We've just had our best asparagus year. So why am I replacing it?

Plus, I become chard’s cheerleader. Give me a C. Give me an H…

Twelve years ago we threw some asparagus seeds in the ground, in that hopeful, new gardener, ‘This is how you do it, right?’ sort of way. To our amazement, it worked. In fact, we had so many seedlings germinate that we had to dig them up a year later, reposition them to a more sensible distance apart, and give the surplus away. (Which set us back a year on the already long journey that is growing asparagus from seed, but had to be done.)

It's a marathon. No, make that an ultra-marathon.

When you grow asparagus from seed, you can’t pick any of the spears for the first couple of years. Even in the third year, I’d pick very sparingly. After that, game on. But for those early years, it’s all about patience. So why bother, when you can just buy established crowns that’ll crop sooner?

We grew from seed because it’s hard to find asparagus crowns in Bulgaria. (Or asparagus in the shops, for that matter.) Starting from scratch was our only option. And I’m glad we did because a) it was silly cheap, and b) it’s unlocked a whole new level of gardening smugness. Worth it for that alone.

Plus, we get to eat amazing asparagus every year. ‘Juicy’ is a daft word, but that’s exactly what homegrown asparagus is: juicier (urgh) and tastier than any bunch you could buy.

Which begs the question, why are we replacing it?

Okay, we’re not exactly replacing it. Or rather, we are, but not for a few years. By which point the plants will be approaching retirement age. (Asparagus lives for around 20 years.)

But because growing asparagus from seed is such a long game, I made a start on our second patch this spring – sowing seeds in individual plugs this time, not just chucking them in the ground. (Witness my growth as a gardener!) Then we planted them out last week.

Crucially, the new asparagus bed is further down the veg garden. And this brings us to the real (vain) reason why I’m making a new asparagus bed: the original asparagus patch is – I’m embarrassed to admit – in the wrong place. Yes, we done goofed.

What we didn’t know all those years ago is that, when the asparagus spears grow into huge ferns – as they do every June once we stop picking – we’d be stuck with socking-great ferns obstructing the view of the veg garden for the next six months. The ferns are as tall as a person, straggly as Merlin’s beard, and will gradually get yellower and yellower as we approach winter. At which point we can finally cut them back.

I get it, the ferns are necessary for feeding the crowns and supporting next year’s crop. I just wish they were tucked away somewhere else. 

Exhibit A, Your Honour: the offending ferns ringed in red

In our defence, back when we sowed those original seeds 12 years ago, the veg garden was much smaller. It’s since doubled in size, meaning those massive ferns block a lot of the view. We toyed with the idea of digging it all up and moving it, but it crops so well where it is, and we’d presumably have to rest the plants for a couple of years after moving (if they even survived). By that point they’d be 15 years old.

Better to start from scratch, with a new bed, in a new part of the garden.

The original asparagus plants will stay where they are for the next few years, until the new bed gets established and we can start harvesting from it. Then the old asparagus will move into the flower beds, where they can grow into giant ferns and live out a happy, well-deserved retirement.

But in the meantime, this does mean we have two asparagus beds. Two. I mean, that’s just indulgent frippery.

Fancy growing asparagus from seed?

You should. It’s easy. Buy some seeds now and stash them away until next March (don’t worry, I’ll remind you). Then sow it in plugs, and grow on until June or July, when they should be ready to plant out. (The RHS has all the info you need on how to prepare the ground and plant the crowns.) Aside from weeding, watering and mulching each year, asparagus will demand nothing from you for the next two decades. How cool is that?

But for the love of the gardening gods, think about where you plant your asparagus. For half the year, you’ll be looking at a thatch of ferns.

What to eat this week: a celebration of chard

Asparagus season may be over, but the veg garden is still serving up plenty of greens. Especially chard.

I only started growing chard last year and it’s a revelation. Easy to grow, doesn’t (so far) get besieged by pests, tolerates our very hot summers, and our cold winters. This spring I was picking right through to April from plants sown the previous year. In the BC days – Before Chard – I devoted my ‘leafy green’ energy to kale. But I’ve had my heart broken over kale the last few summers, what with the snails, the flea beetle, and the cabbage whites. So me and kale are On A Break for a couple of years. Given how much I love chard, I may never go back. Do you hear that, kale? I may never come back.

Anyway, a recipe recommendation: chard cooked in olive oil with veg and rice, by Ozlem Warren from her book Sebze (which I recently bought and love, love, love). This is somehow cosy and summery at the same time. And the leftovers … oh my. Consider making extra just to have more leftovers.

If you don’t grow chard, or can’t find it in the shops, just use spinach. But do consider giving chard a go in your garden. It’s not too late. Sow it direct in the ground in the next week or two, and you’ll have trouble-free greens for months on end.

Kale? Who the f*ck is kale?