The first turf is cut!
But lets take a step back. In Edinburgh, the official wait for an allotment is several years. And the list is getting longer. We folk without gardens are in despair. You can only get so far with window boxes and north facing coastal strips.
Then along comes a well known man with a big idea. Find all the people who aren't using their land. Find all the people who want to use some land. Pair them up. And heh presto - less wasted land and more happy people. Thanks to the man with the big idea, and the joys of the Internet, only a week after registering, I have access to a man with a piece of land. A few days later a kind friend takes me to see it. I have to decide then and there whether or not to accept it. I have to say yes. Buy land, the expression goes, because they don't make it anymore.
But I am on crutches. The land has not been dug over. The land is not within walking distance of my flat. And it has been raining. A lot. And windy too. And if I don't start digging this land soon, someone else may be more deserving than me - and take it off my hands.
How am I going to get this land dug? First I need the tools. Then I need a lift. Then I need 'some help' with the digging. 'Some help' means of course, 'all of the digging'. I have a lot of very generous and kind friends. But this may be a step too far. I will have to ask. This is tricky. My friends have already been going out of their way for nearly six months to cook, shop, entertain, chauffeur and generally ease me back to normality. Digging for Scotland is not everyone's idea of a nice day out. Especially in grim weather.
And then, would you believe it, I have not one but two offers of help. People like me don't deserve this level of kindness. So on a blustery wet Saturday afternoon my friend and I head for the land. With his tools. In his car. He digs the turf off, and I fork the soil. I cannot do this with my feet so its shoulder to the grind.
But I am without crutches - feet in the soft wet earth. Hiding the worms from the birds. Throwing the odd stone over the hedge. Preparing the soil for a 'lazy bed' (yet another kind friend is providing the garden advice via text from afar). Hands freezing in my cycle gloves. Worrying for my friend as he digs and digs. Stopping for warm tea and chocolate. And then we are done. Surveying our handiwork. Two decent sized beds. In a sunny position. Reasonable security. Friendly neighbours. This is almost too good to be true.
As we drive off, filthy and tired but proud of a physical job well done, a large crow hops into the freshly dug earth and grabs one of the worms. Swallows it whole, as crows do. My efforts at protection were in vain. Still, there are plenty of worms to go round. I practice mindfulness on Mr Crow. He is still in sight when we disappear round the corner - feasting on the fruits of our labour.
But lets take a step back. In Edinburgh, the official wait for an allotment is several years. And the list is getting longer. We folk without gardens are in despair. You can only get so far with window boxes and north facing coastal strips.
Then along comes a well known man with a big idea. Find all the people who aren't using their land. Find all the people who want to use some land. Pair them up. And heh presto - less wasted land and more happy people. Thanks to the man with the big idea, and the joys of the Internet, only a week after registering, I have access to a man with a piece of land. A few days later a kind friend takes me to see it. I have to decide then and there whether or not to accept it. I have to say yes. Buy land, the expression goes, because they don't make it anymore.
But I am on crutches. The land has not been dug over. The land is not within walking distance of my flat. And it has been raining. A lot. And windy too. And if I don't start digging this land soon, someone else may be more deserving than me - and take it off my hands.
How am I going to get this land dug? First I need the tools. Then I need a lift. Then I need 'some help' with the digging. 'Some help' means of course, 'all of the digging'. I have a lot of very generous and kind friends. But this may be a step too far. I will have to ask. This is tricky. My friends have already been going out of their way for nearly six months to cook, shop, entertain, chauffeur and generally ease me back to normality. Digging for Scotland is not everyone's idea of a nice day out. Especially in grim weather.
And then, would you believe it, I have not one but two offers of help. People like me don't deserve this level of kindness. So on a blustery wet Saturday afternoon my friend and I head for the land. With his tools. In his car. He digs the turf off, and I fork the soil. I cannot do this with my feet so its shoulder to the grind.
But I am without crutches - feet in the soft wet earth. Hiding the worms from the birds. Throwing the odd stone over the hedge. Preparing the soil for a 'lazy bed' (yet another kind friend is providing the garden advice via text from afar). Hands freezing in my cycle gloves. Worrying for my friend as he digs and digs. Stopping for warm tea and chocolate. And then we are done. Surveying our handiwork. Two decent sized beds. In a sunny position. Reasonable security. Friendly neighbours. This is almost too good to be true.
As we drive off, filthy and tired but proud of a physical job well done, a large crow hops into the freshly dug earth and grabs one of the worms. Swallows it whole, as crows do. My efforts at protection were in vain. Still, there are plenty of worms to go round. I practice mindfulness on Mr Crow. He is still in sight when we disappear round the corner - feasting on the fruits of our labour.
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