It Rained Last Night

 Right then. I'm going to start this  post with something that, after the weeks we've had, felt genuinely close to a miracle.

It rained last night.

Properly rained. Not that pathetic, half-hearted drizzle that England sometimes offers up as if it's doing you a favour — the sort that barely registers on the ground and yet somehow still manages to make your hair look awful. No. This was actual, committed, serious rain. Hard, steady, relentless rain that came down for over an hour and meant every single word of it. The kind of rain that you can hear from the bedroom and you lie there in the dark with a big smile on your face because you know — you just know — that the allotment is absolutely loving every drop of it.

I may have said "yes" out loud at one point. Sara didn't ask. She knows me.

Now let me put this into context for anyone who's only just found the blog and doesn't know the situation. We have been — and I don't think this is an exaggeration — absolutely gasping. The plots have been bone dry for weeks. I talked about it last time. The soil has had that look about it, that tired, cracked, defeated look that makes you feel a bit sorry for the ground itself. We've been out there with the watering cans and the hose, doing our absolute best, and our best has been decent — but you cannot replace the sky. You just can't. A watering can is a lovely thing. The sky operating at full capacity is something else entirely.

So yes. The rain. We needed it like the plots needed it and quite possibly more.

What A Difference A Night Makes

This morning I was up the plots first thing — as per usual, planned the night before, job list sorted, the well-oiled machine cranking into gear — and I'll be honest with you, the difference was already visible. The soil had that smell. If you're a gardener you'll know exactly what I mean and if you're not a gardener, I'm not sure I can fully describe it to you except to say it's one of the best smells in the world and you should probably take up gardening immediately just so you can experience it. It smells like the earth breathing out. Like everything relaxing at once.

Everything looked... perkier. There's no other word for it. The crops had a sort of quiet satisfaction about them, like they'd had a proper night out and come back refreshed. The onions — my overwintering onions that have been looking a little bit yellow and a little bit sorry for themselves lately — were standing straighter. I'm sure of it. I know that sounds like the sort of thing a man says when he wants it to be true, but I'm telling you, those onion tips looked greener this morning than they've looked in weeks. That rain hit them exactly when they needed it.

I stood there for a good minute just looking at it all. Sam probably thought I'd gone a bit funny. He's used to it.

The Ground Has Changed

Now here's the thing that really matters for where we are in the season — the ground is workable again. Properly workable. Not that dusty, brick-hard surface that laughs in the face of a fork and causes the rotavator to make noises that would worry a mechanic. The rain has gone in, done its job, and now the top of the soil has got that lovely workable quality back. You push a fork in and it gives. Just like that. You don't have to lean on it like you're trying to move furniture. It just... goes in.

That means the rotovator is going to earn itself a very serious day's work in the very near future. Both plots have been dug over — we got that done last week and I was very pleased about it — and now with some decent moisture back in the ground, we can run the rotovator through and get a proper fine tilth going. That  machine is an absolute marvel, it really is. Best tool on the plot. It does in twenty minutes what would take half a morning by hand and it never complains, which puts it ahead of quite a few people I've worked with over the years.

The planting schedule can start moving properly now. That's the exciting bit. We've been doing the groundwork, getting everything ready, and now the ground has had a drink and the season is genuinely on. There's a real sense of forward momentum up there right now and I like it very much.

The Compost Bins — Oh, They're Happy

I know not everybody shares my enthusiasm for composting. I accept that. I have come to terms with the fact that I am perhaps slightly more passionate about the subject than is considered normal by the wider population. Sara gave up questioning it some years ago, which I think shows wisdom on her part.

But if you want to talk about something that benefits from good, steady rain, it's the compost heap. Moisture is the life of a good compost bin. Without it you've basically got a very slow, very dry pile of disappointment. With it — with a proper soaking like we had last night — that heap wakes up. The microbes get going. The whole process picks up. By morning I could practically feel the heat coming off it. A working compost heap in the morning after rain is one of gardening's great unsung pleasures, and I will stand by that until my last breath.

I turned the top over while I was there. Obviously I turned it over. What sort of man would I be if I didn't? It looked magnificent. Rich, dark, crumbly, absolutely full of worms who had also clearly had a very good night. Good for them.

Looking Forward — With A Spring in Our Step

So where does last night's rain leave us? In a much better position than we were in forty eight hours ago, that's where.

The plots are rehydrated. The soil is ready. The Mantis can go to work. The onions have had the drink they've been waiting for. The compost is happy. The three of us — me, Sam, and Iris — have got a full plan for what happens next, and with the ground back on our side, we can crack on with it.

England. It complains when it rains too much. It complains when it doesn't rain enough. In between, for about a fortnight, it's perfect — and those two weeks are exactly why we do this. Last night felt like the start of something. The plots feel alive again this morning in a way they haven't for a little while.

Sometimes all it takes is an hour of proper rain in the night and everything shifts. No photos im afraid , I forgot my phone.

Until next time — keep the faith, keep the watering can handy, and always, always say yes when the sky finally decides to do its bit.

Keep digging.