The Organic Garden. Allan Shepherd

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СКАЧАТЬ to playing Football Manager on my Amstrad 464.

      Then, somewhere between 1984 and 1996, I think I was abducted by organic-loving Led-Zeppelin-listening aliens.

      

      If I can go organic, anyone can.

      

      I own my own piece of land now. It’s no Chelsea show garden but it’s mine and I love it. I enter my garden and immediately want to slow down to the pace of a snail. I take it all in. And see what thoughts are thrown up. More often than not the change of pace is inspiring.

      At night, when the garden is as quiet as a mouse, I like listening to the sound of ivy crack under the weight of snails, and watching bats swing in and out of the street light opposite, devouring moths with pendulum efficiency.

      When I look up through the wood behind my plot and see thousands of insects illuminated in the shafts of light that come through to the garden, I am reminded of how much life there is on planet Earth. They look like dust particles caught in a cinema projection, but they seem as wonderful as any image you might see on a silver screen. At night, when the garden is as quiet as a mouse, I like listening to the sound of ivy crack under the weight of snails, and watching bats swing in and out of the street light opposite, devouring moths with pendulum efficiency. During the day I watch spitfire house martins picking off daytime flyers.

      It’s the opposite of fast-paced veggie gardening. I’m in no hurry. I’m more interested in the wildlife in my garden. And creating a space that inspires me and my friends. Organic gardening is not just about growing food. It’s also about creating beauty and biodiversity. This is what I tell myself, as I work my north-facing, damp, shady, slatey-soiled place, berating the vegetables for being too slow. It’s good to eat food grown in your own garden but sometimes I get more out of just watching and listening.

      

      To ease my regret at having lost out in the perfect garden lottery, I have developed a simple hierarchy of choice when it comes to buying fresh vegetables. I have a box of vegetables delivered every week. I supplement the box with a few things from an organic market stall and a local shop owned by an organic meat farmer. If all else fails I go to the supermarket.

      

      As if this choice wasn’t enough, my friends take pity on my shade-dwelling self and offer me vegetables from their own sun-kissed plots (which is a bit of a laugh anyway, living in Wales as we do). These vegetables always taste the best, perhaps because they are usually cooked or eaten raw straight from the plot. Despite my best teenage intentions I seem to have landed in community-spirited gardening nirvana.

      

      As the adverts say, it doesn’t stop there. We have a fantastically well-organised seed-swap group to keep favourite varieties of plants going, a wide selection of organic plots to visit and one of the UK’s oldest Soil Association-approved vegetable plots, run by Roger MacLennan at The Centre for Alternative Technology. We have people selling organic cut flowers, others growing more salad than you can shake a stick at. Every other person seems to be a gardener. Frankly I feel inadequate.

      And everyone wants to give you something or offer you some advice. It’s as if organic gardeners in my area have gone through some sort of harmony realignment device and come out the other side wanting to help people. To be part of this community is uplifting and exciting.

      But the truly amazing thing is that there’s nothing particularly unusual about our scene. Go to almost any area of the country (and world) and you will find something similar going on. Frankly, my teenage self would be horrified by this slow food revolution. And none of it franchised! Just ordinary people coming together to make food important again.

      

      Every which way you care to look there’s some amazing activity going on in Britain: 300 organic box schemes, 250 farmers’ markets, 1,000 community gardens, 59 city farms, 75 school farms, 500,000 volunteer gardeners, thousands of organic allotmenteers…the list goes on.

      St Ann’s Allotment Gardens in Nottingham, one of the biggest and oldest in the country, boasts a thriving list of community enterprises benefiting everyone from nursery-age children to the long-term unemployed. Ragman’s Lane farm in Gloucestershire has taught generation after generation of organic gardeners. Ludlow has declared itself a Cittàslow centre for good living, creating in the town an atmosphere conducive to appreciating quality over speed in all aspects of life. In Cornwall the real Eden project is going on at Ken Fern’s Plants for a Future in Lostwithiel. Here they’re testing a new system of horticulture called perennial edible or forest gardening that could help us to garden successfully in conditions of climate change. In Totnes Martin Crawford of the Agroforestry Research Trust is doing the same. In Kent Iain Tolhurst is developing new ways to garden without recourse to artificial or animal-related by-products. Coventry has the Heritage Seed Library and Garden Organic (HDRA); Bristol, The Soil Association and the ethical bank, Triodos; London, Fresh and Wild organic food shops; Keighley, The Ecology Building Society. Every part of Britain has an emerging network of community-inspired organic businesses and volunteer organisations.

      Why is all this happening? I think it’s because people have rediscovered what it’s like to be part of something. Whether it’s a community or a local group or a movement. It’s fun and it feels like you’re doing something vitally important. It’s bringing people together to combat loss of biodiversity, social injustice and, the biggest threat to our culture, global climate change.

      If I was abducted by aliens, it happened metaphorically, one night in 1991 – the first time I visited The Centre for Alternative Technology, or CAT as it is generally known. In those days you arrived at CAT via a ten-minute walk up an unlit, unpaved driveway shaded by trees. I climbed the path with fifteen friends from Hull University (we were all volunteering for the weekend). When we emerged from the trees at the top of the drive we entered a starlit courtyard of stone buildings. It was the first time starlight took my breath away.

      A small handmade wooden sign directed us to our billet for the weekend – an unpretentious little wooden hut I later found out was a reclaimed exhibit from the 1976 Ideal Home Show. It was called Tea Chest. There was no one around. It was like a fairytale house. I half expected a little hobgoblin to come out shaking a stick at me. We opened the door and right in front of us laid out on an old wooden table was a beautiful homemade cake with a little note attached to it. The note said: ‘Help yourself.’ Some people say how notes like ‘I love you’ or ‘Will you marry me?’ changed their lives. For me it was ‘Help yourself’. With those two little words I was hooked. If this was organic living, count me in.

      Visiting CAT for the first time was like pushing back the coats at the back of the wardrobe and stepping into Narnia.

      Visiting CAT for the first time was like pushing back the coats at the back of the wardrobe and stepping into Narnia. I couldn’t believe such a place existed. Here were people who acted on their beliefs, not in a highminded fashion, but in a very practical down-to-earth way. They would show the world it was possible and preferable to live an organic lifestyle by doing it. By building houses with wood instead of concrete, by generating their own power using renewable energy, by growing their own organic food. Even by baking homemade cakes for complete strangers. Luxury items might have been scarce but they had plenty of passion and nerve. And they had community.

      Through 70s’ recession and 80s’ economic miracle, the workers at CAT just carried on ploughing their own furrow. Showing that you didn’t have to buy in to what the rest of the world had to offer. You could do something different. They weren’t the only people to go against the prevailing wisdom. In the late 60s and early 70s organisations that have become household names were СКАЧАТЬ