Today I sent three courgette and 8 tomato plants to almost certain death, and ruined my Marc Jacobs plimsolls in doing so. Still, I’m giving the local pro something to chuckle about over his pastis; an important contribution to village life, I think. On a recent trip to England to stock up on baked beans a friend asked me if Luberon soil was sand or clay and I realised when I couldn’t answer that this may be my downfall.
After a bit of prodding with the hoe, the soil looks like the stuff Mr Monty Don likes to crumble and sniff like a fine wine, yet in just a few hours it becomes a parched, cracked desert, a few ominous beetles strutting towards my sweet peas.
In contrast to all else, my nasturtiums (planted to encourage bees or repel pests, I’m not exactly sure which), are doing well, and very pretty they look too, though unlikely to feed a family of four.
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