Howard and I make a second visit to the plots since remedial work began and the padlocks changed. We can’t get in so we wander through the woods at the back and stand peering over the fence, like foundlings.
The days are just a little longer. Daffodil shoots are starting to show in the woods. Bluebells can’t be too far away. There is a chill, but early signs of spring in the air.
It is almost an ache, the separation. Locked out of love. The plot isn’t only about growing fruit and veg and flowers for me – though I carefully source our seed and take extreme care in how we work. Our gardening is a collaboration with soil. Listening to the land. A plant partnership. Husbandry.
We are still at a standstill. I can’t bring myself to sort through the shelves and bags and bags and bowls of seed. They will wait until we’re granted parole. Or until Henri has finally lost her patience.
We are starting discussions with an organic farmer friend of Jane Scotter about sourcing some of his cow manure. Edging close to ready for when the starter gun goes off. It’ll be like a land rush in the American West. All that’s missing are covered wagons.
For now, allotment love has shifted back to the pots of bulbs on the roof terrace. I whisper quiet encouragement. Check on them every day. Like rabbits’ ears starting to stick through, the early narcissi are first to show: a true garden sign of spring.
The plot may be delayed. But the year will shift soon enough. We will again gather together. We will dare to share our planting plans, think about working parties, perhaps a summer barbecue. Howard and I will hunt for pea and bean poles.
For now, we take comfort in new growth, new life. We will commune over the garden wall and wait.
Allan Jenkins’s Plot 29 (4th Estate, £9.99) is out now. Order it for £8.49 from guardianbookshop.com
