Month in the life of an urban gardener: January 2025.
The tasks, problem solving, wildlife spots, learnings and reflections from an organic food grower in a North London kitchen garden.
Welcome to this separate reflection — as part of the Food-Fibre-Fashion publication — on what it’s like to be an urban organic food grower. This started as short snappy videos to condense moments across a month, before realising that actually the narrative and context behind them could be useful, whether successes or mistakes.
As this is part of the wider Food-Fibre-Fashion publication that shares essays, articles and resource newsletters, there will be stories and musings to raise your awareness of how interconnected these systems are, even when we’re looking in small scale, such as an urban garden.
Watch reels of previous months here → December 2024. / November 2024. / October 2024. / September 2024. / August 2024. / July 2024. / June 2024. / May 2024. / April 2024. / March 2024. / February 2024. / January 2024. / December 2023. / November 2023. / October 2023. / September 2023. / August 2023. / July 2023. / June 2023. / May 2023. / April 2023. / March 2023.
This is the fifteenth in this series of articles — A Month in the Life of an Urban Gardener. To read about the context of where I work, head to the first article.
Watch January 2025 in the form of a reel here.
You can also listen as a podcast on Spotify, Apple Podcasts — and below →
Images: The garden at various times, with mostly overcast damp days as in photo 1, but with beautiful pink-orange sunsets as with photos 2 and 3.
Sowing.
Potting on camomile —
Previous attempts at sowing camomile were a failure. Each prior two occasions had seen the person make too much of a broadcast so the seeds were on top of seeds rather than the seed mix (coir, vermiculite, perlite, seaweed meal). They either didn’t germinate or they dampened off. Camomile seeds are the tiniest lightweight brown speckles, and so oversowing when doing a broadcast is tricky for reasons of wind, even distribution, and being able to see where you’ve been.
Somehow my two broadcast trays germinated exceptionally quickly and well. The soil must’ve been just moist enough, and the seeds were uncovered, with a good amount of heat from below. We eventually pricked them out in clumps into modules of potting mix; their roots were so fine, but apparently strong enough (and were tamped down well) to bed in. Each potted on clump was then potted on further into individual modules, and we had something like 16 trays of 6 plants (96 plants!)
Unfortunately we were having lots of frost pockets so deemed unsafe to plant them out when the ground would get hard. However, by mid March they were yellowing — a usual sign of chlorosis; lack of nutrients — and as they’d been in the potting modules for a couple months, they went in the ground on 17th March.
Potting on parsley —
I can’t even remember why we had parsley seedlings. They must’ve been sown in November when the planted out parsleys had been cut and so preparations for their succession were being made. The seedlings were potted on anyway, and with a sunny window, were big enough to be planted out on the edges of the salad beds.
Planting out mustards —
These were crops that had been sitting around and not put in the ground because winter had arrived. They hadn’t grown enough to survive reality, and so sat in the cold frames until January when they’d had a growth spurt. We backfilled gaps in the polytunnel and in the glasshouse, and then some additional stragglers that grew more in February were then planted outside. Because of random surges in winter warmth they were already close to bolting, but at least they existed for a better function for a couple months rather than destined for compost before they’d even had a chance.
Images: 1. Camomile seedlings were pricked out into bunches to grow on; 2. Chicory and mustard seedlings potted on; 3. Poor volunteer on a damp day planting out parsley into the salad beds.
Pruning.
Currant and gooseberries —
This is a job that doesn’t feel like a job. It’s a task, because there are around 50 bushes, some of which are well established so can take an hour to prune, but it’s not necessarily heavy. It can be cumbersome to move around, and I’m always scratched when it comes to the gooseberries and worcesterberries. Yet there’s a serenity. Perhaps it’s due to control. To feeling there’s consolidation and readiness. They’re tidy and sorted out, and it’s easy to see what’s going on. During summer when they’re in full leaf and stem and fruiting, they’re chaotic. But there’s a satisfaction in cultivating these bushes so that we get a great fruit crop, pretty much free of pest and disease.
Images: 1. Fruit buds at the top of a currant branch; 2. What I call "danger kindling" because it's all the spiky gooseberry prunings ready for drying; 3. Redcurrant shrub layer in the orchard nicely mulched with a woodchip and compost loo waste doughnut.
Hazels —
A task split between us staff and the volunteers. Volunteers did a hack job, and we tidied up. I’d already given some candid words to one volunteer to say I’d prefer them to leave me to do the big cuts, after their technique last year [it was taken well], though we also had some new folk that needed teaching. I recognise that some will teach with the basics, while I want to ensure there’s an understanding of why I’m being so picky with my instruction. On this occasion it was that pruning isn’t just to get rid of stuff, but to ensure the health of the tree and the productivity of timber and nuts; cuts need to be clean and smooth, so that bark isn’t ripped and so limbs will put out straight shoots. I always feel that I am coming across as finicky, but I need people to recognise the skill involved in the technique and in the planning. So after volunteers had done some cuts, and after asking them to go around and tidy up what they’d done (which didn’t happen), I went around to tidy the trees myself.
Images: Top row (l-r): 1. Clean smooth hazel cut showing around 12 rings; 2. Nicely copparded hazel with down jacket hung up because this is hot work; 3. A gnarled heavy blunderbuss hazel piece. Bottom row (l-r): Volunteers each coppard a hazel tree each; 2. Bundles of hazel timber; 3. The "wild" common hazel that's left to grow for 7 years before being coppiced fully, with catkins.
Willows —
We have a section of basketry willow around what we call “the front”, which acts as a screen for the outdoor boulders, and somewhat to capture traffic noise from a very busy road. But they need to be coppiced annually to encourage fresh straight bend growth, and willows have evolved to have the ability of quick regeneration due to salicylic acid. This meant a lesson in clean pruning for another set of volunteers, who’d never handled secateurs or a pruning knife before. I basically hovered and watched each of them, offering advice and suggestions. The willow stools were clean and tidy for strong shoots, and the volunteers hopefully picked up on the need to be patient and thoughtful when pruning.
Marking others —
Winter means that there are no leaves on the deciduous trees, which means you can better see the branches. Prunus trees (plums, cherry plum, cherry, blackthorn) should only be pruned come early summer in order to avoid silver leaf disease, so in winter these are marked with string or ribbon where pruning cuts can be made later on.
Something I’d realised from my orchard management course is that when a new hedge was planted up, plants went in that don’t really work well together in terms of timing. For instance, a cherry plum was essentially a tree, while the rosemary was still a tiny bush. Rambling roses were getting everywhere, while some other whips had died off (possibly due to lack of watering, or because of light competition). So we currently have a hedge that’s made up of two roses, elder stumps, a mini rosemary, a massive cherry plum and loads of cherry plum suckers. We’re just going to have to manage it in winter and hope we don’t get silver leaf disease that would kill off the cherry plum i.e. the mainstay of this particular hedge.
We still had the apples and pears to do, but come end of January we hadn’t had enough time. The hazels hadn’t been fully completed (as the wild hazel was to be coppiced fully), the soft fruits had about 30 to go, and all the random ones like persimmon, hawthorn, elder, holly etc to tidy up, plus all the roses. But, progress is progress.
Images: 1. Willow aphids found on a pruned whip; 2. Volunteers drill holes into locally acquired logs in order to tap in shiitake mycelium dowels; 3. An oyster mushroom grows out of a gap in the door of the wooden outdoor boulder structure.
Orchard day —
I’ve mentioned the community orchard management course I’m doing. We have in-person assessment days, and in January we gathered at Edible Landscapes in Finsbury Park for a day on formative pruning and tree planting. In groups of three we were tasked with making assessments of a tree each, and then were assessed making a pruning cut after providing our rationale. It was helpful to discuss pruning options in a group as we all see different possibilities. Our group had a pear that only needed a little tidying of congestion, two lower thin branches removing to protect the framework shape, and some tying down to open up the goblet. We agreed to keep the apical dominance for now because pears will always decide to grow upwards, and it was fighting the shade of a sycamore. The tree guard was removed for weeding and mulching, and then replaced with a wider diameter to prevent branch rubbing.
We also did planting, to grow the orchard further, and again were split into groups. The group of three I was in planted a 40cm tall heartnut whip. Planting is pretty straightforward; you dig a square hole and put the rooted whip or maiden in. Our tiny heartnut had a slight bend, so we ensured this was facing the direction of the wind to prevent it from naturally leaning away. It was too small to stake, but after a good metre diameter of mulch at a couple inches think (of cardboard and wood chip), we added a tree guard. For extra measure, we also made a fairy circle out of found deadwood to help denote to park users that there was something here! I eventually visited it again in mid March to discover that it was still very solid in the ground and the fairy circle and mulch hadn’t been disturbed at all.
Images: 1. Learning about formative pruning by collectively assessing this pear tree; 2. Our own group's pear tree to assess and prune; 3. Newly planted heartnut (Juglans ailantifolia) with tree guard, mulch and deadwood fairy circle.
Maintenance.
Tidying the shed —
We’d needed to do a tool audit so that we knew what equipment to buy for the coming season. Before this, the shed needed tidying and organising. Folk have a habit of chucking equipment and materials in wherever because they can’t be bothered to put them back in their place, partially because wheelbarrows blocked the route. Wheelbarrows were consequently put outside in the alley to our comfrey barrel and wormeries, but of course, come spring we need access to there too. Generally there are temporary solutions that need problem solving further (such as my shed roof carabiner to keep less-used apple scrumpers and some rakes out of the way). I was pleased that finally my desire for shelves for the first aid kits was fulfilled.
Tool audit —
The Google image ID tool was useful this year, as there’s some tools I simply don’t know the name of, but Google was able to identify them allowing for better clarity in my spreadsheet. This is a necessary task, but always takes way more hours than anticipated. I think it took a whole day to audit, and then another 4 hours at home typing and rewriting and making a wish list. We had barely got to the tool clean, which normally follows the audit, so guess that’s a job for next winter.
Images: 1. Shelves for easily accessible first aid kits in the shed; 2. What do you even call this tool? Originally I'd noted it as the shears that look like a stork...; 3. Handwritten tool audit with crossings for when the digital spreadsheet was updated.
Tidying the office —
Though it’s winter and it gets dark by 4pm, my workday is until 5pm. My colleagues tend to be tired and after standing around chatting for the latter part of the day, they go home. But I’m the type who will find a job to fill in the gap because I know it will benefit us later down the line. Tidying the office was one such job, which included rehoming and relabelling crates of empty jars, sweeping up mouse poo, putting more images on the wall, recycling old catalogues, organising paperwork into folders, and other such mucky jobs. Of course, I write this in March and the office is back to its disgusting musty self.
Tidying the roundhouse —
I think I just needed access to something and as happens, tidying is the path to finding that thing. Every object was pulled out from the under-counter cupboards. Dust mask on, I swept inside the cupboards, topped up cleaning supplies, sorted out pens and other stationery into labelled tubs, and sorted crockery and cutlery (before it was nicked yet again by other staff). In the rest of the shelter, bits were put away, fridge was cleaned out, floor was swept. As with the office, it’s all back to a normal state of disarray.
Tidying the propagation bench —
I’ve taken on the task of tidying the propagation bench once a year in winter. This was my third year. My first year involved scraping out the sand, checking the integrity of the wood bench, wiping down the plastic sheeting, retaping the plastic sheeting, and topping up the sand before smoothing out. Now, it’s pretty much tidy enough to just scrape out and pat back down. We use sand because it holds water and heat/cold well, so any seedling trays left on there will a) receive warmth especially if the heat pads are on, or cold to keep it chilled in there and b) root downwards to find water in the sand. It’s also an opportunity to clean and re-lay the heat cable, remove soil contamination (which allows seedlings to grow outside of the trays in the bench), and have a few moments where I’m transported back to nursery school playing in the sand.
Images: 1. Tool audit also involved figuring out our hose parts and replacing all the bits; 2. And washing all the gloves and mending some of them; 3. A 2020 mushroom calendar that never got used now displayed on the office walls.
Planning
Rotation plan and seed selection —
There were some real damp days in January. Come the middle of the month all staff had returned from trips, but so too had the rain, turning the frosty time into a miserable time. So we retreated to the warmth of the inside to plan our rotation for the coming year and decide what seeds were needed (with a seed audit). While my colleagues discussed the veg, I prioritised the flowers. This is difficult, and whenever you buy flowers or see flowers in a cultivated garden, please recognise that it is a completely different timeframe than veg. I include herbs here too, because the majority of them are also a pain.
Consider this; veg we cultivate, and so we choose where to sow and plant. They’re all pretty standard in their needs: some sunlight, some warmth, some water, some nutrition. Some are even hardy enough that they can withstand frost. But when it comes to flowers and herbaceous perennials, you have to either go with experimentation or do loads of reading to ascertain the most effective approach. The majority of sowing in the south of the UK occurs in early March, frost dependent, because there’s a surge in daylight and temperatures are warming. This means that you’re sowing veg but also need to sow flowers. They compete for space, and space is not in abundance on our site, particularly when a heat pad is required. Some flower seeds require nicking and soaking, some cold stratification, some heat, some don’t want covering, some need to always be moist. They’ve evolved to crop up in various soils and landscapes based on how they pollinate. Therefore sowing is a game of problem solving; what can be done when but also where are they going to go in order to germinate as they would in nature.
Last year I’d been successful enough in my planning to have a list of flower seeds and what each would need, and managed to sow and transplant plants that we’d not had before. The slugs also appreciated this meticulous planning, and ravaged my tagetes and sunflowers. Learning from this, I’d taken an hour at the end of a day to sit on the floor with all the flower seed packets, and group them into sowing months, and into those that needed additional requirements such as soaking and stratification. There was also a list with this information. My plan was to simply find a day when there was physical and mental room to sow flowers and herbs, then take a bundle e.g. February sowing, read my list, tick off the list and voila. The dream is an abundance of diversity for pollinators, vibrancy and colour, but also plants that I can use for dyestuffs.
Images: 2025 sowing schedule and rotation plan up on the board in the glasshouse.
Beekeeping.
Not much this month, just a bit of observation. We had wanted to get into the apiary to do loads of maintenance work, such as levelling the ground, sowing wildflower seeds, rebuilding the stands, and cleaning out the solitary bee boxes. But weather was just too damp to be doing that work, we had other things going on, and I’d had the realisation that all families were quite likely dead.
The two warre hives were showing no signs of life when the back window was opened up. Couldn’t see a brood, and no bee came to the window. A couple of dead ones were spotted on the comb. It’s too cold at this time to open up, which would only stress them further if there was indeed a small brood inside. The national hive couldn’t be opened for the same reason, plus there’s no back window to view in, and there were no signs of foragers on any sunny day. The log hive was the same.
Maintenance of the apiary then could wait because nothing was going on. Stands did need to be built though as the existing ones were rotting, so I measured the four different styles we had ready to give details to our on-site builders. They’d either have scrap timber available or could order us some. These jobs were then all left for another day.
Images: 1. Measuring wooden stands that honeybee hives sit upon in order to replace them; 2. Honeycomb as seen through the window of a warre hive; 3. Liked this bug/solitary bee home at Edible Landscapes.
Wassail.
Wassails are a celebration of orchards. A Celtic tradition that sees you banishing the bad spirits from your fruit trees by making noise, and drinking cider and wine made with the previous year’s fruit. We’ve started having a volunteer session on the last Saturday of every month, so it’s also made sense to do our events and festivals on these same days. This one was particularly hectic though, as we had around 15 volunteers, the majority of whom were new and needed to be inducted, and it was more folk we’d had in one day than pre-pandemic times. I asked them to be patient with me as I figured out what to do with them all. My colleagues were busy organising the Wassailing festivities, including a nature table, a fire, mulling apple juice, and toasting bread.
Our Wassail includes a pot-banging tour around the garden where any fruit trees can be found, which actually makes for a lengthy traverse. A traditional drum with skin had been brought for this occasion, and I also wore my Christmas wreath on my straw hat as some sort of Wassailing imp, so led the group that included folk who’d come just for this occasion. One lad had even brought a wok with him. Afterwards, I read out the traditional Wassail poem. Then visitors were invited to dunk a slice of toast in apple juice to hang on a tree of their choice, perhaps with a seasonal intention, to encourage good spirits i.e. pollinators. You can read all the local Wassail poems and songs here.
I spoke aloud the following Tree Blessing:
May your roots grow strong and low,
To drink from waters deep below,
And as your branches reach up high,
May you drink from the light of sunlit sky.
Come forth now from Winter’s slumber,
To bring forth leaves in countless number,
And upon your branches blossom unfurl,
To bring forth fruit from every bough.
Laden with fruit, and always green,
Now and forever fruitful be,
Accept our offerings, that in thanks we give,
May you grow in joy; long may you live!
Wassail!! (with the response “Drink Hael!!”)
Now, just to finish the pruning and mulching successfully, and perhaps we’ll have a healthy fruit harvest in 2025.
Images: 1. Reading out loud the Wassail poem to our group of volunteers and visitors; 2. My straw hat with additional dried Christmas wreath decoration; 3. Finally this year people put their apple juice-soaked toast on trees other than the apples! This is the kiwi.
I’m so behind with these. I started writing this finally on March 15th, and then picked it back up again on March 25th. Because December’s was delayed (written in February), this January one is delayed, and so subsequently February will also be delayed. Arbitrary, but it does help me stay on track. By this point I can’t remember what we did. It’s a useful reflection to look at photos and videos, but isn’t quite the journal I had established. So what I detail here may not be accurate to what I was feeling at the time. We’re in the fake early spring right now (sleeting but sunny), so perhaps I’ve warmed up and awoken slightly to if I did write this when it was still winter. I’ve also been through personal turmoil, which at the start of February didn’t yet exist and I was much more contented.
Whatever. Regardless, this is a story of what an urban gardener and her colleagues did in January 2025.
Images: 1. A caterpillar on the ground outside the glasshouse in January is unnerving; 2. A random mushroom always pops up in the soil of the glasshouse; 3. Both cold and sunny temperatures make for a dual woolly hat and a straw hat requirement.