Allotment Beginnings

It has been a good couple of months now since I first stepped foot onto my allotment. It was a bare patch of rotovated soil that gave me a blank canvas upon which to start my journey into food production on a grander scale. The plot is on a fairly secluded site surrounded by high hedges about half a mile from the runway at Luton Airport.

With no real idea what had been on the plot before hand, nor any idea what the soil was like there, my main initial task was to lay out a path up the middle. This was easy as it just involved marking a pleasing curvy path and throwing down some grass seed. Then came the digging by hand. This was my only way of really getting a feel for what the earth was like. When I first started in September, the soil was dry, very hard, full of flints and impossible to dig with a spade. There had been no rain for many weeks and the spade was soon abandoned in favour of a garden fork. Over the past couple of months the plot has now been dug and I completed the task a couple of days ago after a spell of rather wet weather. The contrast in digging conditions from when I first started was amazing. In parts soil was completely waterlogged with standing water at the bottom of the trench and almost impossible to do anything with. All I could do was just loosen the earth and let a bit of air in. Now that the earth has all been turned I can let the winter do its weathering job and I should be ready to plant in the spring. The soil seems very lacking in organic matter and what with all the stones and flints present will probably dry out quickly. I did start to remove quite a lot of the stones I found and quickly managed to build quite a large pile, but there were so many that I then began to only remove the biggest ones that my fork hit. At least I've got some air into the soil and found a few worms - though not that many. A mole has even dug a tunnel under my path - I don't get them in the house garden at all.

I keep hearing people say how time consuming allotments can be. I hope to prove them wrong by careful planning of low maintenance crops and efficient weed management. I've already got a small and very cheap push mower to cut the path, and I think that a good quality hoe will keep down many of the weeds - as well as intensive planting of a wide variety of crops. I am mainly planning to grow root crops, though the stoney nature of the ground will be a problem. I don't want to grow things that require a lot of regular watering, spraying against caterpillars or protection from slugs. I gather that pigeons are a problem on the site so I may have to invest in some wire netting for young plants. With the dark winter evenings ahead of me I'll have to sit down and do a bit of research to find out how best to utilise the plot.

I am surprised at how little composting goes on in neighboring plots. A huge amount of topsoil and organic matter is just piled up with other rubbish to be taken away by the council on a regular basis. I'm am quite amazed at this and will probably go and remove some of it to start my own compost heap so that I'll have something to add to my soil in the spring. The topsoil seems very thin on my plot and the last thing I want to do is remove anything from the site! I know that I'll remove vegetables, but any other organic matter that the system produces must be recycled back into it to help improve soil quality and fertility.

About two-thirds the way up the plot I've created a large circular patch of grass. Turning some of the plot into lawn is probably cheating a bit in the sense in that it is reducing the area in which I need to do much, but I wanted to create a space in which to sit, have picnics or become a play area for my daughter. In fact, when I look at the photo it does seem as though there isn't much space that isn't path, but I am sure the perspective is deceiving as there was a lot of digging involved! I'll probably be narrowing the path anyway in the spring when the soil has settled down a little.

I'm not really planning to blog much about the allotment unless there is something significant to say. This is really just a summary what i've done so far.

Being Still

'To create is always to learn, to begin over, to begin at zero. Part of the discipline of art as meditation is the discipline of struggling always from the beginning - "In the beginning," one might say.' Matthew Fox, Original Blessing, p198.

Somewhere in North Hertfordshire on a Sunday Morning...

This feels like the first time in months I have been able to just sit. To sit quietly. To sit without the feeling that I should be doing something else. To sit without being anxious about anything. To sit with only a very slight chance of being disturbed. Just occasionally I seek out a place like this. A place where time has no value and where I can place to one side all the things that demand my attention and just give myself permission to just 'be'. I am away for the demands of work, I know my family are safe and I have just finished a run of busy, but very creative and inspiring weekends. I am here, alone - apart from the presence of many non-humans who surround my temporary sacred place.

I have been in this place for about an hour now and I've decided to get out my sketchpad and write. It seems impossible and so idealistic to "go-slow" and to savour the more natural side to life amidst the demands and anxieties that abound in work, the family and life in general. I'm not going to explore these here as I am reluctant to dwell on the negative things that can occupy my thoughts at times. All I will say is that trying to live a positive and empowered life as encouraged by so many personal development advocates can be very hard work! I've stepped out of my comfort zone several times recently by volunteering to organise a grass maze and children's quiz at the Luton Hoo Walled Garden Apple and Pumpkin Gala; and running a craft activity in Hitchin's Market Square for the Triangle Community Garden. Both left me incredibly energized and I didn't enjoy coming back down to earth again! Some people seem to have so much energy and a seemingly insatiable appetite for doing stuff and achieving things. I know I am very hard on myself when I look at the skill-set of other people and I have to learn how to be constructive in such situations.

I am in my lonely place, a sacred place I'd call it, just for a few hours this morning. What will it teach me I wonder? I am not alone here. Although I am in a place where no people will pass me, I am conscious of the many non-humans that surround me and so I don't feel alone. A moth flutters on my umbrella; a spider crawls up my sketchpad; several other small beetles and invertebrates either crawl over my hand or over the white pages. There is a ladybird too. A few birds are tweeting in the trees and I am surrounded by trees. Trunks blackened by the pouring rain - stark against the bright golden yellows and browns of the vivid carpet of beech, oak and sycamore leaves. Even in this wetness beneath a heavy grey sky the woodland is awash with dense colours that the spirit of autumn brings. It is a time of death, of harvest, of fruitfulness; of shedding unwanted things, preparation for hard times and of giving back to the soil. Mosses look a deep healthy green and beneath the carpet of leaves I know there is a thriving community of fungi, invertebrates and microorganisms. I see some very tiny toadstools that have forced their way through the decaying organic matter up into the freedom of the space of the woodland floor.

It is warm for the first day of November, about twelve degrees centigrade according to the weather forecast yesterday. I'm feeling quite cosy, though I have a good few layers on and a wind-proof coat which I certainly need today. I'm on the lee side of the hill and up above me the trees are facing the fullness of the very strong wind and rain that is pouring in from the south-west. Where I am, blades of grass are just gently swaying, but later I am sure I will feel the full force of the wildness. I'm glad I have a large umbrella to shelter me from the wind and the rain, I know that I need to keep as warm and dry as possible if I am to stay here for any length of time. The wind and wet can soon cool the body, so I huddle up tight and keep warm.

I've just been re-reading Matthew Fox's Original Blessing. I wish it wasn't quite so heavy going, one day I'll get round to trying to write a more easily accessible version of it! It is basically a book about 'rediscovering' the blessing of Creation given to us by God.

As I look out at the woodland around me, the following things come to mind:

• Escapism is key to renewal


• There is colour even in death


• You are never alone in nature


• Man's survival should not be separate from nature


• Weather waits for no-one


• Growth is always present


• Beauty is always present


• Patience


• Do I prefer shelter or do i like the wind and the rain? How do I deal with comfort zones?


• What can I share with others?


• A tree has its own leaves and yet when it sheds them they mingle with those of trees around them (to ensure a mix of organic matter?)


• Journeys involve leaving, separation and time of returning home


• How can I change on my return home? How can I maintain that?


• How can I be a change


• How, ideally, should I deal with work and family?


• Being peaceful and strong is a gift (like a tree)


• Giving of that which has sustained you may be a sacrifice, but it may ensure your survival in the long run (leaves, money, love....?)


• How does nature cope with rain? Growth, waiting, indifference...?


• Nature is always creating, transforming and never static? How is that reflected in me? Was Jesus like that?

I watch the leaves tumbling down though the branches and give thanks for this place. It is time for me to leave and see what else the day has to offer me.

And when the mist comes down

An October afternoon up in the woods above Croft Castle, Herefordshire

And when the mist comes down
The silence of this grey shroud
subdues all sound and heightens
the call of the tiny goldcrest.

And when the mist comes down
the memory of the morning's
orange sunrise seems distant
and the brilliant moon
that kept the landscape wake
will not be seen tonight.

And when the mist comes down
the soft drip, drop of water
off the dense, darkest green pines
surrounds the lonely traveller.

And when the mist comes down
a gentle breeze waves
the golden bracken fronds -
the only movement in this shaded place.

And when the mist comes down
I walk with meditative footsteps
on the long awaited dampness
that the autumn now brings.

And when the mist comes down
the landscape hides its form
and only my feet and my soul
can guide my solitary path.

And when the mist comes down
My world has shrunk to that
which I can only see ahead -
the distance is no longer visible.

Lyngham Vallet: A Place to Be.

An October morning on the edge of Bircher Common near Croft Castle, Herefordshire

A place to be: where the valley lies, awakening to the cool, almost imperceptible pale salmon light of the new day.

A place to be: where shelter from the cold morning breeze is given by a thick gorse bush looking out over the trees below.

A place to be: where waves of bracken cascade down the valley sides under the birch and oak.

A place to be: where blackbirds and others call through the silence.

A place to be: where deep in the dark conifers the grunting of dear echoes over the landscape.

A place to be: where the subtle changes in the colours of the leaves call to the onset of autumn.

A place to be: where this small valley seems to hold treasure and peace.

A place to be: where, earlier, in a car sleeping. Cold and uncomfortable, yet beneath a moonlit sky.

A place to be: where a welcome can be given to the new day.

How the mind can play with words.

I was walking down from Croft Ambrey towards Croft Castle recently and happened upon a time when the poetic side of my brain seemed to awake from deep dormancy to intense creativity. Every part of the landscape seemed to speak to me and I responded with my voice in words that flowed with ease and freedom. I was reluctant to stop and try and write everything down as it would spoil the presence on the experience, so I sat down in the walled garden a short while later to try and jot things down. Alas, the creativity had gone and I was left with only a few memories that in no real way captured the real essence of what I had thought. I don't why this happens - perhaps it is to do with stimulation from the natural world or a relaxation of the mind when time is spent away from day to day thought processes.

Anyway, this is what I will write after looking back at my notes a day later:

Down the grassy hill I walked
towards the great old spiralling chestnuts
and now beneath a fruitful apple tree
the poetry I sang seems faraway.

I'll never understand the poetry of life.
The twists and turns like the falling of leaves
and the breeze that carries thoughts
like a bird on the wing
with freedom it flies in the wilderness of space.

A jay - from branch to branch
with a flash of white;
and a pigeon a fluttering of grey.
The crow, dark and heavy with steady flight
and a squirrel hurrying away
with chestnut to a hidden place.

....

And I can't remember anything more - but it went on for ages.

The Vine

The Vine
Reflections on the sermon given at Stopsley Baptist Church on Sunday 6 September 2009


Building a church based on New Testament principles.
What does the word church really mean to us and how can we engage with a new vision of the meaning of church in our lives? If the we take the definition of church to become one that is a body of people, and the physical building that we all call church becomes a community centre, how will that change the way Christians relate to others within their own body and with those in the wider community at large? How will it effect their relationship with Christ?

Some people may immediately wonder how much more is it possible to do because, surely, SBC is already a very missional and many members are active in the local community. Others may be so tied down to work and family responsibilities that forming a more outward perspective may be hard. Others may be terrified at the thought that it may involve loosing security and comfort.

I suppose alot of it depends on your relationship with God and your spirituality. If going to church on a Sunday fulfills your needs and this is your "God time" then that is Ok. I've no idea how many, but I expect a large proportion of the church do take their Christianity seriously enough to give it a certain amount of attention over the rest of the week. Some, at the extreme end - and I am one of those - may find Sunday church to be the time when they can feel distant from God because little there relates to their own experiencial perspective of God.

I liked the illustration of church being a interlinking network of elements rather than being and isolated box in the darkness. A very ecological perspective! All of nature is an interconnected set of systems and processes where nothing exists in isolation. These connections enable life to exist and perpetuate. I'd even say that inanimate objects have their place and form part of the ecosphere. An analogy was used regarding the potential of an acorn that contains all that is needed to produce an oak tree. When an acorn begins its journey of transformation it won't even start to grow unless it has various combinations of light or darkness, heat or cold, water, oxygen, time.... A gardener may love his acorn that he holds carefully in his hand, but unless he does something with it it will not release the potential locked up inside. God, the ultimate gardener and carer for his vine, Jesus, would have expected even him to bear fruit. I wonder how Jesus felt and how he was pruned? To me, faith cannot just be a "Jesus loves me, I'm alright" affair. I can't just be an acorn thinking that all is alright and that I'll grow into a magnificent tree. I need earth, light, energy and a habitat in which I will thrive.

Church should very much be the framework of people and community networks in which we relate to the world around us. It should be everything from formal meetings and home groups to social networks and work structures. I would call the times I spend with friends drumming around a log fire 'church'. It is there that we meet, share, talk, pray, realise intentions, seek guidance and value fellowship in a safe and unthreatening environment. We can be who we want to be, we can sit beside differing beliefs and share a welcoming smile. It isn't a 'Christian' group, but for me that doesn't matter. I can take it on my own level and be enriched in ways that are meaningful to me.

The Vine (John 15:1-7)
There was a quote along the lines of "Fruit bearing is not a human possibility; it is Christ's work through us". This seems to imply that you may not really be able to bear fruit unless you are a Christian. It also contains the idea of original sin which I struggle with - I am more of an "original blessing" sort of person (see Matthew Fox's work on the subject). Many people bear fruit and having a diversity of "vines" keeps a well balanced system in order as happens in nature. Rely too much on one thing and the whole ecosystem can collapse. Nature always promotes and thrives on variety, whereas monoculture needs an unhealthy input of unnatural elements to make it work. If we remove ourselves from the ecosystem that supports us, we will not last very long. We need to belong. Jesus' anaology here with how systems are found in nature is something I hadn't really seen before. "Remain in me" (John 15:4) belongs in quite an ecocentric passage, for it warns about the dangers of ignoring that which sustains us, supports us and gives us life. From a Cosmic Christ point of view, we ignore Christ, the animating Spirit of the Earth, at our peril.

Being and Doing
How should we go about "Being and Doing Church"? I am sure there is much that could be drawn out of that phrase...

I face a huge battle personally with the concepts of being and doing in my life. Half of me is always wanting to be "doing" something: gardening, walking, cycling, working, exploring personal development ideas, being dissatisfied with where I am at and getting depressed at not being like others whom I perceive as more successful. Then there is the quiet "being" half which is the mystical, quiet, listening, observing, meditating, solitary, nature aware spiritual side. The two always seem to be antagonistic with each other. Getting the 'being' balance right is hard because taken to its extreme you could 'be' so much and exist in such a state of relaxed ease and contentment with the present that you would never get out of bed in the morning. How you go about being active for your faith, missional, a learner and a disciple in a state of being rather than doing would probably provoke an interesting discussion at a workshop or talk on the issue. I think that it is a core principle of much Celtic spirituality and personal development work and is an interesting area which I find fascinating and could go on for hours about.

Night-time and The Gift

I've recently spent a few days camping near Fordingbridge in the New Forest. It was very much a family holiday and so I didn't get much time to myself to explore places and ideas at a deeper level. I like to be comfortable in a place so that I can explore it at my leisure and see in what way it might speak to me. There was an area of woodland near the campsite which I was able to explore - mainly it seemed late in the evening once "Piglet" had gone to bed and we had cleared up the tent and had coffee. Then I had a bit of 'me' time.

Going out into woodland in the encroaching dark is an interesting experience in examining what fears we have of dark unknown shapes and things that suddenly dash off in the undergrowth. Our minds are so programmed with scary thoughts, but in reality there is little or nothing, naturally speaking, that can harm us on a night's walk.

The woods were generally very quiet - just the soft swish of bats, the rustle of leaves in a breeze and the occasional hoot of an owl. Once, where I could walk out to meet the river that flowed silently through the still meadows, again all was quiet. But in the darkness I heard a gentle splashing sound and though the dim light of the lowering moon three swans swam down to river to where I was sitting and then cautiously turned up a small stream and into the tall vegetation and willows of the river bank.

With a couple of nights of clear skies I was able to lie down and gaze up at the stars above me. I don't 'do' stars so I have no idea where I was looking - apart from straight up! I am sure an occasional meteor streaked above me and are those satellites - the ever so tiny fast moving pinpricks of light that are almost imperceptible?

The Gift
So there I am gazing up into what we think of as the infinite expanse of space. For once I don't feel frightened at the thought of all that up there. I feel that I am on a gift, a gift given to us that gives us food, shelter and somewhere to exist. It is our protective sphere of earth that enables us to be part of this huge evolutionary experience. Is it a Divine gift? You could look at it that way. There may be other alternatives that are proposed but to me, in this place, the word "Gift" was true to me. A gift is treasured, valued and given thanks for. The giver is respected. We are receivers. How could I think otherwise when I was surrounded by lush meadows, deep woodland and hedgerows bursting with berries.

I didn't want to go to bed. I wanted to stay up, enjoy the darkness, listen to the breeze and just sit by candlelight.

Experiencing the Woods
Sometimes I am intrigued at how silent and un-wildlifey woods can feel. Occasionally I would do an exercise of thinking "what would a Druid do or feel?". How would they view or feel about a particular place or event. It is a bit like the "What Would Jesus Do?" sort of thing. To my mind I find it easier to think about the former as I can identify with that more easily - and I'm not here going to explain or justify my thoughts or how I wouldn't necessarily differentiate between the two, and anyway I use the term 'Druid' loosely to mean "a deep nature lover of great wisdom" and as it only has five letters it is quicker to write than "a deep nature lover of great wisdom"!

So in the wood, at night, how do I feel? What can I hear? What can I smell? What can I sense? Well, only the obvious things really - nothing too enlightening, but then you can't always force things just when you want to experience something new. As I have said above, you need to tune into a place.

And not just in the wood. What about when things are stressful in the family or when work isn't going too well? How would "a deep nature lover of great wisdom" deal with things? Theory is easier than practice.

Summerhouse
The nights are closing in. It is 8.30pm, dark and pouring with rain outside the summerhouse. I can hear it beating on the roof and dripping off the sides. I like being here in the rain as it masks out the sounds on the traffic and neighbours and I feel quite cosy and isolated here. I could do with more light though but I do like my candle.