Rent Increase

Our allotment rent is going up by a third.

Now, a third sounds like a proper whack, doesn’t it? I felt my eyebrows go up on their own. I started to compose a strongly worded grumble in my head, the sort I usually save for plasterers. Then I did what any sensible man does when he’s worried about money. I got the back of an envelope and a pencil, and I did the sums.

It works out at 77p a week. Per allotment.

I did it again, because I thought I’d gone wrong somewhere. I haven’t got a lot of faith in my own maths, as Sam will happily tell you. But no, it’s right. Seventy-seven pence. That’s less than a packet of the cheap crisps, less than a tin of beans, and about half what you’d pay for a single Little Gem lettuce on a bad day at the supermarket.

The Kitchen Table Sums

I called the family together at teatime and announced it like I’d found treasure. Fern said, “Dad, is this going to be a long one?” I said it would be short, I promise, and she gave me the look she gives me when she knows I’m fibbing.

Sam got his phone out and did the maths properly. Over a year, one plot comes to  forty quid. We run two, so call it eighty pounds for the pair, for the whole year. Iris, who’s eightteen and has a head for this sort of thing, sat with her chin on her hand and said, “So we pay less in a year than we’d spend on veg in a month”

I’d like to say I’d planned that as a teaching moment, but she got there on her own, and that’s the best way. Sam went a bit quiet after that. I think he was working out what he’d spent on the week’s shopping.

It’s Not Just the Cheap Rent, Though

Here’s the thing that matters to me. We all know what’s going on out there. Everything costs more. The news is full of wars and worry, and every time something kicks off somewhere a long way off, you can bet your boots it ends up on the price of something in the shop. Fertiliser has shot up, fuel’s gone through the roof, and by the time all that gets passed down the line, a bag of spuds isn’t what it was. Nobody’s wages have gone up to match it, mine included.

So when I look at that 77p, I don’t see a price rise. I see about the best deal going. For less than a pound a week you get a bit of ground, fresh air, exercise, a reason to get out of the house, and a heap of food you didn’t have to buy. I can’t think of anything else you can say that about.

I’ve not kept a proper tally of what we save, and I’m not going to pretend I have. But I can tell you what came home this autumn. A good store of maincrop potatoes. Thirty pumpkins and fourteen butternut squash, which is why our porch looked like a Halloween shop. Raspberries by the tubful, which Sara bagged up for the freezer. Onions, salad, and enough lettuce coming along under the nets to keep us in salad through the winter. If I’d bought all that, I’d have needed a second mortgage and a bigger trolley.

No Chemicals, No Worries

And the money’s only half of it. The other half is knowing what’s on your food.

I’ve grown without chemicals for over thirty years. No sprays, no powders, no packets of anything with a skull on it. When Iris picks a raspberry and eats it right there, warm off the cane, I don’t have to think twice about it. When my grandchildren come up to the plot and nibble a pea straight from the pod, I’m not holding my breath. That peace of mind is worth more than I could ever put a figure on. You can’t buy that for 77p, but you can grow it for that.

I make my own fertiliser, too, if you can call it that. The compost heap is my pride and joy, as regular readers will know only too well, and it costs me nothing but a bit of effort and a lot of grass clippings. When the price of bagged feed goes through the roof, mine’s sat at the bottom of the garden, rotting happily and costing me exactly nowt.

A Word From Old Pat

I mentioned the rise to Old Pat up at the plots. He looked at me over the top of his flask, and said, “Seventy-seven pence? I’d pay that for the view.” Then he thought about it for a bit and added, “And I’d pay a bit more if I got some of your raspberries.” He already gets them, mind, and still claims they’re his own.

The Hard-Won Tip

Here’s my tip, and I learnt it the hard way, which is the only way I’ve ever learnt anything.

Grow what you’ll actually eat, and what costs a lot to buy. Don’t waste your ground on what’s cheap in the shop, or on things the family won’t touch.

I learnt this with parsnips, my old nemesis. One year I put in a whole long row, full of hope. They came up thin and forked and sulky, and what did come up, nobody wanted to eat. I’d spent weeks of watering and weeding on something that cost pennies a bag in the shop and that half the house wouldn’t touch anyway. What a daft use of good ground.

These days I put the space into the things that save us the most. Soft fruit, because a punnet of raspberries costs a fortune. Salad leaves, because a bag of leaves wilts in the fridge, and cut-and-come-again keeps on giving. Potatoes, onions, squash, and anything Sara can freeze, bottle or turn into chutney. Then I feed the soil with my own compost, grow what I can from seed, and save seed from the best plants for next year. It all adds up.

Do that, and your 77p stretches a very long way.

A Plug for Having a Go

If you’ve been thinking about taking on a plot, or even just a few raised beds in the back garden, I’d say do it. It’s one of the few things a family can do together that saves money, keeps you fit, and teaches the youngsters where food actually comes from. Sam and Iris have learnt more on that muddy ground than I could ever have taught them indoors. And they’ve both got a proper respect now for what things cost, which is a gift in itself.

A plot isn’t a hobby you do at the expense of the family budget. It’s a hobby that helps the budget, and that’s a rare thing.

Over to You

So, over to you. Do you keep an allotment, or grow at home? What’s the one crop you reckon saves you the most money? And has anybody got a parsnip secret they’d like to share? Because I’ll take any help I can get.

Tell me in the comments. I’d love to hear from you.

Happy growing, everyone. See you on the plot.