BELONGINGSQ
uite what possessed me to get an
allotment with no experience in
growing anything, I’m not sure,
but I’d recently moved back
home to my mother’s f lat in 2015 after a stint
working away. The allotment is on the River
Mole in Surrey, nestled between farmland
and a wholesale nursery.
The first thing I planted was a wildf lower
meadow. That may seem unusual, but my
decision-making about the allotment hasn’t
been particularly rational. I wanted plants
that would bring me joy. So I toiled one
early-autumn day, clearing the weeds,
preparing the ground and then scattering
the seeds. And then I waited. Not much
happened and eventually, by late winter/
early spring, I gave up and threw some black
plastic sheeting over the patch, thinking the
a rea must have gone to weeds. A couple of
weeks later the plants were pushing up
against the black plastic, trying to get to the
light. I realised with delight that I had a
growing wildf lower meadow.
The meadow is a mixture of cowslips,
oxeye daisies, thistles, lady’s bedstraw,
sorrel, ragged robin, buttercups and vetch.
And the insects came. It started out with
mayf lies bobbing diligently above myWhat means a lot to you? Tell us in 500 words;
[email protected].meadow, followed by small beetles,
hoverflies, bees, bumblebees, crickets,
blackf ly a nd ladybirds. I’ve been a ma zed at
how much pleasure watching the insects
gives me. Sometimes I lie down between my
rose bed and the wildf lower meadow to
watch the bees and butterf lies moving from
thistle to thistle and listen to bumblebees
vibrating in my apothecary roses.
My grandmother died a couple of years
ago, then my mother was diagnosed with an
illness and made redundant. I would bring
her to the allotment on Sunday evenings, the
evening our family used to get together
before my brother and his family moved to
Australia. She’s a barefoot and haphazard
gardener, which is fascinating, amusing and
infuriating to watch. She throws seeds
without care, then proceeds to grow things
that no one else on the allotments can.
I’m not sure how I’d have got through the
last couple of years without the allotment.
It has been a godsend. “Better than winning
the lottery,” said my mother. I should point
out, however, that neither of us has won
the lottery yet.My allotment
by Shelley Verdon
WHAT I TREASURE