Returning to my growing space after three months in hospital was difficult. Much of the work I completed during the three months before my admission had gone to waste. I had not been able to harvest my beans or my squashes and pumpkins. The winter crops I had grown to see me through the hungry gap (typically May when your over-wintered crops from the previous year are all gone and nothing new is available yet) had all died because they were not planted out and watered.
Initially I felt sad for all the lost effort. Then I began to look past the superficial waste.
I realised that the rotting vegetables would feed the soil, insects, birds and animals. Investigating deeper into the plot; I realised that there was still a multitude of crops that had survived the winter and poor care. There was a plethora of beetroots, carrots, onions. Self-seeded coriander had sprung up everywhere. I discovered an allotment treasure of the first jerusalem artichokes I harvested from my plot after planting a dozen or so tubers last year – nothing appeared to grow the first season so I gave up on it.
As I learned more about how to adapt my growing and gardening style I learned valuable lessons beyond the initial gardening approaches that I have always used and relied upon. The beans that were left on the vine would fix nitrogen into the soil. That green manures could be used at different times of the year beyond only over winter. One organic gardener suggests using white mustard in your polytunnel before planting tomatoes and cucumbers in them. I plan to try this idea.
In being faced with a plot that is four months behind schedule, with only weeks to pull it back I have had to consider new ways of working. Chop and drop is a technique that I have avoided in the past; however like many things, once I think it through and adapt it, I can often make it work for me. Chop and drop is less effort and aligned with the general state of my plot anyway. Many things have dropped and rotted on their own, without any intervention from me.
What has touched me the most though, is the kindness of people.
When other plot holders found out about my admission several people stepped up with offers of help. Our site coordinator kindly removed the types I had collected from my plot and the surrounding hedges. He has used them to weigh down the covers for his manure pile. Another neighbour offered to share their pumpkins when they learned my harvest had all been destroyed. My son has offered to come and help with the mulching and covering (after we negotiated a fair daily rate of payment). I do not mind remunerating him. It is a joy to spend time with him doing something I enjoy, as an equal, as nearly an adult.
I would like to explore autoethnographic writing about my allotment. When I completed my Kiva retreat earlier in January I walked to my allotment and spent time there, in reflection and contemplation. I have returned to this piece of autoethnographic writing, We Reap What We Sow, embodiment and urban allotment gardening, many times. The author works in Birmingham, the city where I was born. They write in 2012, the year my son was born. They speak of their hormones and the challenges these cause for them. There are many connections between this author, their writing and me. Like the rhizomes that spread under the soil. Like the mycorrhiza that links soil to plant. There are connections everywhere if we can be open to seeing and experiencing them.
Vulnerable
and knowing vulnerability.
Frail
and knowing frailty.
Strong
and knowing strength,
Loving
and knowing love.
