15 February 2010 – Adam was a gardener

If life had been more leisurely recently I would be reporting regularly on the many unanticipated delights of arriving suddenly and alien-like in a new community. Kington continues to surprise as we make it our home. It is a very small unshowy market town on the Welsh border, and it is full of many-braided life like the river Arrow that runs around it. Just last year, responding to some grass roots enthusiasm for becoming more self-sufficient, an allotment scheme was started. A few people took the initiative and made it happen. But the critical resource was popular enthusiasm. In just a few months a piece of fertile loam in a pastured loop of the Arrow was found, the field ploughed, plots laid out, and the allotmenteers moved on! Colonisation immediately reflected our love of diversity. A host of little sheds sprang up, many with home-crafted beauty and recycling ingenuity. And this cow meadow soon became a lively and creative community of diggers and builders. Although it is still gloriously freezing and winter beautiful, Spring is bursting through. The dipper sings his rasping sweet song from a rock in the river; the golden morning sun burns off the frost; people are digging and manuring and tidying. Soon it will be time to sow seeds and brew up some coffee in the sun and contemplate the good work. Where does this enthusiasm come from? Human development is so tied up to animals and plants, to crops and livestock. Clearly we have evolved a heart-beating affinity for the natural environment that we all once knew to be, until very recently, our very life line. But we might also say that Adam was a gardener, and it is in the blood. Sorry, I mean genes.