The Broadfork
Well, if ever there was proof that you can’t argue with the weather, this past stretch has been it. Rain, more rain, and just for variety… heavier rain. The sort that doesn’t politely soak in but sits there staring at you as if to say, “Go on then, try and work me.” The allotment soil has gone from workable to sticky to something that could quite easily be used to mortar bricks. You walk across it and it clings to your boots like it’s afraid you’re leaving for good. And the worst of it? The compaction. Now I don’t mind hard ground in summer — that’s honest dryness. But this is different. This is soil that’s been rained on, walked on, rained on again and then politely flattened by gravity for good measure. The paths are firm as concrete and even some of the beds are tightening up more than I’d like. And that brings us to the rotavator. Normally, I enjoy getting it out. There’s something satisfying about firing it up and watching it chew through the soil like a hungry badger. It’s done u...
