Onions, Yellow Beans, and a Dahlia or Two

We had a proper good morning up the plot today. The sun was out, the soil was warm, and for once nobody was arguing about whose turn it was to fetch the wheelbarrow. Sam and Iris were down bright and early — well, "bright and early" for Sam means somewhere around half eight with a face like he's been personally wronged by the alarm clock, but Iris was practically skipping. She had one job on her mind: pulling the onions.

The Onions Have Landed

Now, these onions have been a long time coming. I started them from seed right back in September last year — tiny little green threads in a tray on the greenhouse bench, the kind of thing that makes you wonder why you're bothering, because they look about as promising as a bit of grass cuttings. But that's the thing with over-wintered onions. You plant the seed in autumn, you basically ignore them all winter while they sit there doing whatever it is onions do when nobody's watching, and then come summer they reward you for your patience.

This morning, Sam and Iris went down the rows and started pulling them up, and honestly, they're a picture. Every single one has browned right off at the neck, which is exactly what you want to see — it means the onion's finished bulking up and is telling you, in its own quiet vegetable way, "right, I'm done, get me out." The skins have that lovely papery, crackly feel to them, like old parchment, and I reckon because they've dried down so naturally and slowly, they'll store brilliantly. There's nothing worse than an onion that goes soft on you in October because it wasn't cured properly. These ones, I've got a good feeling about.

If you fancy having a go yourself, over-wintered onions are one of the kindest things you can grow for very little effort. Sow the seed (or plant sets) in September, keep them ticking over through the cold months, and by midsummer you've got a harvest sat there waiting while everyone else is only just planting theirs. It's the closest thing to gardening on easy mode that I've found.

We've laid them out on an old wire rack in the greenhouse now to finish drying properly in the airflow before they go into the shed for the winter. Sara's already eyeing them up for the freezer too — she likes to chop and freeze a good batch so there's always onion to hand for whatever she's cooking, without a single tear shed peeling them in December. Frugal and practical, that's Sara all over.

First Beans of the Season

Now, this bit made me unreasonably happy. We picked our first beans of the season this week — lovely yellow French beans, not a huge crop by any means, just a modest little handful, but there's something about that first picking that always feels like a proper occasion. It's the allotment equivalent of the first swallow of summer.

Yellow French beans have this gorgeous buttery colour to them, and if you've never grown them before over the usual green ones, I'd really recommend it. They taste every bit as good, they're dead easy to spot among the leaves when you're picking (which, trust me, matters more than you'd think — green beans hiding in green foliage is a game of hide and seek you will lose), and they just brighten up a plate no end. Steamed for four or five minutes with a knob of butter and a bit of black pepper, and you're laughing.

This is only the beginning too. Beans are one of those crops that, once they get going, they properly get going, so I'm expecting we'll be swimming in them before long. Which is no bad thing, because a glut of beans means a glut of opportunities for blanching and freezing, and Sara's already got the freezer bags out ready.

Courgettes and Carrots — The Family Divide

Our courgettes have started coming too, with the Black Beauty variety leading the charge, as they always seem to in our greenhouse. There's a real skill to courgettes that nobody tells you about when you start out, and it isn't growing them — it's catching them in time. Turn your back for two days and a modest courgette turns into something you could use as a canoe paddle. My tip, for what it's worth, is to go round every single day once they start cropping, even if it's just a quick look. Little and often is the way with courgettes, both in the picking and, frankly, in the eating, because nobody wants three marrows a week showing up in their dinner.

Carrots are coming along nicely too, and this is where I have to tell you about one of the great ongoing sagas of our allotment. I love a carrot. Freshly pulled, given a good wash under the tap, and eaten raw right there on the plot, dirt still under my fingernails — that's one of life's simple pleasures as far as I'm concerned. Crunchy, sweet, still a bit warm from the sun. Glorious.

Sam and Iris, on the other hand, will not touch one. Not a bite. I have tried everything short of actual bribery (and let's be honest, I have tried actual bribery) and the answer is always the same: a firm, unified "no." Two grown allotmenteers, elbow deep in the same soil that grew the thing, and neither one of them will so much as nibble a corner. I don't understand it, I don't think I ever will, and I've made my peace with eating them all myself, which, if I'm honest, isn't exactly a punishment.

A Little Word on Dahlias

Now for something a bit different, because it wouldn't be a proper post from me without a flower or two getting a mention, and the dahlias are looking absolutely stunning at the moment. They're one of my genuine favourites, and I grow every single one of mine from seed rather than buying tubers, mostly because there's something rather magical about watching such enormous, showy blooms come from something as small and unassuming as a dahlia seed.

If you fancy growing your own, here's how I go about it. Sow the seed indoors in early spring, around March time, into trays or small pots of seed compost, just barely covering the seed. Keep them somewhere warm and bright — a windowsill or the greenhouse does the job nicely — and they'll germinate within a couple of weeks. Once they've got a proper set of leaves on them, pot them on individually so the roots have room to get going.

Dahlias are tender little things when it comes to frost, so don't be in a rush to get them outside. Wait until all danger of frost has properly passed, usually late May here, and harden them off gradually over a week or so before planting them out in a sunny, sheltered spot. They're hungry plants too, so dig plenty of well-rotted compost or manure into the soil beforehand, and once they're growing away, a good mulch will help keep the moisture in and the weeds down.

As they get taller you'll want to stake them, because a good gust of wind can snap a heavy flowering stem in seconds, and that's heartbreaking when you've nurtured it from a speck of seed. Deadhead the spent blooms regularly and you'll be rewarded with flowers right through to the first frosts. Come autumn, if you want to keep your favourites going, you can lift the tubers that form, dry them off, and store them somewhere frost-free over winter ready to start the whole lovely cycle again next year. Grown from seed, they're one of the most rewarding, generous flowers on the whole plot, and cheap as anything to grow compared to buying tubers.

Right, that's your lot from us this week. Onions curing, beans coming thick and fast, courgettes threatening to take over the world, carrots being politely declined by half the family, and dahlias doing their absolute best to steal the show. Can't grumble at any of it, really.

Happy growing, everyone. See you on the plot.