Autumn thoughts

The dark evenings seem to arrive so quickly it's scary. Gone are my twice-weekly visits to the plot as it slides into semi-dormant state again until March next year. But there's still plenty to be done; not quite sure when I'm going to find the time to do it all.

Visited the plot at the weekend and retrieved all my maincrop potatoes and some nice carrots, before they got washed away or destroyed by slugs. Quantity not that great but did get some absolutely huge spuds, variety Sarpo Mira, unaffected by blight and some single potatoes at least twice as big as your fist. They will make good bakers, although one potato could feed three or four people! Very hard as usual to dig them without spearing them with the fork. Had just enough time to transfer them to the shed, but will need to check through them properly and sort out the non-damaged ones for storage.

Next I need to prune the raspberry canes, finish tidying up the strawberry patch and prepare the ground for onions and garlic to go in for next year, I had forgotten that autumn can be as busy as spring down on the allotment. Wise Mike's Autospade should come in very handy for winter digging. 

Each year I think about giving up but I would miss it now, maybe one day we'll move somewhere with a bigger garden, but not yet. What I really need more of is not space, but time!

Time is an illusion

Over the weekend I was accused by a friend of being old before my time. Judging by my screaming back muscles after an afternoon of digging the plot on Sunday, I wondered if he wasn’t far off the mark.

But what does old, or indeed time, actually mean? I’m reminded of a Douglas Adams quote: Time is an illusion; lunchtime, doubly so.”

For example, time is dilated for the young. My five-year old niece was bitterly disappointed that the seeds she had chosen in the garden centre didn’t germinate overnight. Then, a week later, when called in to see the magical little seedlings starting to sprout, she was still disappointed, if not completely indifferent to them. I suppose from her perspective, she’s got a point. After all, seedlings look nothing like the picture on the packet, and nothing like the ranks of perfect nursery-grown plants on sale, either. With only tales of the magic beanstalk to base her knowledge of seeds on, she can’t be expected to think long-term.

There was a time when I lived for the moment, too. I still do in some ways, preferring not to let words like ‘pension’ or ‘savings’ tarnish an otherwise good day, but in other ways my age is showing. I used to drink to get drunk, and hang the consequences. Now, I’m ever so careful not to get a hangover. I just can’t stand losing a whole day.

So, I wondered what had caused the change, and if gardening really had made me old before my time. I certainly can’t take things one day at a time any more. How could I? If I didn’t prepare things last autumn, I’d have no garlic this summer. If I didn’t order my potatoes in time, I wouldn’t get to choose the varieties I grow. If I didn’t take the time to dry my onions… the list goes on. In fact, as my hard-working wife will attest, I spend more time wandering up and down the plot, with a crumpled plan waving in the breeze, than I ever spend weeding or digging.

But I’ve decided I’m not old, and gardening is not to blame, because it’s all about the anticipation. From the first moment of putting those seeds in the ground, I’m like a five-year old again, willing them to grow overnight, and wondering what they’re going to look like in the morning.

“Youth is wasted on the young.” – George Bernard Shaw

Now, where’s my flat cap?