This time of year you get the plot ready for the season
ahead. This involves lifting the tarpaulin which has suppressed the weeds and
kept the plot warm over winter and in doing so discover the host of little
critters who have made it their home and shelter from those storms over Winter.
Worms, snails, slugs, some woodlice and the odd earwig all
race for cover as the tarpaulin comes off and they are exposed to the bright
Spring sunshine and blinded by the light. As they scurry off and dig for shade,
they shout obscenities and curse you and your family.
I am a ‘dig the plot’ person and although I understand the ‘no
dig’ approach it’s not for me. It was just how one is brought up to support one
side of the city and not the other. Few cross the line from United to City,
from Liverpool to Everton or Wednesday to United and the same applies to dig
versus no dig.
The new stainless-steel fork prongs soon get stuck into the
soil which was dug over in late autumn so now is relatively easy to work. I
tend to get bored working from side to side or back to front, so after a quick
stop to admire the dug earth, it’s often a change of direction and fresh impetus
to the dig.
‘Can you quit stopping and changing direction and just get a
move on!’ comes a cry from behind.
I turn and there sitting on the wheelbarrow sits Robin with
his wings folded and tapping his right foot with obvious impatience. He has a
half devoured little worm hanging like a piece of spaghetti from his beak and which
is about to be sucked fully into his mouth.
‘Aren’t you supposed to leave the little ones and throw them
back so they can grow a bit bigger?’ I ask, concerned for the worm who is now
trying to wriggle free. ‘After all, the soil needs them too.’
I can’t repeat the response Robin gave me but I didn’t know
where he picked up that sort of language. Perhaps it was when my neighbour was
having difficulty putting up the bean supports last year. I remember he was
sitting inspecting the work and was not impressed. I seem to recollect expletives
clouded the air as the supports collapsed under the weight of the words
screamed in frustration.
‘Can you take some of the snails and those wood lice?’ I ask
pointing to a cluster of snails trying to hide within their houses and lice
making a rush towards a scaffold plank.
‘Snails have a home on their little backs and a mortgage to
pay on it, so that wouldn’t be nice,’ he replies.
‘What about the woodlice?’ I ask.
‘Have you ever tried eating those beasts? They are hard and
take a long time to soften up enough for my little brood to be able to eat,’ he
responds almost spitting out his words in disgust at the thought.
‘Fair point,’ I reply as I turn and start digging again. I
do hope the little worms can make it, but fear Robin is like as good as any
Dyson vacuum and can suck them out with little effort before they can dive down
into the safe depths of the soil.
I can feel those little eyes burning a hole in my back and
can hear his little hops from one little morsel to another. A quick flight into
the depths of climbing rose and back again to resume food patrol.
After a while I join my ever-faithful whippet Lottie on the
bench for a hard earned rest.
‘Only a bit more to dig over’, I comment with an admiring
glance over the dug plot.
Lottie has been lying on her pillows watching me with little
interest but is quick to offer advice and keep me on my toes. She loves the
pillows which she puffs up and sinks into every time she attends the plot. She
will not go onto the bench without them and always waits patiently while I get
them from the shed.
‘There’s a bit at the back I think you may need to do again’,
she suggests pointing to where I had just stopped.
‘Forget that, I was thinking of packing in for today and
going home’, I respond.
‘I agree, it’s my teatime and I am getting cold watching you
and your mate over there.’
‘You mean Robin?’ I ask.
Yes, the thing thinks he shares the plot with you, and you are
here just to feed him in worms. But he does very little in return.’
‘But he is cute,’ I responded.
‘You told me I was cute, but you had better not try and fob
me off with worms! Come on, it’s time for my tea.’ She clearly was making a
move and without being told had jumped off her pillows and the bench and was
standing waiting and looking at the pillows and pointing her paws towards the
shed.
I glance over to where I left my fork standing upright in
the soil. There on top sits Robin eyeing the ground from his new perch. Failing
to spy any new prey he turns his head towards me.
‘Ok, I get the message. You’re off and I’ve had my fill for
today,’ Robin states. ‘Just make sure you are back early tomorrow. I’ve got a
brood to feed.’
I pack up and I am a bit embarrassed to tell him I am not
coming tomorrow. Do you think he will forgive me?
