The guilt of going away. I have been putting in more allotment visits in the early mornings and late afternoons. Making the most of the longer days, trying to catch up with a slower start. It’s a joyous way to bookend my working day. Though I am also there to compensate for upcoming absence.
By the time you read this, we will be in the middle of a family holiday. My daughter Radha’s big birthday is the trigger for a gathering by the edge of the sea.
Yes, I know the allotment seedlings will survive – even thrive – with Howard (hopefully) around. And, of course, there is irrationality to much of my anxiety about leaving the seedlings alone. But somehow abandonment and the fear of it are written in my bones.
I think I learned to love from seed, I once wrote. And it is still true that gardening doubles as talk-free therapy that comes with peace of mind and flowers and food.
Happily, our crimson-flowered broad beans are bursting with green leaf, with pods now just days away. I have hopes the recently resown tear peas have taken, and our climbing French beans are now nestled at the base of every pole.
I finally quit psychotherapy because the benefits too often felt too far away. But the nurture of non-verbal gardening will, I hope, stay with me for ever.
So I have been banking my visits, whispering encouragement to seedlings. Weeding and watering, feeding food plants and flowers. Protecting against predators.
There are rows of infant salad leaf. The trailing nasturtiums are about to cascade. Our transplanted sweetpeas ready to climb. And Howard’s comfrey had made a happy home in the bank. There will be bees and homemade feed. Perhaps he won’t mind sending me an occasional allotment photo.
But now, what do you miss the most about where you grow when you’re not around?
