A mid-January Sunday, about 8am, my ears are stinging with cold. The return to the plot. There has been a sugar dusting of snow overnight. The path is slippery and feels unfamiliar.
A white frost has the site in its grip. The ground is hard-frozen. The assorted Italian chicories are edged with ice. The mizuna and puntarelle have collapsed. I had hoped to see the allotment fox. There was a pair running in our road as I left.
I don’t stay long. Too chilled to linger. Just time enough to clear away the tubs of Mary’s cuttings and for a quick check on the struggling plants. I return later with Howard and Rose. I missed Howard’s birthday – 6 January, Epiphany. We two usually meet at the plot to stir the biodynamic three kings preparation, and share a French galette des rois. We take it in turns to wear the gold paper crown.
This year I have brought a friend’s homemade quince liqueur, distilled from the fruit in his garden. We welcome its sweetness and warmth. We look about, though there is nothing to do. In this cold it’s more the being there, gathering early summer thoughts in the depths of winter.
The pea sticks have been taken down. Everything in the plot has returned to ground level. It’s the start of deciding what to sow where. Will there be potatoes? Where to sow peas. When and where for any early calendula.
We are joined by a passing heron, almost melancholic, ancient in flight. It settles on a row of chimney pots. It poses. Gives good profile. It has upset the resident crows maybe a tenth of its size. Two harass it, swoop and loop close. The heron appears unconcerned until one crow is relentless. The big bird shrugs, opens its astonishing wings and leaves lazily. We take it as our cue, too.
Allan Jenkins’s Plot 29 (4th Estate, £9.99) is out now. Order it for £8.49 from guardianbookshop.com
