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Sun is shining

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Sun is shining, I feel good,

Don’t need the jacket with the hood,

Birds tweeting, seeds are sown,

Peaceful, quiet, all alone,

Watering done, painting pots,

Crazy paving splashed with spots,

Rest a while, stretch my back,

After lifting compost by the sack.

 

It’s definately plot weather lately, raining in the night and the sun out through the day. Especially when its the weekend or Wednesday (my day off). I’ve invested in myself this year by reducing my working hours down to 4 days a week. I love my Wednesdays, especially at hometime on Tuesday when my feet are throbbing and I’m realising I haven’t done anything from Monday’s ‘to do’ list! It’s that garden centre time of year and we’ve had an influx of locals redescovering us. In 2015 the man who was selling his plants from our site was asked to leave and subsequently bad-mouthed us to all he knew in the area, including the volunteers who use our site. Things were a bit strained for a while. But day after day of being polite and getting on happily with our clients have changed the atmosphere. We are friendly and welcoming. Some of our clients may be socially awkward and stand too close, mostly they say hello. I do love my job, even when the manager asks me what my profit margins are on the latest order (my mental maths is shocking and the calculator always seems to be hiding when I need it). Even when the Southport sky is shooting rain horizontally from grey skies.

A client who I called Grumpy Edna (based on observational evidence rather than stereotyping), was ill a few months ago. Shes 86. Our oldest college student, learning horticulture skills. She had an accidental, poisonous dose of medication to treat her shingles and returned to us with disjointed speech, little memory of peoples names and quite distressed. It wasn’t nice at all, I wanted grumpy edna back. Luckily this week she was more like herself, except mellowed. She was joking with our resident wind-up merchant and gave a quick witty reply reminding him of his lack of hair. We all laughed. It’s such a mix of clients, dementia, learning difficulties, autistic, physical disabilities and mental health support needs all enjoying learning gardening skills, serving the public and helping to run our day care garden centre. The guy who came to service Edna’s wheelchair today said he’d expected she’d be in a care home, comfy chairs in circles watching telly. Edna was wrist deep in soil, potting on semperviviens, telling the others to be careful of their roots and not to get gravel on top of the plants. The gravel still ends up over the plants, the floor, the table and later on we find it in her cardi pockets too (the great escape came to mind). So every day is different, busy and enjoyable. I feel supported, stretched but not stressed and even on the worse days, I know I only have to survive two days then I have one or two off. Magic.

I had a political conversation with one of our clients today. Last week we’d had this little glimmer of hope that we might wake up and the tory government be history. We both remembered the austerity of the 80’s. I recalled my sister’s face at the shoes that Liverpool Corporation provided us with, as Mum was a single parent, while she recalled not having a penny left for herself after paying bills and feeding and clothing her kids. We talk about the sadness, greif and selfishness of this government who have inherited wealth and been taught how to evade paying tax on it all. I’m not skint right now, I’m lucky to be able to save as well as live comfortably (hence me reducing my days) but it could all change so easily, so quickly, so drastically with a job loss, poor health or unlucky circumstances. I daren’t think about it.

I have still been writing small pieces in my garden planner notebook but I haven’t been posting the words for a while. So each time I blog, I’ll include the pieces I wrote in the past plus any poems.

Shed Load of Solace

Solace and respite, rest and regroup. Sound off, tune in, brain fuzz decamp. Dirty hands, busy mind, phone rings again. Think practical solutions, create alternatives, body-busy distraction technique, nuturing plants, no need for talk, listening to friends, to birds, the wind blowing tunes through the trees, the buzz of a lawnmower, the tinkle of a wind chime swaying in the breeze. Life is busy, tricky but not bad.

Plot Therapy

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So in the early days of teenage development I’d potter in the garden, move the furniture around the bedroom, sort out and order my brother’s toys. I think back to my first house where I’d rearrange the living room furniture, extending wires for tv and the phone or changing the colours of the cushions, dylon or the charity shop curtains were cut up and sewn into new bright accessories for the house.

Now I recognise these strategies to stop the depression taking hold. I developed this need for change, for renewal. Today I’m digging up stones and slate, divider flags and it dawns that I like winter down the allotment. It fulfils the ability to renew, to change plants around, to plan new paths and beds, to sketch up plans and rub them out again. Gardening allows me to have a focus, to order, to plan in my head, to follow my instincts and visual ability, to see the potential in the plot. Saying all this I don’t have aplan for where my yellow rose will be going in my new garden area, but that will come…

My back complains today as I try to lift a flag, yoga wasn’t on this week and I feel like one of those tough plastic dolls bending at the hinged joints, like action man, with his inflexible limbs. Whereas Sindy was definately into her yoga practise. She was supple and flexible, had brown shiny hair, average boobs and a curved bum. Very average compared with the barbie doll that many of my friends had. Compared with action man she was better at parachuting down the stairs (hankie and hair ribbons) much more graceful and didnt just clunk to the floor.

Anyway I digress to the jealousies of my childhood and recognise how the media influenced my perception of Sindy. I recognised the irritation of jealousy before christmas. An ex friend was going to the geothermal spa that I’d googled a few months ago. It was massively expensive so on realising the price I put the idea behind me. I should have been pleased that someone could afford the luxury of the healing spa but instead I was jealous. Karma worked it way round quickly when on the last day before the holiday I was questioned by my manager about my activity on social media. A colleague had told her that I had been ‘slagging off’ the company and management. I am very careful with wording and knew even if the manager saw the post it would not be disciplinary however I was left with feelings of mistrust with my ‘friends’ on facebook. solidarity is important to me in a environment where exploitation of staff is often expected and kindness is played upon regularly. I have deleted all work colleagues from my account and only one noticed and asked why, she has since deleted work colleagues from hers. trust and solidarity are of value to her too.

Gaping Holes

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13-04-26-the-futurist-biennial-pic

Yesterday, on ‘nanny duty’, Layla and I went to town (aka Liverpool) walking from the library, where the urge to run around its ramps and stairs was in equal proportion to the urge to look at some books, to the vegan cafe, I was startled to see the gap, the wide cavity caused by the demolition of the futurist. I cant say I’ve ever been inside it but it appeared in my conciousness ten years ago when I completed a short course in ‘The Architecture of Liverpool’. I could tell you about the architect and his baroque style stone embellishments… but I cant remember a thing (I think I’ve even got it wrong that its baroque, I just like the words though) It’s remains were long gone, some pale brown, crumbled sandstone heaps were behind the metal barriers, exposing the street and buildings behind, and the steep incline as you venture away from the river. It reminded me of the other gaps, like the starkness of the plot in winter, trees bare, sheltered woods completely visible. I remember my son’s laugh, seeing the black gap where his molar used to be and the feeling of failure washes over my common sense. It was hard enough to get him out of bed most days never mind brush his teeth and visit the dentist. He was depressed, dental hygiene was not a priority. Then there’s my manager leaving. The changes in work that you rely on for support. My workplace changed last year and the visits from friends, colleagues with hugs, looking for plants, exchanging biscuits and just coming to moan stopped. It left a gaping hole in my mental health in the dead of winter. So as the staffing levels drop and service users change, I hear my manager will be taking redunancy next year, the fear of the gap increases. The support is what keeps me from the black hole, laughing and friendship. One colleague who used to come every thursday has left a gap where the familiararity used to be. Knowledge of where I put my tea down or the trust in me borrowing a pair of socks. The appearance of gloves and overalls when I mention I’m going to paint. She knows how messy I am. I see the familiarity in my colleagues right now, that knowing without speaking and I feel included but that bond…

I’ve been worrying lately. There’s a man I know that has learning difficulties and regressive cerbral palsy, I feel an affinity. We’re the same age, his mum is the same age as mine, she says things that my mum says. Those little sayings that I can’t remember but again strike up familarities. She is worrying as he has to go for a work focused interview this week. The assesment for ESA has decided he is capable of seeking more work. He has for the past 26 years worked one day a week in the same residential home. He used to help with the library, drinks and a bit of cleaning. Now with his arthritis and decreasing coordination, he wheels the magazine and newspaper trolley and sits and talks with residents. For 4 hours a week. He gets the same bus, on the same route to get there and back. He is polite, sociable and can hold a conversation based on things he knows, football, Dr Who, James Bond films, 80’s music, Star Trek and some current affairs. This man is lucky enough to have a social life, with support and sacrifices from others. He used to go to a British Legion club with his dad, before he passed away, and he continues to go and meet a friend there who also has a learning disability. Again familiarity plays a huge part, the regulars there know him, the bar workers have been there for years, each of their parents drops off or picks up at a certain time. At no point have I explained the vulnerability, the negatives, and neither does this family. Why should this family have to prove that this gentle man is in need of his benefits, that his mum needs respite, and financial support from a system that both her and her husband paid into heavily throughout their working lives. Not all families are inclusive, supportive, nurturing units like this. He is extremely privaledged to have a club he can go to and the tight knit community that surrounds him. Lucky to have an employer who is flexible enough to support him in continuing to work despite his physical regression. I feel despair, the sick at the bottom of my stomach despair. The film ‘I, Daniel Blake’ left me feeling this. Angry. But filled with sadness that the compassion, the caring, the equality for all is not present in our society.

I go to my allotment to clear my body, my mind, of the injustice, the worry and the frustration of not being able to solve these problems. I dig over 2 compost heaps, removing the dark brown earth that was last years weeds, returning the thorny twigs that have not yet broken down. The scratches irritate as the rain seeps through my gloves. I move the dead stems of runner beans and squash into the empty bin and stop to stretch upright as I contemplate emptying a third bin. I decide to do it as the positioning of this bin was ever so slightly on the paved area. It’s amazing how satisfying getting straight lines can be. The asparagus is earthed up and the clay soil of this years potato bed is dug before and after I add the content of the barrow. The robins swoop in to look for crawlies as soon as my barrow is turned and the magpies discover the addition of seeds on the bird table, they jostle on a nearby shed roof. The centipedes, millipedes and earwigs were breeding well in those heaps. I have to stop when I see a tunnelling system in my grass sod pile. I was adding the sods to the empty compost bin in layers, but I really dont want to expose any baby rats in this weather. I know they will cleverly move on and I can continue moving it next time. Though, with storms, hail stone and frosty temperatures on its way I’m not sure when that will be. 

Merchant Navy Memorial Day

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I identify as a buddhist, so my attendance in a church isn’t a common occurrance. Our lady and St Nicholas church is known as the seafarers church. The weather vane on the spire was a landmark for sailors as they came along our magnificent Mersey River on their way to docking in my home town of Liverpool. It was where we remembered my Nan after her death 21 years ago. It was where she went to remember my Granddad who died as a crew member of the Derbyshire, a merchant vessel that sank in the South China Sea. I was in this church on Sunday for a memorial service.

We have many visitors to our garden centre and one man arrived just after closing time to tell us impatient staff of his time serving as a sailor. Retired merchant seaman Pat Moran, gave us a donation to create a floral display at this event. He provided stories, ribbon and his trust in us to create a colourful display for all to see down at our waterfront. He was delighted more with my attendance than the display, I was introduced to some dignitaries and sat drinking tea with some WW2 war widows before agnonising over the logistics of getting the planter back in my car. It’s one of the moments in life when I realise I haven’t stopped and listened and watched for a long while. Meeting new people, listening to their life stories, their present difficulties, helping them solve their problems, even just providing a pen or some selotape to fix the card on the wreath that kept blowing away.

It wasn’t an opportunity to sell our company, it was an opportunity to sit, remember, to listen and reflect. How lucky I am to have my family, for my Dad not to have died at sea like so many there. To have my health, with managable ailments, my rewarding job, my caring family, a home, access to healthcare, transport, the list goes on… Churches allow time to sit and think and reflect.

I resolve myself not to allow the stresses of work overpower the gratitude and it lasts half way into lunchtime. My inner voice keeps me calm, telling me I cannot do anything to control some things, so acceptance it is. I accept that having given out fifteen barbeque invitations I am told the wording is wrong and I’m to spend tomorrow on a telephone verbally inviting our service users. I accept that my ‘right hand man’, is told he is no longer needed to staff here. He has supplier contacts, he has plant knowledge, experience of customer service, even has used the till correctly in the last two weeks, but who am I to interfere with management issues? I accept that our Autistic student struggles to accept a black taxi instead of the big, white bus that has always came for him. He makes some simple decisions and goes home in the front seat. I accept that the big, white bus is an hour late as it’s a new driver, a new route and the first day back of the school year for him.

Maybe acceptance will get me through the next 2 weeks when my short break in Oswestry is booked. A few days with grass, trees, a camping stove and fresh air should refresh and re-energise. In the meanwhile I gaze at my plot with the despairing ‘where do I start?’ look. I start by picking elderberries, staining my hands, my bag, the chair I’m standing on with it’s rich, germ busting juice. Time to get it ready for the winter tonics.

Tourist, teacher,digger and designer

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My last fortnight has been diverse. I travelled to Latvia and landed safely, despite some scary roller-coaster type, turbulence just outside the bay of Riga. I was met by Anya and Evija, young women who also relished the idea of spreading the love of our language across Latvia. Riga draws you in with history and its potent beer. Folkclubb Ala provided the first experience of Latvian dancers. I’m unable to remember the last time twelve men were dancing with such vigour and coordination on a club dance floor. 

The following day provided little sleep, an adverse digestive reaction to the beer and a very heavy head all while travelling from the capital to the wonderfully welcoming town of Berzgale. At 44 I should have known better than to drink that much so my body provided the punishment free of charge. I met some fellow travellers while lying on a bench in the sun outside the train station. I was feeling a little better after refreshments and by the time we arrived at a very high viewing tower. I was intrigued by the swallows darting around the top enough to pull myself up by the handrails, overcoming the anxiety caused by the steel mesh steps reminding me how far from the earth I was all the way up. I was rewarded by about thirty nests each with one or two monochrome heads looking out for tasty treats from their parents who were busy swooping in and out of the tower.

The week that followed was an amazing experience in a poor community that was so rich in friendly, welcoming and talented people, so proud of their Latgalian heritage. Latgale is a district of Latvia having its own language and cultural differences to the other districts of the country that supplies IKEA with most of its wood. The lakes and flat green landscapes attract awkward looking storks, checking for frogs in the dew covered grass each morning. The children of the village and a nearby village met each day in the council building. The Mayor so happy to have 67 children and 12, mainly unqualified, english teachers invade his usually quiet building was a perfect example of the humbleness of this area. He appeared regularly offering coffee, saying good morning and even offered directions to a lost teacher while exploring. Unusually his building, which doubles up as a bus shelter when it was cold and raining outside, was painted in bright terracotta in contrast to the grey utilitarian concrete of so many other buildings. It housed the library and a theatre space as well as a hall and the village youth centre was housed downstairs. The activities and discussion which happened over the week left us all in awe of so many characters. The students worked together to assist others and the team building and support within our group teachers developed quickly and with ease. At the end of five days we were all so elated and exhausted as we went our separate ways. of course it now seems like a distant memory but a hugely memorable, fulfilling one. The highlights for me included twenty little ones sitting, enthralled, listening as Roald Dahl’s George made a medicine for his squeaky voiced evil grandma. My co-teacher Liana checked afterwards that most had grasped the story plot from my voices that are second nature. This was a favourite of mine for supply teaching many years ago.

So the memories were rudely shoved aside upon my return to work on Tuesday. Two tonne of soil needed shifting, two truck fulls of plants needed delivering, rolls of turf sourcing, two hedges planting and two gardeners arrived on site. Overwhelmed I stuck in so as not to give way to the panic that could have so easily meant failure. Reinforcements arrived, the woodwork staff and the maintenance staff were followed by a couple of managers laden with drinks. No water feature but fizzy pop would quench some thirst in the hot sun of Southport. The next morning (judging day) started at 7am planting in a scented hedge. perhaps it was the herby smells or the pale blue sky and quiet of the early hours that aided my calm resolve. At 12.15 we finished, turfing, planting, choosing and discarding and potting up, cleaning and deadheading, brushing soil from mosaics, flicking pea gravel out of the strands of grass. We had 15 minutes to spare admiring our work and tidying the waste. 

It was Thursday when the relaxed facade melted making me dance around like a toddler needing a wee! Carole Kline from gardener’s world came to see our garden. At the same time a young Miss England was also taken aback by the attention. The two were so lovely taking time to complement the garden and even my hair! Our art department’s poseidon statue caused a stir and they came in for a squeeze of his muscles. An excellent photo opportunity, even I’ve ended up on the flower show facebook page!

The whirlwind dies down today leaving me more tanned and the bags under my eyes give away the falling asleep on the couch before 10pm. I am very grateful for the yoga practise I had chance to do in front of the lake outside our cabin in Berzgale and the yoga studio in the hostel in Riga. I’m thankful for the day relaxing with my book while waiting for flights. I truly appreciate having such supportive colleagues today while I pottered around trying to tidy around after the tsunami left behind in our garden centre. I appreciate the other half keeping our flat looking so good, my bed for being so comfortable and for the rain. Seeing I forgot in my haste to get home last night I forgot to water the show garden and forgot to water my allotment!

Sveiki draugi

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‘Hello friends’ in Latvian. I’m getting excited now that the boarding cards are printed. y granddaughter and I visited our two great cathedrals last Saturday in search of postcards and a map of my amazing home town. The little one with most energy adored the colours from the stained glass windows inside Paddy’s wigwam and she enjoyed listening to the organ being played in the anglican cathedral as well. Tiptoeing around the Catholic cathedral she was trying to be quiet while saying loudly, ‘Do we have to be quiet nanny?’.

I managed a lie in this weekend before venturing out to the allotment. Harvest time is upon us. Green french beans, brocolli, tomatoes, onions, red cabages the size of footballs swell out under the sunflowers. I brush past the sweet peas to get to the courgette that’s trying to become a marrow. Courgette chutney will be brewing up as soon as I can get the big pan washed. Our latest guest made veggie stew, of course its always better the day after, so there’s an excuse not to have to wash the pan. Then there’s the berries and the fruit. Mike’s melon is drifting its sweet smell over the edge of the fruit bowl in the newly decorated living room. The plums are ripening just as the raspberries become a big smaller and a bit softer than those first fresh pickings last month. Blueberries are continuing to swell in size and the colour turn from a deep ink to a silvery black, shiny when rubbed. On my way out I find some unexpected parcels. the boxes had been there two hours earlier but only on curiousity’s chance did I open then. Two brown hens, each in a shoebox size card box, stuck with duck tape, fluttered and wobbled as I lifted a corner. Mike put them away in Billy’s old hutch and fed them some greens, they’ve had corn and sunflowers today. My son, who has a job(!!!) in the animal rescue centre has said they can have them there. The run they are in isnt safe from foxes, so we presume they’re not laying eggs and it feels wrong to make them redundant or not fit for keeping because they’ve outlived their usefulness, but it’s not safe to keep them as pets down the plot. They’d be foxes breakfast before the weekend.

Sleep is on it’s way now, though its being held back by the ebb and flow of snoring besides me, grating with each breath out through congested airways. will have to go and nudge the compliant sleeper into silence again.

Rose garden

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So life lately has been fine and rosy. A niggle of doubt tells me I shouldn’t tempt fate but hey its good to share the good times as well as the bad.

Labdien- good day in Latvian

I have the opportunity to teach (I use this word hesitantly, as Ive not taught in schools for 10 years now) in Latvia. My daughter’s friend is fundraising to run an english summer school in her home village, a rural community in the east of the country. I’m excited about being around children, being able to engage them in fun activities and help them to practise their english. The sum total of latvian that I know so far is written above, but I’m sure I’ll learn more and thankfully interpretors are plentiful. My colleagues in work have expressed concern at me ‘swanning off’ the week before the flower show, but its adding to the team building atmosphere that is developing well.

In December I was sent to Park Lodge Greenhouses, Rotten Row, Southport. the weather was dire, the other site users were obnoxious, and it was difficult to stop the grey clouds, leaky roof, lack of hot water, lack of conversation from getting to me. Ok, now the sun is here things are better, but we have a bigger, better team of staff, clients are mixing and making new alliances. The whole thing is brightening up. Myself and my colleague feel like our feet haven’t touched the ground for weeks now, our bums definately haven’t touched seats until lunch time! We’ve just done our first weekend between us and the customers streaming through the gates have listened to us selling what our company does. How proud I feel that we empower people, give them meaningful tasks, develop skills and help them learn new things, keeps me elated with enthusiasm and love for my job. It’s not all roses but I said my piece about the past and letting it go is a vital step in my happiness.

Down the plot, I grew the roses there. They remind me of the rose bush Nana and Pop planted in my childhood back garden, in front of the swing that we had, if you went high enough you could see Mrs Sumner’s bloomers hanging to dry in her garden next door. The grapes that grew up the back wall, by my twelth birthday I could reach out and pick grapes. Well, if I wasn’t so disgusted that Mum’s old tights had been around them, to protect them from the birds. We had mint in an old toilet, a strawberry bed, and smelly tomatoes, that smelt particularly pungent because Dad weed on them as fertiliser! Down my allotment I’m growing spuds, I love new potatoes, the kids helped put in peas, and beans, with squash growing around the bottom, one bed has sweetcorn (will have to eat the last two cobs in the freezer from last year), I’ve planted red shallots, garlic and we spread broccoli seeds a while ago. Ive got another bed to plant up with red onions, and have to prepare one for the plot pumpkin competition.

The kids are happy(ish). The eldest is winding down after the stress of uni, she’s got herself air in her bike tyres and a new camera. The middle one is ok (he’s always ok) but ok with getting out and about and waiting on references for some agency work. And the youngest has stuck at a job for two days so far! She’s learnt she’s not a ‘people person’. good job its only two days a week! I’m planning on getting to a few open mike’s this month but otherwise I’m content. Happy. Optimistic.Coming up roses, even!

 

Pain in the bum!

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I was assertive these past few weeks. I refuse to take on projects that will stress me out. (Go me!!) Last year I became the project manager for an exhibition garden at The Southport Flower Show. I left fellow careworkers and my complex key group behind at the day centre to expose myself to the windy elements of Southport. We (it was the ‘royal we’ at the end) created a garden packed full of hand made, creative touches and won a silver award. On the third week into the build, one week before judging, my good, strong, gardeners back went into spasm. I hate painkillers but I had to be there. I’d designed the garden, directed what needed building, explained my basic, graph paper sketch with enthusiasm to all that would listen and needed to see it to culmination. I’m lieing on my back on the grass doing my physio exercises whilst telephoning our handy man who was collecting resources. Signed off sick, my partner drove me there and helped, plant, paint, deadhead, level, along with everyone else. It was worth it. the sense of pride and enthusiasm flowed while telling everyone who we were, what we normally do and what we’d created that weekend.

Some reflections included:

  • It was stressful
  • It wasn’t in the service users’ best interests
  • It wasn’t in my job description
  • I felt a general email wasn’t enough to feel truly appreciated for all we had done

I felt I had been pushed into doing many tasks as well as this one and wasn’t prioritising my health. I’m determined not to be put in that position again. So when my sciatica begun to send its shooting pains down my left thigh I decided it was time to be assertive, via email but still… I expressed some concerns and was hit with a short, sharp, unprofessional reply. While the manager has spoken to me today, she has not apologised. The staff team decided that they would prefer not to complete a garden this year via a vote. We will resist being put under more pressure to perform duties that are not beneficial to our service users. With the austerity cuts, our service users and their carers are struggling, day care reduced, respite reduced, transport removed and benefit caps have yet to come into force. I should do all that is in my power to help them enjoy their time gardening with us.

Exhaustion is sinking into my limbs as the summer gardening boom hits our workplace. My t-shirt tan is developing as I forget to eat my fruit after lunch and apply a midday layer of sunscreen. The leathery laughter lines are more noticable this week. Things liven up as a cleaner fights senior managers convincing them she is needed and next week our maintenance staff arrive, Handy Jan is our female site maintenance person. Our workplace is a great advert for equality. Whether I’ll have energy left to get to my own allotment is another thing.

Rent collection down the plot

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Last week we had our allotment AGM, I’m on the committee. I’m usually the secretary’s secretary, as Mike has all the paperwork to do and I help. Another woman, Joan, but they call her bun loaf, due to her lovely baking, took the minutes. We had a few grumbles when announcing the rent. It’s gone up quite rapidly the past few years. Our council are applying austerity measures to all plot holders. Half plot holders have had the biggest increase, six years ago it was £25, this year it’s £60 and next year it’s going to be £78. All in the name of revenue. We had our usual complaints from people who have nothing else to do than write lists of questions about incidents that happen 4 years ago and are no longer relevant. We listen and answer as best we can. He escalates, when he’s cut short and is calmly told by other attendees to be quiet, he does, but he can be heard mumbling in the back of the room. I added my bit about our company intending to use the accessible plot and the pavillion as a venue for our gardening outreach venue. No awkward questions arise, but Mike has an email from the council officer this week that means they might have had a complaint. He’s to ring them. It’ll be Wednesday when he finishes his long shifts and find out. Its all fun and games down there!

This week I can go to the plot after work! At last! It’s light, it’s even been sunny and my seeds are sprouting. I checked on my seeds, then went to check on Mike, who had collected two van loads of compost from my work. (Thats another saga: a tomato grower dumps his used compost for the volunteers to use on the park but its on top of our man hole cover and we can’t get our toilet unblocked until it’s moved!) So Mike and his neighbour have been spreading compost on their beds and have just decided to try out the elderflower champagne… mmm… Elderflowers upon collection smell like cat’s wee. But the only smell is a hint of floral tones (posh wine talk is called for) but it’s just right, medium with a bit of fizz, might need a strawberry balanced on the edge of the glass next time. I will have to  hide my share so they dont drink it all! Mike has about 50 bottles of red elderberry wine that I dont like so it’s only fair I get this batch. It’s amazing what foraging can produce.

So back to practical stuff, I said I’d help the rent officer collect the rent and give out the new tenancy agreements today, so my home on sunday mornings will be in the pavillion. Last year we had a bit of a stand off, a man wanted to pay his rent but not his water charges. We couldn’t accept it and he was later evicted. Thats how it rolls I’m afraid. The allotment has two toilets, a pavillion and numerous standpipes. It’s great that people do save their own water but on a half plot theres only so much room for storage of water. I’ve got 4 water butts but that won’t cover everything in the summer. We have been put in a position by the council in that we have to ask for the amount of rent that the council set and the council keep increasing it. But I’m not lucky enough to have a garden or field so £60, just over a pound a week for my own bit of space, for growing, painting, sitting, writing, drinking tea or champagne is a wonderful, life saving bargain!

My last bit of writing involved a poetry slam type piece upon being a mother, but I haven’t performed it yet. Maybe next week, I’ll have to get practising.

 

To dig or not to dig… that is the question

Posted on by pimpampo

Finally down the allotment, it looks like spring has crept up on us all. I contemplated the no-dig method for my plot momentarily. I can’t do it. Call me a control freek but I know there are roots under there, bind weed, dandelion roots longer than my carrots grew to, mares tail, plantain, shall I go on? It’s like a sixth sense that they are lurking under there and while the contemplation reminded me of trying to ignore my teenagers’ unreasonable behaviour a few years back, gently smoothing the surface, hoping it would pass, I couldnt ignore it. I knew the behaviour was to rile me, check my reaction and provide evidence that I was the horrid mother that was to be hated. I stopped taking it all personally. At the time my buddhist meditation class talked about detachment I realised I could take a step back and observe before reacting in a calm, quiet way. A lot of repetition reminded me of when they were little and I had to continue taking them back upstairs to bed, give a cuddle and lie them down, time and time again. We have to find what works for us and what we can bear. I can’t bear leaving the roots underground knowing they will get bigger and sprout up and curl themselves round my cherry sapling.

Down the plot some people cover their beds, hoe it over a little then add the seeds or plants. I feel this compulsion to clear all the roots as best I can. Its a methodical, practical preparation task that I find therapeutic. I know the weeds will blow in but I know Ive begun with a clear slate. Today I dug over the bed the beetroot were in and hand weeded the garden and fruit beds. My back tells me I’ve done a good job. My legs that struggled up the last flight of stairs have enjoyed the cycling too. And besides the hand gesture I felt the need to display, after being beeped by a driver behind me, it has been a good day. As a cyclist thats the nearest I get to expressing road rage.

I’m struggling in work, I feel a little aggreived lately.  Despite having been on holiday a week ago, I dont feel refreshed. We haven’t a cleaner or a maintenance assistant so these tasks are being left to me, or maybe just noticed by me. When I refuse to do them next week they might be noticed by others too. I dont feel obliged to mop the floor but for the dignity of the young woman who had an accident under her chair in the canteen I have to mop and clean and disinfect. So the bathroom doesnt resemble a skating rink I have to clean up the slippery alcohol hand gel that a student decided he wanted to apply to the floor. I complain about low staffing levels to be told it will improve soon. Soon? ‘When is soon?’ has not yet been answered. My isolation and this sense of abandonment is over-riding when I receive an invitation to an acheivement awards evening. Why is my company spending money on this fancy evening when my workplace can’t have a cleaner? When I can’t have a lunch break due to low staffing? I’m finding it difficult to be loyal and definately don’t feel like celebrating with my managers.

I have however had a pay rise, after 6 months of forms and meetings and reviews, ultimatums and negotiations. I try to be positive even though my new workplace guzzles up this extra income in travel costs. It’s too far to travel by bike. But it leaves me enough to purchase a good cocktail of supplements from the healthfood shop. Vitamin D, B vitamins, agnus castus, evening primrose oil and sage should arm me for the next round of peri-menopausal symptoms to grace me with their prescence. My mind goes blank now and I’m distraced by cheesy weekend films on tv to accompany my glass of irish cream on ice. It was St. Patricks day this week after all. Enjoy