The equinox is over. I am ambushed by the swift shift to a darker damp. As ever, I am unprepared. One minute: abundance, never-ending largesse. The next: quick collapse.
First, the old sweet pea ‘tipi’: hazel home to morning glory and a rampant Ukrainian courgette vine. The tent’s crashed. Crushed. Sticks snapped by the squash.
Menacing ipomoea tendrils tether a 9ft sunflower, pulling it down to 45º, strangling the last of the red amaranth.
It is time to intervene. I free the helianthus. Cut the claustrophobic vines. I reset the old pea structure.
I learn to live with the broken. I reset to its beauty. Like in a long-lost garden.
The bean poles are taken down now, carefully gathered, tied and sheltered for winter storage. The Mexican cosmos seed has been saved. The shattered Tagetes ‘Ildkongen’ bed is a mass of seedlings after the fox damage. I hope they’ll survive the frost.
I thin through the rampant chard, remove smothering yellowing leaf and stem. I allow in air. I trim back the puntarella. The strip of ‘Rossa di Treviso’ chicory is alive with new small leaf.
I hoe and rake. I try to clear some space. I order in late emergency kale from Mads McKeever of Brown Envelope Seeds in Skibbereen, Cork, the holder of open-pollinated Bear Necessities Brassica napus out of legendary US breeder Tim Peters.
I add February Orchid Orychophragmus violaceus championed by Joy Larkcom. ‘Purple Thrills’ mustard and pak choi, too.
Early one morning, I hoe and rake and string a small seed bed where the beans have been. I sow chicories, chervil. I add Tuscan kale. I spray with seaweed feed and hope. Winter is coming. Autumn holds its breath.
Allan Jenkins’s Plot 29 (4th Estate, £9.99) is out now. Order it for £8.49 from guardianbookshop.com
Follow Allan on Instagram @allanjenkins21
