Contentment .

Bumbling along in a country bus with rain streaked windows . Reading , dozing or lost in the green views .

Destination : a second hand book shop , an old fashioned restaurant that does roasts and homemade pies  .
Maybe a butcher in a striped apron with sawdust on the floorboards .
Maybe a market full of seasonal treats - celery and wet walnuts this week .

Small pleasures to anticipate , relish and savour .

The democracy of dirt .

I was sitting on the bench at my plot this afternoon . I've been doing this a lot lately , usually covered in mud or soaked and often both . I looked at the plot and realised the wilderness has gone .
There are rows of beet , beans , cabbages , sprouts and leeks . Broad beans , garlic and onion sets will follow shortly .

I have met fellow plotters. I have been given cooking apples and a pumpkin .

Yesterday a man approached, six foot , long pony tail .He looked over the plot .
 "That carpet is better than the one in my sitting room " he said .
 I explained about getting old carpets from the carpet shop and pushing them in a shopping trolley all the way to the plot . Twice .
 He listened , nodded and eyed up the straight rows and the nets here and there to keep the pigeons off . " I've got a digger " he said . "if you get the last of the rough off I'll go over it for you if you like ".

Heavy limbed and content the saxophonist and I discuss it over a pint .
When did going through the motions become an enthusiasm , a joy .

We have made friends there , because although we are a diverse bunch we all have a love of the green haven .
 A place were we can sit serene , drinking tea  in our muddy glory , where we work hard and there's a sense of achievement to take home with you .

People are decent and kind to one another on the plots . We help each other and either laugh or shrug when a crop doesn't come up or gets attacked by pigeons or slugs . It's all a learning curve or an excuse to stop and chat .

In a world so ugly and uncertain as it sometimes seems a man with a digger and some generosity is most welcome .

This afternoon I walked along the little paths to his plot and put a jar of piccalilli and two jars of chutney I'd made in his poly tunnel . He will know who they are from .

It feels good to be part of a community where nothing more is implied than meant .