I had the idea, earlier this year, of not clearing things from my garden. Instead of processing the waste, rotting it down on my plot. The idea of the #circumareconomygarden might have been sound, in a year when I'd been fit and had a normal amount of leisure.
At the beginning of the year, it felt like it had worked, to some extent. I did not take any garden waste off my allotment or my garden. The rotting heaps did, indeed work - reducing, somewhat, over time. But not as much as I had hoped; and up at the allotment, this was very much mistaken for neglect.
Then the pandemic workload (already high) intensified. An early exposure lead to a fortnight lockdown at home, which gave my garden a rather different feel; more the place I drew a few anxious breaths in an abbreviated lunchtime than a space I could spend time in.
Still, I persisted. The corners of my garden became ghosted with waste woody weeds, rotting the fences and resprouting among the paving slabs. I didn't have time top get clever with anything. The neighbour's willow tree, already a concern, romped skyward in the wet weather.
The crunch moment came very late. After my car got totalled by an errant delivery lorry. After a medical accident partially blinded me, leaving me unable to drive, ergo no more trips to the tip.
Sometime in the autumn I cracked and got the brown bin, anyway. Late December, it finally turned up. I'm going to have to remodel the entire front garden to give it a good space, mind, as right now it's sitting on top of a Dicentra and a Vinca.
Full of Curry Bush, Privet and other things that can't rot fast enough to disappear in a garden as small as mine.
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