Time Warp

The longest day of the year. The rain is sweeping in from the west across the bottom field and the downs are lost in heavy, grey cloud as I walked towards the duck shed to open up for the day. As I pass the row of bean poles where the first young tender plants are struggling upwards towards the sky, I fancy I can hear the slugs and the snails gathering together in the damp undergrowth to plan and launch an attack on my poor defenceless beans.

Ducks out, fed and watered, chickens out, fed and watered, sheep checked, I stand sheltering under the veranda of the garden shed watching the rain playing rivulets down the folds of the polytunnel and make the decision to go home. Thinking back over the last two months, I realise that this is the first time I have abandoned the allotment because of the weather.

I stop; where have the last two months gone? What happened to May after we lambed? Why are we more than half way through June and the year?

What happened to the shoulder high, lacy white umbels of the cow parsley that I walked through to get to work? Now the air is full of the smell of elderflowers lifting their heads above ranks of tall, dark green nettles crusted with tiny brown flowers. Creeping buttercup skirts the path to the field shed and the lower field is awash with daisies. When did the blossom on the apple trees around the chicken run fade and form these clusters of tiny red tinged fruit I can reach up and touch now? Where have the miniature greengages come from and the plums; when did they start to grow?

What have I been doing for the last six weeks? I guess the answer is that I have been gardening flat out, hardly daring to turn around because another job needed doing.

Seedlings, tenderly grown in trays, have been potted on and then pushed out of the womb of the polytunnel to harden in the cold frames stacked along the boundary fence. From there they have been shoe-horned into an ever shrinking area of allotment. Squashes, courgettes, melons, have been tipped into heavy manured beds; sprouts and cabbages secreted under bird netting; tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers and aubergines cosseted in the greenhouses; potatoes earthed up; bean poles erected and purple-hued runner bean seeds and small opal white French bean seed tucked into the ground around them. Celery and celeriac which filled the polytunnel with its minted smell is now standing proud in two long straight rows between the sweet corn patch and the white flowers of early peas. The strawberries have, true to their name, been strawed and there are gooseberries almost ready for picking. Carrot seed has been regularly sown and failed, parsnips are finally coming up and after an abortive first attempt, it looks as if I have beetroot and spinach. Then there are the onions and garlic. Why has the garlic got rust?! Finally, there is my first real crop of the summer; the board beans which I cook smothered in home made parsley sauce, add to casseroles or turn into bright green humus to eat with freshly made flat bread.

The thing I haven’t done is write the regular blog that I had planned every week to map out my first year as a small holder. But the rain has changed that, driven me inside and made me sit down in front of the computer. The window is slightly ajar to let in the smell of fresh earth and damp grass and the sound of the wind tormenting the trees. This is a chance to catch up, get down on paper what has happened, take stock and plan ahead. The longest day of the year.