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Market Garden Diaries - November 2025

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November arrives quietly, with cold air, pale light, and mornings threatening the first frost. The garden feels still and a little sleepy now but there’s a lovely beauty in that. The bright greens have faded, the intensity of the weeds has subsided, the soil is dark and heavy, and, though there's still plenty still growing in the polytunnel, outside, everything seems to be taking a breath before winter truly settles in.


The rush of the growing months has passed, replaced by gentler, steadier work. There’s still so much tidying to do ... gathering up canes and supports, clearing beds, layering on the compost, mending tools, sweeping paths, and turning the compost one last time before the deep cold sets in. It’s not glamorous work, but it’s necessary and grounding ... small acts of care that feel like closing a chapter properly.


Harvests now are still plentiful but growth has slowed. The leeks stand proud and strong, kale spinach and chard keep us going. We still have potatoes and carrots and broccoli, califlower and courgettes, peppers and chillis. The garlic and next year's onion crops will be going in soon too ... a quiet promise for early spring. The beds that aren’t planted are resting now, soon to be blanketed in compost and left to rebuild their strength.


Inside the polytunnel, the scent of damp soil lingers, and condensation beads along the plastic. Mum has been clearing, making room for over-winter planting ... it’s a comforting space to step into ... warm compared to the outside air and peaceful in its stillness.


In the kitchen, we’re turning inward too. Meals come from the stores ... jars of chutney, strings of onions, baskets of potatoes, and we've been batching and filling the freezers are much as we can. There’s a rhythm to it ... roast, simmer, share, store, repeat. Food that fills the house with warmth and nourishment and reminds us how much the garden has given.


November teaches a quieter kind of gratitude I think, There’s no less to do yet but the tasks have changed. There's new things to notice too ... the low light, the slow decay, the sense that even in rest, the garden is working in its own way. Beneath the surface, life is waiting, preparing, ready to begin again when the time is right.


Until next month,


The Market Garden Team xx


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