Digging for victory, self satisfaction and pride.......

A slender breath of winter's crisp air,

 I stop and turn to see who's there.

Brushes my neck with the lightest of touch

no one but the breeze so rare and nonsuch.

Tilling the earth with heart and spirit,

 unfolding the soil and all that is in it.

Breaking the sod weighed down by the year,

preparing the ground for Spring grows near.

Alone on the allotment with just God and the birds,

 lost in my silence, thinking only in words.

The Sun on my shoulders and Mother Earth by my side,

digging for victory, self satisfaction and pride .

Taking a break from the toil I stop and ask why,

then look up from the ground at the big Norfolk sky.

Watch that Buzzard soaring high, wild and free

and I'll know why, because you see that bird is me.

M. Thomas

There is no doubt about it, I have a lot of catching up to do down t' allotment. At least two months behind on the digging because of the 'full house' during the Thursford show months. That compounded by the failure to keep on top of the weeding during the preceding summer months. 

So you might think I feel that the allotment is a burden not worth pursuing, another chore and a commitment too far. You would be incorrect as I really do enjoy the toil. There is something so primitive about growing food from seed and at the same time so civilised. A patch of earth and a handful of seeds was the first step to the modern farming of today. 

For the first time since having the allotment I took a vacuum flask of tea down there as I planned to work for several hours. It was a gloriously sunny day, the winter sun was low but my patch is in a sunny position and the warmth counteracted the chill of the south westerly breeze.

After a few hours I pulled out from the shed the faded green patio chair that I inherited with the allotment. I placed it near the shed in a position that afforded me a 'Grand view' of the allotment.

I poured the tea into the funny little cup that doubles as the Thermos' lid then from a separate container I topped it up with fresh milk. There is (I am told) a persuasion out there that fill their flasks with the tea and milk combined! I know! I am sure that this is just an urban myth as there cannot be such philistines in such a civilised country as this.

So I sat there and contemplated for a minute or two. 

It was so peaceful and the clouds were forming wisps many miles in length in what is generally described as a 'Norfolk Sky' (vast). The Tornado planes occasionally ripped through the sky but otherwise it was just the odd Robin singing or the territorial call of a pheasant.

First question was which day of the week is it? Mmmm, Wednesday I decided. Gosh, two and a half years ago I would have known exactly what day of the week it was (*) and I would have been up to my armpits in all things Supermarket. 

For a moment or two I glanced back into those manic days, no single incident or store but my head filled with the constant hubbub of the tills, the constant alertness to any and everything and the claustrophobia of the work place.

I stole my self away and came back to reality, the reality of today, the here and now....  and it was good.

I compared the two worlds and quickly realised that they are incomparable for what I did then was another me but a job that was very worthwhile and had purpose. That was all very cool.

So what about now? Well, as I looked at this seemingly petty little allotment it dawned on me that here I am both producing food and serving it up too. 400 breakfasts, 300lbs of preserves and over 70 meals for which I have used my potatoes, parsnips, tomatoes ,onions, leeks, carrots, kale, broad beans, rhubarb, figs, apples, raspberries, strawberries, loganberries, blueberries and blackberries.

Not to mention the Pumpkins!

Oh and our own cut flowers for the guest rooms and cottage.

These have come from my garden too.

I realised then that actually I am still highly productive but my business is all about the provenance of the food I serve my guests. Along with the local sausages, the locally reared and smoked bacon, the locally caught crab I am able to serve the freshest of home grown veg.

And as I have tried to portray in the above poem there is a sense of enjoyment, satisfaction and freedom that I get down at the allotment which is so fulfilling it is almost spiritual.

Of course that will last right up to my next delivery of half a ton of cow's muck!

(*Editors note: he may have correctly identified what day of the week it was - on this occasion - but he doesn't know what year it is.....make that three and a half years!)





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