Dear Clare

How lovely to hear from you and your news about your allotment has made me feel less guilty about the shocking neglect of mine.  I have never ignored it for so many months and let it get so overgrown (I’ll have the Allotment Mafia on to me any day now telling me I’m shaming the site and the village) but after the deluge of summer I felt too miserable to even venture down there.  I was, up until a few days ago, going to give it up altogether.  Two years ago it was rabbit and then this year constant rain.  One day in June when we had flash-floods and our river burst its banks and the whole village was hit, Eve and I went for a wet walk in incongruously bright sunshine and saw our allotment under a foot of water.  Bubbles trapped in the thick mud were coming up through the brown water as if the land was suffocating.  When the waters did subside three days later all my seedlings were limp with mud or dead.  After that I almost gave up going down there.  But in the past couple of days some new, nascent optimism has started to kindle and I’m thinking, “Hmmm, perhaps not.”  However the thought of tackling it all again is a bit daunting

I think part of the disappointment is spending money on seeds, sets and tubers only to see your entire crop wiped out.  How anyone could be a farmer defeats me.  It’s been raining here again for weeks and even as I write this it’s spattering against the window pane.  In the November rain all the roads around us flooded making the daily journey to school like an exercise in map-reading skills and true grit.  One day after I picked the girls up from school in Durham after the school closed we had to take a two hour detour to get home only to find our cellar flooded and our power out.  Even the dogs refused to set foot outside.

But for me there’s definitely something about being the right side of the shortest day that makes me feel less hopeless.  Even though it was only a couple of weeks ago already the days have a slightly lighter feel.  I went out for a walk yesterday and all the birds were singing and in the lanes the first spears of snowdrops were pushing through.  I know we’ve got weeks and weeks yet and probably more snow and floods to come but it feels much less grim.

So at the weekend I’m going to go down and tackle the allotment, or as much as it as I can manage.  The rats around the compost bin who’ve had the run of the place for months won’t know what’s hit them.

Here’s to a dry spring and some sun.

Much love,
Caro xxx

Dear Caroline,

Dear Clare,

And the rain it raineth every day.

The 4th of July and still no sun, or even any warmth.  But (and this is an email whisper) my allotment looks OK.  Actually much better than last year.  But having committed that thought to paper, or cyber- equivalent, this should immediately ensure that a herd of cattle break into the allotment and trample it to death.

The bunny got what was coming to it (my dog’s jaws) and since then nothing, but I’m feeling guilty for being a nutter with slug pellets this year.  Normally I give a sort of holy water sprinkling in April and then nothing else is needed but this year I’ve been like Chemical Ali, spreading the things around like confetti.  Having had  everything eaten last year by rabbits I can’t bear the thought of slugs eating it this year.  But I hate using chemicals, and feel so bad for the birds even though the pellets are said to be safe for organic use.  I feel like a murderer.

The best thing about the lottie is the polytunnel, a little Eden where everything grows and slugs aren’t a problem thanks to a family of toads living there.  It’s been so cold that I’ve been going down like some sad old git and sitting in there for warmth.  It’s also been a haven from this computer which dominates my working life. I’ve got to that stage in the year where I can’t bear to write another word about someone else’s garden when mine cries out for some attention. But I’ve taken heart from your late sowing tips – going to try and find a break in both the weather and the work schedule and get down there and plant chard etc.

Your barn owl sounds wonderful.  I almost crashed into one early the other morning when it swooped down as I was running through the (sodden) fields. They are magical aren’t they?  I fear for all our birds though.  The flash flooding we had last week was so catastrophic that they’ve all been affected – ground nesting birds on the moors, the swallows and house martins and even our garden song birds.  The only good thing is that the wet weather means lots of insects so at least they’ve got food.

On the weather forecast this morning the announcer said, “As for gardeners – oh well, at least there’s next year”.  But my garden photographer pals are confidently predicting a July heatwave so nil desperandum!

Meanwhile, the clouds over Wolsingham are glowering…

Caro xxx