The allotment begins

So sad to hear of the riots happening in London and elsewhere. My brother lives in Ealing and, from what he tells, it all sounds pretty grim. It seems a world away from the allotment, where we have been busy getting stuck in to our new plot of wilderness.

It feels like the key to a secret world; through the locked gate, along the path behind the park, and into a field of gardens, each a different character, all suggesting sweet possibility; reminding you of old favourites (sweet peas, apples, raspberries) and new loves (grapes, sweetcorn and artichokes). But I run ahead if myself, because at the moment our plot looks like this:

For now, we’re just aiming for a clear plot. We’ve had a few days of early starts, with hours spent digging up deep roots of everlasting spinach and thick webs of couch grass. It gets hot quickly, and we’ve needed our breaks of zucchini bread and coffee, in the shade up by the neighbour’s vineyard. We unearthed a wealth of wildlife amidst the tall grass: boldly-striped caterpillars, a slow worm, and even a young dormouse that we rehoused in the strawberry patch. We return home with tired backs and sweaty foreheads. My legs are still tingling from the stinging nettles I attacked. And our bodies aren’t the only thing that suffered for our hard work.

This is just the beginning…