I Allot My Time

In September 2022, I applied for an allotment about half a mile along the river, and in a bit. There was a lockdown flurry of interest in growing things, so I was surprised to get an email a couple of weeks ago saying I'd reached the top of the waiting list. Here I sit, typing this, the key to the padlock for the shed of quarter plot no. 78a burning a hole in my pocket. 

An allotment is a piece of land on which to grow fruit and vegetables for private consumption. A full plot is 10 poles, or perches, long. It's an ancient measure. 78a is about half the size of half a doubles tennis court. Having been allotted an allotment I must, to avoid warning letters and then eviction, allot time to keeping it tidy and cultivated.

Here's the plot so far: I've taken the shed door off its hinges, sawn a little from the bottom so that it opens more easily, screwed it back. I've uncovered treasures: fork, spade, two saws (luckily), trowel, hoe, long-handled shears, broad bean seeds, slug pellets, seed trays, bamboo canes, a white plastic chair and several lengths of twine. I've thrown out some things that the mice and damp had got to. I've had a new piece of glass cut to size, and fixed the broken pane of the greenhouse. I've dug over the strawberry bed, spacing 15 plants more evenly, in the interests of their equal opportunities. After all that, I sat eating my lunch in the sunny, sheltered nook between shed and greenhouse, listening to birdsong. 

A few years ago, I would've felt daunted by the broken pane of glass, the jamming shed door, the tangled strawberry plants, but minor acts of DIY and gardening practice on my rooftop and in other people's gardens have given me a have-a-go confidence. 

Allotment 78a. It has all the potential, all the restraint of a sonnet. For now, I'm preparing the square of ground, and in spring, I will plant rows of potatoes, courgettes, runner beans, lettuce, tomatoes, and onions.  As the sun warms and the rain falls, they will grow into lines, with breaks at the paths, reveal to me a rhyme scheme as yet to be invented, and come to a full stop at the crown of rhubarb.