So we turned down the muddy path and made ourselves as waterproof as possible before walking across to the plot. Inside the fence, water gathered in pools on the black paths and the soil in the beds looked pitted and rain drenched. My flower friend looked around silently and I thought perhaps a bit dismayed – this plot does look bigger in real life.
Then she snapped back into characteristic, energetic life and measured beds with strides across the mud (7 in total we think) and asked if I had a compass. The idea of where to get a compass was baffling. As was trying to work out where was east and west, north and south in the deluge of a downpour. We gave up on that for another day. It was chastening for me to realise that my haphazardness was definitely not going to be granted much room to roam. This is a new feeling and quite bracing too.
Soon after in the pub, other new ideas were suggested: a management plan for the plot, working out the tasks and time needed. What, no planting of a hundred seeds and working out what to do with them when they all germinated? No wishful thinking about digging all the beds by Spring? Order and realism is being applied to potential chaos. After the initial surprise, could feel the warmth of gentle optimism as actually developing this plot seems achievable.