turned the compost bin out, and left it to dry slightly, ready for me to sort it out today. As usual, some of the contents had turned into lovely, soft, sweet-smelling compost, some of the contents had started to sprout, and some of the twiggy bits were stubbornly refusing to compost down. I started pulling obvious twiggy bits from the pile and returning them to the compost bin.
There is very little space on the roof terrace, as every possible surface is covered in plants. The mat of astro turf that belongs to the dog of the blog took up half the available floor space, and the table and chairs left me with almost enough room to put both my feet down at the same time. I tiptoed through the compost in my flip flops, trying not to think too much about what exactly was squishing between my toes.
No wonder we have to eat squeezed into the corner!
We decided to breakfast before I got too stuck in to the messy business. Crammed into the corner of the terrace, we tucked into our cereal while Dick tucked into his special baby duck food. His tendency to splash about can be somewhat off-putting: when you are not sure what is landing in your breakfast, having a cute little ball of fluff at the table seems a less than great idea!
After breakfast, at Geoff’s suggestion, I used half of the cage off an old fan to sieve the compost into a big black obras bucket. As there was no room on the floor for it, I put the bucket on the table, next to Dick in the laundry basket, and he watched the procedure with interest.
Don Pedro, or four o’clock plant. Seeds itself prolifically, and seems almost indestructible.
I found several potato plants in various stages of growth, a Don Pedro tuber which is determined it is not going to compost, and is sprouting for the third or fourth time, several sprouting avocado stones, and huge numbers of lovely red compost worms. I tried offering one to Dick, but he seemed rather afraid of it, so it lived to wiggle another day.
I was puzzled to find a mass of pale sprouts all in a clump, and struggled to work out what they were until I found a nispero seed attached to one of the seedlings. When I made my nispero chutney in early May, I had no idea that by July the seeds would be sprouting so well and trying to grow into new trees.
I returned all the unwanted and un-composted matter to the bin, and gloated over my large bucket, full of gorgeous home-produced compost. There is little in this life that is as satisfying as a good bin full of your own compost, unless you count the joy of a line of freshly laundered nappies, waving white and glorious from the line on a good drying day. Or a row of freshly filled jars of chutney. Or the last stitch in a handmade garment … OK, so quite a few things make me happy!
I was astonished to find that several hours had already passed, although I should have realised when I had to keep moving the parasol to avoid getting fried as the sun came over the roof and started to beat down upon the terrace. Dick squealed with alarm when I nipped into the kitchen to wash my hands, grab a drink and decide what to tackle next. He still seems convinced that if he can’t see me he will die. When I return to reassure him, he stands as tall as he can, straining to be picked up and comforted.
My baby salad leaf seedlings were looking crowded in their bucket tied to the railings, as were the beetroots I sowed a few weeks ago. I had a pepper plant that was looking too big for its pot, and the sprouted potatoes from the compost bin deserved a chance.
Baby salad leaves in a half fan case basket. I sprinkled a few more seeds to keep a constant supply throughout the summer.
The first job was to line the two halves of the fan casing, fill them with compost and plant them up with the salad leaves. I originally planned to wire the two together and make a hanging disc of salad, but I decided the plantlets looked too fragile to be messed about with very much, and the trial and error involved in such a scheme would probably kill them all. I was not sure how or whether watering my salad ball would work either.
As I was separating a couple of particularly tangled seedlings, a movement caught my eye. One of the other seedlings was moving. Dick had spotted some succulent lettuce, and reached through the gaps in the basket to grab it. He was busy pulling the plant into his lair. I rescued it hastily and gave him a piece that had broken off another plant.
While Dick dunked his trophy in his water bowl, I fashioned some cunning wire hanger contraptions and wired them onto the baskets. I stood them on top of a couple of plant pots, and considered my next move.
At this stage, all the best gardening programmes would say to water the plants with a fine rose on the watering can. I have no roses that fit the present can. It’s a bit like odd sock syndrome: I don’t remember ever having the right rose for any of my watering cans. It is one of the mysteries of the universe.
Home-brew wire hanger completes the job. Now to see if any of them survive!
The hanging baskets were rather Heath Robinson, so I decided I should also improvise a watering device. I stabbed an empty Casera bottle several times around the bottom, almost filled it with water and screwed the cap on. Turned upside-down, it hardly leaked at all. Turned back the right way up, it showered water almost like a watering can with a suitable rose. Fab! I watered the baskets, put them under the shade of the umbrella, and moved on to the beetroots, the potatoes and the pepper.
The beetroots all fitted into a window box (we plan to eat them when they are still very small,) and were soon watered and tucked in a shady spot to recover from their ordeal. The potatoes and the pepper plant were all potted up into cheap buckets from the Chinese shop. I have found that with a couple of holes made in the bottom, they make great plant containers, and can be securely roped to the outside of the terrace railings, thus borrowing a little more space in which to grow things.
An old parsley plant that had gone to seed provided a lovely new diversion for Dick. I gave him one of the umbrels, and he attacked it with glee. He pecked at it. He threw it in his water bowl. He trampled it underwater. He pooped on it. He shook it until the seeds floated around on the surface, and then happily scooped them up.
Buckets lashed to the outside of the railings
While Dick was occupied, I swept up the detritus from my potting exploits. It was getting far too hot to stay outdoors, so I went to pick up Dick’s laundry basket. It was carnage! His repeated stamping through his food bowl with wet feet had helped him transfer almost all his food into his water bowl. His tussle with the parsley and his splashing about had spattered water all up the sides and drenched the old tea towel in the bottom of the basket. There were liberal amounts of duck poo both inside and outside the basket. (I must get myself organised about collecting it for fertilizer!)
The only thing for it was to give Dick a swimming lesson in the sink, while I cleared up the mess. He splashed about happily, dipping his head under the water and craning up to look over the edge of the sink to make sure I was still there.
Once Dick was safely back in his clean basket, we came downstairs to recover from our exertions. As Dick quietly preened himself, I sank into the sofa to grab a quick forty winks. When dealing with a growing duck, you need to grab any opportunity you can, before the madness starts again.