“Ripe vegetables were magic to me. Unharvested, the garden bristled with possibility. I would quicken at the sight of a ripe tomato, sounding its redness from deep amidst the undifferentiated green. To lift a bean plant’s hood of heart-shaped leaves and discover a clutch of long slender pods hanging underneath could make me catch my breath.”
MICHAEL POLLAN
I’ve had my allotment plot since April 2008, so that’s over 18 years now. I have to remind myself of this fact occasionally, because I can’t actually believe that it’s true. I have learnt a lot in that time, but then also, each year feels like starting all over again afresh with the naivety of a beginner.
You’d be forgiven for thinking that by now, I would know that, each and every year, without fail … it all comes together just fine by early summer. And yet, every March-April, without fail, I panic that it won’t. That I have forgotten to sow a key crop that will be sorely missed (it never happens) that I haven’t sown enough to fill the 250m2 (I always do) that I have grown too much for the space I have, that I planted too many overwintering onions and garlic leaving no space for the courgettes (the courgettes always find a space).
I may place a spare plant or two on our communal sharing bench, which are always taken by somebody before I return again. This year it was 4 Cavolo Nero kale baby plants that I ran out of space for, and in return I gratefully took from a friend a couple of cucumber plants after mine succumbed to the sudden cold snap, despite being protected. Isn’t it lovely that there is usually somebody with a spare of what you need, and somebody happy to take what you have spare. Our allotment community works in mysterious and wondrous ways.
Somehow, it all comes together perfectly, and I honestly don’t know how I manage to do it. If I grew the exact same crops every year, I would know how much I need of each to fill the space, and I would definitely have nailed it by now. But I don’t. Every year is completely different. Some crops get dropped off the list (often just for a year or two) while others get added in, some from past experience, some totally new. Quantities change each year too. We grew way too many chillies last year, so we have only 6 plants this year, and it’s 6 because only one jalapeño seed germinated, so that wasn’t planned. We had too many butternut squashes last year (I know, some people would argue there is no such thing, but I have yet to convince my other half to like them, so I mostly ate all 12 myself, and would be glad to not see one again for a while) so they’re off the list. I’m not growing any sweetcorn this year, nor broad beans, and something ate all my Mangetout seedlings, so I’m growing a cucumber up the old bed frame instead.
On the flip side, we have gone extra large on alliums this year. More garlic, loads more onions (due to a mix-up between me and my partner both buying sets) and I seem to have oversown the leeks. I could have composted some of the baby leeks, but somehow I couldn’t, and you really can’t have too many leeks (she says, come back to me on that one this time next year).
What I’m trying to say is, very little is planned, and even where plans are made, nature laughs in my face. I randomly sow a range of seeds in March and April, some of which germinate, some survive beyond that, some don’t, a few plants are exchanged here and there, and the plot (somehow) gets filled with just the right amount of plants. It truly feels like a miracle every year.
And then there is the briefest (blink or you miss it) moment when the plot is at its prime. No more patches of empty brown soil waiting to be filled. The potato foliage is lush with leafy growth and a few flowers starting to bloom, the onions and garlic still mostly have green leaves which are standing to attention, the tomatoes have yet to develop droopy limbs, they’re still fresh and perky with little yellow dots of flowers, the brassicas are maturing nicely with no sign yet of yellowing leaves or a whitefly infestation, the courgettes have yet to be coated in powdery mildew, and not a marrow in sight. It all just looks so green and fresh and perfect. Take those Instagram shots now while you can.
This state of verdant perfection will last for a fairly short while, but then before you know it, it’s time to start digging it all up. There’s a part of me that doesn’t want to, as I don’t want to spoil it, I want to just enjoy how lush and abundant it all looks, oh the possibilities of what I’ll do with all these harvests. It’s almost like not wanting to rip open a beautifully wrapped gift, or cut into the gorgeously decorated cake. But you know that’s crazy, you’re not growing these crops to just admire them growing. Luckily nature has a way of nudging you in the right direction, the onion, garlic and potato leaves start to yellow, showing you they’re done growing and it’s time to lift them. The courgettes need to be picked before they grow any bigger, and the tomatoes before they split and fall to the ground. The perfection of prime doesn’t last, and don’t we know it.
This year, due to the early heatwave we had in May, my garlic was ready earlier than usual, meaning it was taken out just as I was filling up the final bed with the leeks. But these empty beds will be refilled pretty quickly. One with the extra leeks that I ran out of space for, and in another I will throw down some dwarf haricot beans. I have loads saved from last years crop. Our dwarf beans are grown for podding, so they can be as late as they like, and their beans will be dried and stored for winter stews, so I welcome a glut.
The onions are not far behind, but I will replace them with mustard as a green manure. I’m determined to keep my plot lush, green and filled to the brim for as long as I possibly can. They say nature abhors a vacuum, but not as much as I do!
Thanks for reading Garden Bliss.
