Saturday morning and the sun is out and the excitement on the allotment is high.
Is it too soon?
The earth feels warm; re-assuring me, tempting me to lay precious goods in its loamy blanket.
But is it too soon?
I look to Soph, Soph looks back at me for a decision. Again I feel the earth, put my thumb in, then break it up in my fingers. My, I look convincing, I’m sure Soph’s thinking ‘Now there’s a man that oozes garden confidence’.
‘I am man! Man make fire! Man kill beast! Man doesn’t have a sodding clue!’
If I lick my finger, hold it aloft and assess the wind direction, will that give me the answer? In years to come will my reputation spread as thousands come to hear my teachings on pricking out?
I look to Soph, again she looks back at me. Admiration or exasperation? They’re looking quite similar right now.
But then my prayers are answered, out of my periphery, I see hope. I turn to observe across the bustling plain, individuals all striving to take their patches to the next level. I see several of my neighbours.. PLANTING.
‘By Thor’s garden hoe these seasoned veterans are planting!’
It’s a sign! Praise Monty and his baggy jumpers! If these gardening sages are doing it, then to hell with caution, I’m going to throw my lot in as well!
An hour later, it’s done. I step back to admire my hard work: cabbage plugs & parsnip seeds planted. I take pride in these new steps. But just when I pack away for the day, I hear something. Concentrate too hard and it’s gone. But then it starts again, repeating, what was a small niggle in the back of the grey matter is now front and centre…
‘Is it too soon?’