I may be a lowly apprentice of the skilled trade of horticulture, but one day I aspire to be a master
I love my allotment. It’s not an official allotment, it is someone else’s back garden that my partner and I use to grow plants. It made sense for the owners to let us tale care it; they no longer have to pay someone to come and strim it twice yearly.
We don’t grow much by way of vegetables there; a plant or two of Daubenton kale, some garlic and some salad. Instead we use it to grow those things that would add extra pounds to our weekly shop, such as fruit and cut flowers. We get umpteen punnets of fruit each year from our four blueberry bushes, and the strawberries and raspberries rarely make it as far as the house. It’s also the overflow to our own garden and nursery, the place where the plants that I just couldn’t resist end up. It’s home to my rhododendrons, a range of woodland floor ephemerals, a collection of species hellebores and huge towering echiums.
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