How not to sow your seeds, an amazing plant ID app, and a fruitful transatlantic exchange
The second instalment of The Green Agenda, bringing you updates from my own garden and beyond
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Welcome to the second edition of The Green Agenda, a recurring feature within The Earthworm which combines plant-based recommendations with a round-up of my own garden-related misadventures. In today’s edition: seeds and other stories.
How (not) to sow your seeds
Is there a “correct” way to sow seeds? According to the literature, yes, and I’ll be outlining some of the received seed-sowing wisdom below – if only to illustrate how far from it I have strayed. But in truth, while there are certain conditions that the vast majority of seeds will benefit from in order to germinate (namely: warmth and moisture), some are less fussy than others.
Was the seed, from which the buddleia growing out of the side of a railway bridge once rose, sown under optimal conditions? How about the dandelion emerging from a hairline crack in a concrete slab? Or the red dead-nettle in the image at the top of this post? You won’t find “shove seed between brickwork and leave to its own devices” prescribed in any horticultural handbook or on next week’s episode of Gardeners’ World. And yet, life finds a way…
Or at least, that’s what I’ve been telling myself – out of blind hope more than anything – following my most recent seed sowing escapades.
OK, so what is the “correct” way to sow seed? First, you will need some seed compost. What makes a compost “seed compost”? A couple of things. One, it should be very low in nutrients. Seeds don’t require nutrients from the soil in order to germinate – they contain all the energy stores they require within their miraculous little casings. In fact, sow them in too rich a substrate (fancy word for the stuff that something grows in) and your sprouted seedlings are likely to shoot up way too fast, get all leggy and end up suffering in the long term. And two, seed compost tends to be more finely sieved than a multi-purpose number. This is to ensure that the seed has the best chance of coming into full contact with soil, rather than a chunk of bark or bit of stone.
The depth at which the seed needs to be sown varies. Some require light in order to germinate – though most do not – and so need to sit on top of the soil. As a rule of thumb, the bigger the seed, the deeper it should go. Some seeds – like sweet peas – benefit from a deeper container; others can be sprinkled in a shallow tray.
Then all that’s left to do is to label your seeds (include the date so you can track their progress), give them a good drink (watering from below, or even pre-soaking the soil can be a good idea, so you don’t wash away your seeds), and then sit back and wait for nature to work its magic.
The key, as with everything in life, is good prep: make sure you have the right containers and the right compost for your seeds, read the instructions on the seed packets, and carefully follow the simple steps above. Needless to say, this is not what I did.
You may remember that I bought some seeds a few weeks ago, despite having no space for the eventual plants to go. Turns out that was just the first precarious downwards step from the top of a slippery slope…
I scrambled around the back bottom corner of my cold-frame (a triple-shelved, plastic-clad number) and reached for my seed trays, braving sticky thickets of spiderwebs and slimy over-wintering slugs. Finding the trays to be still matted with the dregs of last year’s compost, and knowing full well that there was therefore the possibility of their harbouring pests, disease, or rogue seed, I decided I’d still use them, as I couldn’t be bothered to rinse them.
Next, I realised that I did not have any seed compost, only a long-open bag of peat-free multi-purpose. Oh well! In it went, chunks and all, into my trays. Onto these I haphazardly sprinkled the seeds, annuals alongside perennials, large and small all sown at the same depth. These I then buried with far too much compost, watered from above – no doubt driving the smaller seeds into the edges of the trays or into the cracks of my patio’s brickwork – shoved the lot onto the top shelf of my cold frame, and closed the lid, ignoring the seed packets’ explicit instructions for some to be sown directly into the ground, and others in a controlled climate of 20-25°C.
My hopes for their success could not be much lower. And yet: remember that red dead-nettle? Whatever happens next, I will keep you posted.
A transatlantic garden love-in
There is very little gardens-and-nature-based content here on Substack – I linked to some of the best ones in the previous edition of The Green Agenda. One of these, Rootbound, is written by a man called Boaz Frankel, who is based in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Boaz and I launched our Substacks at similar times, and soon found one another to be kindred spirits: both lovers of gardens and gardening, and possessing perhaps more passion than proficiency.
We formed a very retro sort of Web 1.0 friendship, conversing via the comments section on each other’s posts. Then one day, Boaz sent me an email to tell me that he was coming to London. We agreed to meet up, and had a very jolly time together. We talked all things Substack and horticulture and the intersection between the two, and explored the grounds of the Horniman Museum and Gardens, and the London Wildlife Trust’s Centre for Wildlife Gardening, both in South London.
I’ll share my thoughts and pictures from those visits, including my impressions of the gardens and some observations about our nations’ differing cultural attitudes towards gardening, in a future post. For the time being, here we are at the Centre for Wildlife Gardening, enjoying a break in the torrential rain.
Use Seek and you shall find
Friendship, fellowship, blah blah blah – the greatest gift that Boaz bestowed upon me on that fateful day was more pertinent and enduring than any of that stuff: an app recommendation. Boaz kept pulling out his phone to snap photos of unusual-to-him weeds – I believe he found green alkanet to be a highlight – and running them through an app called Seek to identify them.
I’ve since downloaded Seek and used it a number of times to ID wild-growing plants and houseplants and, I have to say, it has proved incredibly accurate. The app, which is created by iNaturalist – a joint initiative of the California Academy of Sciences and the National Geographic Society – provides taxonomic info about the plants, as well as a little blurb and some additional details on range and seasonality. It also saves your previously observed plants, so you can return to them at your leisure. And for a quick ID, you can just hover your phone over the mystery plant, without needing to click through to its profile.
I haven’t tested Seek in a garden centre or nursery – which would be an interesting challenge – but it has proved quicker and more accurate than any of the apps which I have used previously for this purpose.
And finally…
Walthamstow Market – as legions of local estate agents are quick to tell anyone who will listen – is apparently the longest street market in Europe. A mile from end to bargain-filled end, you can pick up the usual range of saucepans, stuffed animal toys, boxer shorts and bananas that you might find at any similar market.
On my most recent trip, I came across a stall selling all manner of strange second hand stuff, including a framed silk scarf, depicting two wonderfully graphic irises in sumptuous tones of maroon and lilac. Priced at a mere five British pounds, I didn’t even bother haggling. It’s going straight on my office wall.
Have you sown any seeds recently? If so, what have you gone for, and how have you fared thus far? And have you got any favourite gardening apps to recommend? Or any brilliant bric-a-brac finds? If so, you know what to do!
Thank you for the app recommendation; most are terrible or tiresome, some both.
Too many seeds planted to mention, or indeed fit on a windowsill...
I will mention my favourite latest charity shop find though: an old index card box *with* alphabetical dividers. It's now my new (OK, first) seed storage box.