You remind me of my parents. Last summer when we had their exceptionally
tasty tomatoes the ones we used to call the _golden tomatoes_, with a sister
who is the empress of nothing and would be able to spend Gates' money in a
couple of days, my father finally agreed that maybe it was an unbelievable
labor only nuts would do to grow them: 30 km every day by car to go and
water them, plus the endless work of taking out weeds, add to it manure,
pesticides (not much but still...) and what have you...
But I do like the idea and I support it. I will let you know of the decision
they will take next year.
Me? I live in the middle of a stinky town, I tried to grow whatever I could
on the balcony, I still have here a wonderful plant of basil the leaves of
which I will never touch, she is part of the family, outside my skelton
laurel - but alive - and my Rosemary, it seems they can stand the cold
weather.


Anny Ballardini
http://annyballardini.blogspot.com
http://www.fieralingue.it/modules.php?name=poetshome
The aim of the poet is to awaken emotions in the soul, not to gather
admirers.
Stalker, Andrei Tarkovsky


----- Original Message ----- 
From: "mallin1" <[log in to unmask]>
To: <[log in to unmask]>
Sent: Monday, November 29, 2004 9:40 PM
Subject: Re: for what is left of a Sunday:


Hi

As I've just been described in an autobiography as a "genetically unmodified
poet" I thought I would join in on this culinary strand. I like writing
about food and sometimes run workshops on culinary themes. Better than
writing about food is growing it and making it. My love is my allotment. It
is a haven, my religion. The annual rent is still reasonable at £26 and,
with the continual advice of older residents, I get given all manner of
seeds, cuttings, manure, canes and string.

It is "my empire of dirt." Along one side I've an extensive blackberry bush
and wild plum trees on another. This being my first year, I didn't do too
bad and had a glut of courgettes and tomatoes. Many I gave away but there
were just scores of each left, so I took to making chutney and pickles and
jams. Many I'll give away this Xmas. Orders?

I leave a substantial notebook in my small shed. A few poems there but more
about making organic fertiliser from a fusion of nettles, comfrey and
seaweed.

It's smack bang next to the A12 and I expect many looking in think it's a
scrappy old place. Who said heaven wouldn't be a scrappy old place? Though a
committed 'townie,' it's been a saviour. Ironically, was cooking got me into
this magic - 'Cooking in a Bedsit' was my bible. Couldn't boil an egg. Now,
I've a 35 year old vegetarian male friend, articulate, in a job, who cannot
and will not boil an egg! Oh well.

Present best preserve, served with cheese, is my marrow and ginger jam. It
certainly is one of my better poems.

Best wishes, Rupert