Happy New Year

 

Happy New Year 

Well then… here we are again. Another year packed away and put neatly on the shelf, like an old biscuit tin full of memories you’re not quite ready to throw out but can’t bring yourself to open too often either. I’ve always liked this strange lull between Christmas and New Year. The allotment goes quiet, the tools get a well-earned rest, and even the soil seems to take a deep breath and say, “Right then, what’s next?”

I’m never one for grand resolutions. I’ve seen too many of those wilt faster than lettuce planted in July without shade. But I do like a bit of reflection, especially at this time of year when the days are still short, the mornings are sharp, and the compost heap quietly steams away like it’s plotting something.

This past year has been much like allotment life itself — a mix of hard graft, small victories, frustrations, unexpected wins, and the occasional moment where you just stand there, hands on hips, wondering how on earth it all came to this.

The allotments, as always, have been at the centre of it all. Two plots, countless hours, and more conversations with myself than I care to admit. Sam and Iris have been absolute stars again, turning up rain or shine, sleeves rolled up, and opinions freely offered — usually about how Dad is “overthinking it” or “doing it the old-fashioned way again.” Guilty as charged. But then, the old ways have a habit of working, don’t they?

There’s something deeply comforting about winter allotment visits. No pressure to harvest, no panic about watering, just quiet jobs — tidying, planning, dreaming. The beds look bare to the untrained eye, but I know better. Underneath, things are resting, resetting, gathering strength. Not unlike us after the festive season if we’re honest — although my waistline suggests I’ve been gathering a little too enthusiastically.

The tools have had their share of attention too. Winter is when the old machines come out for a bit of love, a clean, and the odd muttered conversation that would probably worry the neighbours if they could hear it. There’s something deeply satisfying about keeping old kit going. No flashing lights, no plastic nonsense, just solid metal and the quiet pride of knowing you’ve saved something from the scrap heap. Again.

Home life has been its usual busy, warm, slightly chaotic self. Sara, as ever, has been an absolute force — organised, practical, and somehow always one step ahead. The freezers are full thanks to her hard work, the house ticking along nicely, and Christmas once again appeared as if by magic. I don’t know how she does it, but I’ve learned not to question it too much.

The blog — Simon, Sam and Iris Down on the Allotment — has continued to be a real joy. Writing things down, sharing the highs and lows, and knowing that others are reading along, nodding, laughing, or thinking “I’ve been there” — that means more than I can properly put into words. It’s funny how a muddy pair of boots and a stubborn patch of ground can connect people from all over.

Work has carried on steadily too. Nothing fancy, just honest graft. I’ve always believed there’s dignity in turning up, doing your job properly, and leaving things better than you found them. That’s carried me through many years now, and I see no reason to change course just yet.

So what about the year ahead? Well, there’ll be plans, of course. There always are. New ideas for the allotments, improvements that exist mostly in my head at the moment, and probably at least one job that turns into three. There will be breakdowns, breakdowns of patience, and moments where I question my own sanity for taking certain projects on. But there’ll also be laughter, shared flasks of tea, fresh produce, and those quiet moments when everything feels exactly as it should.

If there’s one thing gardening — and life — has taught me, it’s that progress doesn’t need to be rushed. You plant, you tend, you wait. Some things thrive, others don’t, and you learn to accept both with a shrug and a plan to try again next year.

So here’s to the New Year. To fresh pages in the diary, clean spades, sharpened blades, and soil that’s ready when we are. To family, hard work, old tools, and doing things properly — even when it takes a bit longer.

Thank you to everyone who’s read along, commented, shared a laugh, or simply followed quietly from the sidelines. It really does mean the world.

And as for next year, well, I’m going into it much the same way I go into a new growing season — with a bit of hope, a bit of caution, and a fair amount of crossed fingers. None of us really know what’s coming, do we? Weather, health, life in general — it has a habit of throwing the odd curveball. But if there’s one thing the allotment has taught me, it’s that turning up, doing your best, and keeping a positive mindset counts for more than most things. So here’s hoping for decent weather, fewer setbacks, good harvests, good health, and plenty of reasons to laugh along the way. We’ll take things as they come, deal with the problems when they arrive, and keep moving forward — spade in hand and tea flask never far away.

Right then. Enough reflection. There’s compost to turn, plans to make, and another year waiting to be grown.

Happy New Year to you all