Should I or shouldn’t I quit the allotment?
I’m wrestling with the sentiment…
I love this little green space of my own,
For digging and thinking and being alone,
But in recent months just so overgrown
That the Council’s taking an admonishing tone.
While working for money absorbs the hours
For otherwise tending the veg, fruit and flowers,
I’ve fallen from grace.
Guilty of plainly neglecting the place.
A seasonal gardener, I’m governed by mood
Before the priority growing of food.
Truth be told, I’m like a child,
More preoccupied with what grows wild
Than the tending and primping and preening of crops
That are all too ubiquitous down at the shops…
I love the small creatures that rise and go
Come sun, come wind, come rain or snow.
From spiders to frogs, to toads and newts:
I’ve learned the value of their pursuits
And, if I’m honest, I find them far more
The main attraction of the great outdoors.
I love to plant and watch things grow
(The standard part of the deal, as it goes…)
But struggle with rules and regulations
From the local Allotment Federation
That everything must be just so…
-the What/Where/How every crop must grow.
No room for creativity, botanical proclivity;
No place for nature to take its course
Without human interaction and federal discourse.
No place for the curious spirit of play
Or staying at home on a rainy day…
And so, with considerable regret,
So many parameters remaining unmet,
The decision is final.
It’s going to be hard
To hand back the key
And return to my backyard.