I speak to many people in the allotments. Over these weeks I have met many people. I record stories, bird calls and read a lot about the difference between accessing sound and visuals.
When I listen back to the recordings, it is often the things outside of the answers to the questions that I like to hear the most, like laughter, the sound of coffee pouring, the sound of someone applying suncream, or a short sentence abstracted from it it’s context and heard alone…
‘Different kinds of potatoes’
What strikes me is that while the gardens are full of growth, connection, friendship, they are also inhabited by difference and disagreement. In this sense there is a wholeness here; it is multidimensional and biodiverse, with many species trying to grow in the same place. It feels important to see this wholeness, the light and shadows. I ask people if there is a difference between “out there” and “in here.”
When I do my walk up the drive and back, all the letters to neighbours have been cut down from the lamposts. I collect the letters and take them back to the barn. I wonder about potential similarities between the drive as a whole and the gardens as a microcosm. Between out there and in here, between a group of allotment holders and a street of folk.
I begin to consider the idea of neighbour differently.
Tonight is a full moon. I wait till dark and watch it rise from the gardens. It is huge and yellow and spectacular.
This place feels very different. The darkness brings beauty and perspective. My understanding of this place is changing and in all honesty part of me doesn’t want it to. But is it, and things are as they are.
A fox runs down the path away from me, towards the bottom gates.