Spent an hour or so this morning down the allotment clearing weeds from where we'll be planing the maincrop potatoes.  Had lunch, then worked on the raspberries in the back garden, tying them to their supports and removing suckers from the path.

The raspberries cropped wonderfully in their first year and very poorly in their second.  We eventually worked out that this was due to three factors: iron deficience, alkaline soil, not enough organic matter.  We'd fed them to start with - hence the good initial crop - but had neglected to add more to the soil as the fruit took it out.

Last summer, I added iron sulphate and used conifer clippings to increase the acidity.  Over winter, we added a surface dressing of rotted manure.  Today, the soil is beautifully brown and crumbly and all the young autumn fruiting raspberries are a healthy green colour instead of yellow.  I'm hoping for a good crop again this year - if there's one thing I love, it's going outdoors to pick a handful of fresh raspberries to add to my breakfast cereal.

Another thing struck me while I was weeding.

When did gardening cease to be a chore and become  a pleasure?

It used to be that I did the gardening because it had to be done.  In the last couple of years, I've come to look forward to it.  It's stress-free, wonderfully relaxing, full of birdsong and sunshine (mind you, I can still enjoy it when the sun isn't shining), and you come to know and love the plants you're working with.  It's physical work and that's a good source of relaxation, but it's also good in that it focuses you away from problems and you know you're doing something worthwhile (especially if you're growing food that you will enjoy later in the year).

People ask my mother-in-law why she doesn't move to a smaller house or flat where she wouldn't have to bother with her enormous garden.  Her reply is always that the garden (and gardening) is what gives her pleasure in life.  Lose the garden and she would lose the things that make her life worthwhile.  I know exactly what she means.