As we become increasingly isolated in our society and the focus seems to narrow ever inward to the individual rather than radiating outwards to the collective, it can be easy to lose touch with how it might feel to be in loving community with others. How it feels to give and receive unconditionally and how other ways of being - such as living reciprocally - can stem from that. Our culture of individualism, consumerism and a tendency to hoard conspires to separate us and make us believe that “I” matter and nothing and no one else does. These are things that I have been thinking on a fair bit recently, so I really enjoyed reading Ellen’s article on her experiences at her allotment and how it has started shifting her behaviour and view on things. There can be hope in these directions and how we choose to relate to the earth and each other.
Allotments as a model of post-ownership society, by Ellen Wilson
It is early December 2019 and we have just got the keys to our allotment site. Plot 34a is a wild scrub of grass, rampant raspberry canes, bits of brick and sandbags. My parents have arrived with a bundle of tools, a roll of black plastic and a packet of broad bean seeds. A middle aged man in glasses and wellies appears behind us. “Do you want some fruit bushes? You can have all five”.
I am a beginner at my allotments. Year 3 on plot 34a and I am still learning all the time how to do this growing thing. I fret over my seedlings and am constantly at war with the slugs who rove raucously over my plot. But right from that very first day when Colin handed me those five fruit bushes I have been aware that there is something distinctly counter-cultural to allotment gardening. And it is this – ownership matters so very little, and giving away is everything. People save and share seeds. One man grows enough tomato plants each year that could cover the whole site. The longer I dig down at our plot, the more I wonder what we could learn from allotments. Not just about soil health or organic vegetables, but about how to build a fairer society. Somewhere that is not rooted in ideas of ownership but in ideas of common good. A place where objects are held lightly and abundance is shared.
The cult of ownership
In the UK in 2021, our economic and social structures are predominantly set up to encourage us to own things – to work to get the money to buy the things and then have exclusive rights to use them. This travels right through from the hard advertising of consumer goods, to a housing system that only offers security to those who can own the land and property. It is a way of dividing us effectively from each other, forcing us to be unnaturally self sufficient, to feed big business and keep the wheels turning on a capitalist economy. The system is geared for this because the alternative is dangerous. If we share, we stop buying so much, we don’t need so much. If we give away, we stop people spending their money and free it up for other projects they might have. If we need to buy less, we are less reliant on work as a means of survival. If we rely on each other, we make connections against the systems that hold us apart.
A post ownership approach means people can have access to the things they need and want without purchasing and owning them – through borrowing, renting, exchanging, owning collectively, giving away. Some of these models are already familiar to us: cooperatives, mutual aid, public ownership, libraries, food clubs. But these practices often feel very boundaried. I might get a book out the library, but I still absolutely believe I have to own my own car. To move beyond rampant consumer capitalism requires a mindset change, a shift from needing or wanting to own, to holding things more lightly, and trusting in the community to provide.
But how to move post ownership beyond the boundaries of the allotment? From my own and other gardeners’ experience, these were three principles that stood out to us:
Abundance is always shared.
The first summer harvest on allotment 34a, I recoiled in horror at the generosity my partner has about our produce. I had been the one who had slaved away in the wind, rain and heat to produce these vegetables. And now, anyone who came to visit was offered the best bulbs of garlic, a freshly picked cucumber and raspberries by the handful. However I swiftly learned that this was the attitude of most of my allotment neighbours. Excess cucumbers lined the wall by the gate, but all things were freely offered: seedlings, cuttings, tools, old crates. The capitalist model of hoarding wealth, whether that be money, food or equipment, is challenged by this open-handedness. Imagine if we shared abundance in other realms: the space in our houses, the cash in our wallets, the food in our fridges.
What goes around, comes around.
The sharing model works because people both give and receive generously. My allotment neighbour once asked if I needed an old pallet I had leaning against my shed. My partner had vague plans to make it into a path, so I said sorry, yes I did. In less than 10 minutes, watching them rebuilding their compost heap, I regretted it. Another pallet would come along soon, and sure enough, we were offered one the next week. I was unused to having the faith in my community that it would provide opportunities for me to receive. Capitalism had taught me to expect scarcity, not abundance. What if we trusted our communities more widely to provide the things we need? Your neighbour’s compost bin needs fixing today.
Post ownership does not rely on, but instead fosters inter-personal relationships.
In lots of British communities we practise the art of gift giving and sharing all the time, but often only in tight, well established interpersonal relationships. We share with our parents, our children, our partners. We maybe have, deep down, believed Thatcher when she said “there is no such thing as society, just individuals and their families”. We have swallowed the supremacy of the nuclear family unit. But when we got the allotment, a woman at my parents’ church sent us an envelope of seeds that she’d saved. I was clutching them when Colin offered me the fruit bushes. This was not based on a long friendship nor was it in return for anything I had done for her. She had saved some seeds and heard I was autumn planting for the first time and stepped up to share. Most of my relationships with my allotment neighbours have been fostered over too many broccoli plants, a handful of seed potatoes, a pile of bean sticks. I do not know these people as they step across the path into my plot, strawberry plants in hand, but I will know them afterwards. What if we began to give to those we do not know, and saw who we might connect with through doing so?
Why on an allotment?
And so, slowly, I learnt a different way to be. But why, I asked myself, did I learn this at the allotment? What makes this attitude and approach particularly prevalent in this corner of south Bristol where people grow vegetables?
There is something about working the earth to grow your own food that is humbling in the extreme. It is a constant reminder that there are bigger processes going on around you, who don’t give a fig about whether you own a fancy tool or how big your harvest was this year. You are at the mercy of wind, rain, unpredictable temperatures, disease and small creatures determined to eat your plants and produce. The capitalist ethic of hard work pays off doesn’t hold fast for vegetable growing. Sometimes the crops fail and there’s nothing you can do. Sometimes they flourish despite your neglect or mistakes. In the face of this, we only have each other and the luck of abundance. Food, supplies, advice and help are all passed on freely.
I do not pretend to believe that an allotment community has all the answers to a post capitalist future. I do not pretend that my friend making me chilli jam from a plant I have given him will flip the world economy on its head. However I do know that I have seen flashes of utopia on a cold raggedy vegetable plot in south Bristol. And I wish to learn how we can all reform our economic and social relationships to make the world a more equal and loving place. So I continue to put my hands in the ground and hold things lightly. Because we’re only going to make it through if we work together. And another pallet will turn up next week.
Ellen Wilson is a youth worker and allotment holder in south Bristol. In her spare time she writes and campaigns about youth work, nature and social justice.
Ellen is being paid for this article.
Photo credit: Ellen Wilson