Digging

And now it's Friday, with a bank holiday weekend in prospect, not that it makes a huge amount of difference in my life as it is currently. L returned happily from Filey, having breezed through the camping, and sat on a lovely beach in glorious sunshine, eaten fantastic fish and chips, and pottered about Filey Brigg with her good friend S. I had a hard day yesterday with old and almost intolerable feelings surfacing. But I made it through, and learned something along the way. As I prepare once again to work with young children, being in touch with the excruciating pain of childhood separations and fears opens my heart, and brings empathy, the capacity to imagine my way back into the experience of a child.

And today we went to the allotment. The attentive among you may have noticed I haven't blogged about it much, and it is true that it has tended to feel too much for both myself and L to manage during these last nine or ten months, when we've had what you might call a hard row to hoe in our lives, never mind our allotment. However, we have proudly harvested potatoes and chard, and raspberries and rhubarb and gooseberries (though we can take little credit for the fruit, which was well-established before we took over the plot.) Also today the first calabrese, and the garlic and red onions, which were the very first things we planted, now drying in the kitchen, with beetroot still in the ground, growing slowly for autumn cropping. Along with my work project and the poetry, I am making a commitment, along with L, to put regular work into the digging and clearing that needs doing to get the plot under control for next growing season. Clearing areas, then covering them with carpet or black plastic to keep the weeds from returning, then planting next spring. Also we decided today to buy a cordless strimmer so we can keep the grass along the paths and round the edges under control. Slowly slowly, catchy monkey.

And here's a proud picture of Franceline potatoes and rainbow chard!