Page 39 - ALG Issue 3 2022

The Joy of an Allotment
Leaving my house, heading to my allotment, I see Mike next door is mowing his lawn. He won’t hear me over the lawnmower noise, but I’m waving: “Hi Mike, how are you?”
As I move on through the estate a couple of white vans pass, and the air is heavy with the noxious smell of sprayed bleach. Head down, a middle-aged man is jet-washing his driveway.
I’m approaching the steps which lead off the estate and feel a sense of relief. Weeds appear, in contrast with the neat lawns and tarmac behind me.
The level changes, and I am in nature’s realm. The scene opens out in front of me as I descend, sinking into Carey’s Hollow. It has me cocooned within
the steep banks holding the roots of multi-stemmed trees several metres above. Here is the holloway of Robert Macfarlane’s lyrical nature writing. The branches seem to make arches in the sky, like children with clasped hands above their heads playing ‘Oranges and Lemons’.
Some places in nature feel notably intimate. There was a place like that
in my childhood, Bincombe Woods. In the intervening thirty years, the town council has given it nature reserve status and extended it to twelve acres called Bincombe Beeches. I’d go there when my parents were arguing, and I’d get comfort from the trees; a sense that they understood my pain, made room for my tears, and shared their secrets with me of living in peace.
Catching my eye in the dappled sunlight are the zesty yellow pops of Lesser Celandine flowers, Ranunculus filaria, which have opened up since I was
here last. They can be no more than
15 centimetres in stature, yet sing out to be noticed in the light. “Bright as
the sun himself”, this humble plant set William Wordsworth swooning in poetic observation and rapture. I have noticed swathes of the dark green, heart- shaped, leaves at home. I welcome their steady march across my garden, growing out of the dark compost mulch and the paths of decomposing bark chip. This wildflower of the buttercup family has found its rightful place in the forest garden I’m making.
On the lane I count four separate clouds of gnats swirling and mingling
with endless energy, like fireflies or a murmuration of starlings, in patches of warm dappled sunlight filtering through the trees high above.
Being here in this cocoon of foliage, flowers and trees, almost hugging
me in fresh growth, nature somehow manages to break through the boundary wall to emotions that antidepressants create and intoxicates me with the joy it brings. It is a place
to linger, taking photos on my phone, noticing new growth and wildlife. The holloway opens out and I feel compelled to turn and look behind me. Just a few minutes’ walk from home, I have found a place that gives me peace.
Sitting still on the bench with my feet up, blackbirds burst into vibrant song
Stone steps, set deep into a grassy bank, lead up to an open and exposed landscape. A crowd of sheds. A view
of distant trees, houses, and fields to the south. I reach my allotment plot. Sitting still on the bench with my feet up, blackbirds burst into vibrant song as a vista of cloud lit in bright whites and pinks moves across the sky. A moth lands on my chest, not bothered by my breathing as I stare down at it. My plot neighbour takes a break from pulling up dandelions to chat, and I’m so pleased to see her. There are many moments of joy that make getting to the allotment the best part of my day.
Christina Ballard
Allotment and Leisure Gardener 39