Some thoughts after a long day in the dahlia bed

Dahlias are the most demanding crop I grow and also the most generous. The work is in the spring and autumn — the planting, the staking, the lifting, the storing. The summer is the reward.

Today was a lifting day. The first hard frost came in the night and the dahlia tops are blackened. So out come the secateurs, off come the tops, and then the careful dig — far enough out from the crown that you don’t cut the tubers, deep enough that you get all of them.

Each tuber clump goes into a labelled trug. Cafe au Lait in one, Karma Choc in another, Linda’s Baby (the small white I cut endless buttonholes from) in a third. They’ll be washed gently, dried for a few days, and stored in vermiculite in the cottage shed at about 5°C until March.

Eight hours, four trugs, blackened fingernails, knees that won’t come out from kneeling. I love it.