Growing things on an allotment feels very grown up. As I'm often surprised to find that I am actually an adult, I find myself playing down the grown-up aspect of it. I say "yes I have an allotment but it's tiny" or "I do have an allotment but its mainly weeds". Both of things are true. But neither the size and straggly state of my allotment negate the joy and abundance it brings to my life. Today beneath a tangle of grass and dead leaves I unearthed a feast of sweet strawberries. Amongst the the ground elder and the bindweed Anthony dug out the first potatoes.
Inside the world's worst fruit cage, the gooseberries are growing fat alongside the wild mint and the blackcurrant bush, heavy with ripening berries, is touching a ground concealed by speedwell.
My proudest allotment accomplishments are a hedge of lavender and a row of marigolds. The allotment is no show garden but that's OK. In between the weeds, the ants and the stones there is happiness.
Great final sentence. This woman can write alright
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