And who would think that I would start with "not only”?
The allotment, my love
"I have found it," said J. on one spring day. I know not where this idea had hailed from, what had been its genesis and when it had been born, but suddenly it had turned out that we were looking for an allotment plot. The search had been strangely (co)incidental slash relaxed slash non-existent until a certain Sunday morning jog away from the usual route and right into the territories with a bunch of prowling plots. And there was an advertisement with a certain number and a street name reminiscent of where our previous abode was located. It had the sun throughout the whole of each and every Godly sunny day, and had a cabin with a potential, a distant memory of a pond, trees just the right size for installation of a treehouse, and a million wild strawberries all over the place.
With the jogging sweat still on, one telephone call and a quick contract signing away, it became ours. It is beautiful, different every year, inspiring professions in J.: an architect, carpenter, bricklayer, pond digger and many more, as well as in Magda: a wall and facade painter, and even something resembling a gardener. Because it is a magical plot, on which everything will grow, once it has touched the soil. C’mon, you wouldn’t expect such beauties in a debut season, without any horticultural skills, if it hadn’t been for the magical potential of this place?
And this how the crops encountered the lens of my camera …
To give the veggies, fruits and foodies so space to float in, here is some backdrop
There will be the garden, about the garden and from the garden. There will be progress and regress. There will be no gres, however, the paths have been paved in brick and the cabin is basically wood all over. (I couldn’t resist the gres-pun).
There will be stories of sowing, forgetting what, where and "look, I wonder what has sprouted up here". There will also be a fig, which is affectionately addressed as Fiji, which for the past three years has been fighting for survival, which had come to us ... from Sweden (as everyone knows that Sweden is (not) a breeding ground for fig trees). There will also be the beach, the lawn and the meditation pond, the bonfire, the hearth and documentation of metamorphoses that this place has been undergoing.
See you later!