The Broad Fork That Understood My Back Better Than My Back Does

 Another dry week is slipping by, folks, and I'm sat here with a cup of tea,  thinking about something that's made me go a bit soft this week. And I don't mean the soil, because there isn't any soft soil left anywhere in Lincolnshire, I'm fairly sure of that.

I mean Sam's Father's Day present.

Now, I'll be honest with you, I am not a man who needs much. Give me a bacon sandwich, a working two-stroke engine and forty-five minutes of peace and I'm the happiest man on the plot. So when Sam handed me a long, slightly awkward parcel a few weeks back and said "Happy Father's Day, Dad," I did wonder for a second whether he'd bought me a didgeridoo. He hadn't. It was a broad fork. And I have to tell you, ladies and gents, it might just be the most thoughtful gift anyone has given me in a long while. but thats Sam for you.

Why a Grown Man Nearly Went Misty-Eyed Over a Garden Tool

Let me explain, because on paper a broad fork is not a romantic gift. It's essentially a big handle, a crossbar, and a row of long metal tines, and it does one very simple job: it loosens compacted soil without you having to turn it over, dig it out, or throw your back into next week trying.

That last bit is the important part. A couple of years back, out of absolutely nowhere as far as I can tell, my spine decided it had had enough of being a spine and started making its displeasure known. I'm not one for going on about it, I've got a job to do and a plot to run, but the honest truth is that using a normal spade or a digging fork these days leaves me wincing for the rest of the day. And our allotment soil, especially at this time of year, has all the give of a car park. Even the rotavator gives it a disapproving look and refuses to get involved.

So there I was, resigned to a slower, creakier version of myself, when Sam — my thoughtful, occasionally too-tall-for-his-own-good thirty-year-old — turns up with exactly the tool that solves the exact problem I hadn't even properly complained to him about. That's the bit that got me. He'd noticed. He'd watched me wince my way through a bed prep session and quietly gone and sorted it, without a word of fuss, the way good lads do.

I want to say to any of you reading this who have children helping out on allotments, gardens, or anywhere at all: keep noticing them noticing you. It's a lovely thing when it comes back around.

How the Broad Fork Actually Performs

Right, less soppy, more soil, because I know some of you came here for the gardening and not for me getting sentimental about my son.

The broad fork works by pushing the tines straight down into the ground using your body weight, standing more or less upright, then rocking the handles back to lift and loosen the soil beneath you without turning it over completely. No bending, no twisting, no violent stabbing motion. You walk it backwards along the bed like you're doing some sort of slow, dignified dance with the earth, and behind you the soil opens up like it's finally allowed to breathe.

I've used it a couple of times now on some of our more stubborn ground, and I'll tell you honestly, it's not magic, my back still says good morning to me with its usual complaint whether I've used it or not. But the difference during and after the job itself is night and day. Minimal discomfort instead of the usual "sit down immediately and question your life choices" discomfort. For someone who genuinely loves this hobby and was quietly worried about how much longer his body would let him keep doing it, that's an enormous gift, wrapped in what looked suspiciously like leftover Christmas paper.

I'm properly looking forward to putting it through its paces later in the year when we start clearing out some of the longer-term crops. That's when the ground really sets like concrete round here, and I've a feeling the broad fork and I are going to become very close friends indeed.

A Little Nature Note While I'm At It

While I was out there having my moment with the broad fork, a rather smart-looking robin decided to supervise from the top of the bean canes, occasionally darting down behind me to see what I'd disturbed. Robins are shameless opportunists, they'll follow anyone doing any sort of digging on the promise of a worm dinner, and I do rather like the company. There's something quietly wonderful about working a quiet plot early on a summer evening with just birdsong, the creak of an ageing gate, and the occasional grumble from your own spine for company.

Making the Most of a Dry Weekend Without Wrecking Yourself

For those of you nursing your own aches and pains, or simply not blessed with the enthusiasm of a thirty-year-old with something to prove, here's what this dry spell and my new favourite tool have taught me:

Work with your body, not against it. If a job leaves you wincing, there is very likely a tool or a technique that will let you do it without the wincing. Don't be too proud, like I very nearly was, to accept help or a better way of doing things.

Loosen rather than dig where you can. A broad fork, or even a good garden fork used gently and levered rather than dug, will open up compacted ground with far less strain than a full dig.

Little and often beats one big miserable session. I do a bed, have a cup of tea, do another bed. Nobody's grading me on speed.

And do it in the cool of the day if you can. Evenings are best in this heat, both for you and for the soil, which doesn't take kindly to being turned over while the sun's still blazing on it.

From Sara's Kitchen

Speaking of things being preserved for another day, Sara's been busy with the last of the rspberries this week, turning the smaller and slightly bruised ones into a lovely simple jam rather than letting them go to waste. Nothing fancy, just fruit, sugar, a squeeze of lemon and a lot of patience while it sets. If you've a glut of soft fruit going slightly past its best for eating fresh, don't bin it, jam it. It's a wonderfully forgiving way to preserve summer, and there's something deeply satisfying about opening a jar of it in the depths of January and remembering exactly which dry, dusty weekend it came from. Do pop over to Sara's blog, Frugal in Lincolnshire, if you fancy her full method, she explains it far better than I ever could, and with considerably less waffling about spines.

A Question For You

So go on then, tell me: has anyone ever given you a gift that turned out to be far more thoughtful than it first appeared, garden-related or otherwise? I'd love to hear about it in the comments, and if any of you broad fork owners have tips for getting the absolute best out of mine, I am all ears.

Happy growing, everyone. See you on the plot.