Buying an allotment has completely changed my summer – and radically changed my relationship with food | Diyora Shadijanova

A When I received an email a few months ago about an allotment available in my area, I struggled to remember when I signed up for it. It turns out I had done so two years ago, fuelled by my envy of those who had gardens during lockdown. Back then, all I wanted was a small patch of outdoor space that felt like my own, to plant flowers, herbs and, if necessary, a few chillies. A place where I could read and write in the sun, safe from distractions.

Now I was presented with half a piece of free land (125 square metres!), with a full-grown apple tree in the middle – which I thought was a cherry tree because of its pink blossoms. “You'll have to do a trial period to see how you get on,” said the woman who showed me around. She meant it. The plot, which was bigger than I could have dreamed of, was beautiful but overgrown – getting it going would require some serious hard work. I wasn't sure I had it in me.

Now, I spend hours every week sowing, pruning, weeding, watering and harvesting. After asking my family for advice and watching YouTube videos for gardening beginners, my boyfriend and I forwent date nights and organised our weekends around getting our hands dirty trimming overgrown grass, shoveling compost into raised beds, building a bug hotel from scratch and tackling slug infestations. It helps that our surroundings feel like a slice of heaven: birdsong fills the treetops, the scent of blooming flowers fills the air and buzzing bees hop from one flower to the next in our little patch of south-east London. Considering we knew nothing about gardening to begin with, it feels like a miracle that we've managed to grow anything at all.

My summer on the allotment has taught me countless lessons so far, but the most important has been that I've learned more about how food actually grows. Take the humble cauliflower, for example – a common sight on supermarket shelves, but one that requires up to six months of patience, nurturing and caring, all for a fleeting moment on the plate. Or strawberries, which are wonderfully sweet if left to ripen fully, but produce only a handful of fruit if soil conditions are unfavourable – we could only harvest a cup or so from our three plants in the net. Then there are plants like runner beans, which are stubbornly dependent on the goodness of pollinators. Although I studied middle school biology many moons ago, it's only now that I really understand that every fruit starts as a flower.

Seasonality has also taken on a new meaning. I knew, of course, that all fresh foods have their “season,” but it wasn’t until I was overwhelmed by an endless supply of zucchini that I really realized I could eat them MonthsSo far, we've tried zucchini in every form – grated into fritters, spiralized into pasta, grilled, baked and fried.

But bountiful harvests also bring a lesson in impermanence. Fresh produce spoils quickly once it's ripe and picked. And so I turned to the ancient art of preservation – learning what to cook and freeze, pickle or make into jam – to make things last longer. When the harvest was bigger than either of us could handle, we shared the bounty with friends and family and spread joy.

While gardening is a welcome escape from the chaos of the modern world, there is no escaping the reality of the climate crisis. This year, a wet and gloomy summer in the UK meant that armies of slugs ate away at most plants. The lower average temperatures also mean that plants grow more slowly.

The UK's wetter summers are undoubtedly a result of climate change – which is already impacting our farms. But while it's one thing to read about these things in the news or see them reflected in prices, it's quite another to have to tune into the weather patterns and pray for sustained sunshine without the scorching heat.

As I continue to tend my plot, I do so with a sense of humility, wonder and excitement. What started as a desire for a small patch of green has evolved into something much more meaningful – a connection to my local environment, a respect for the food I eat and an awareness of the fragile natural systems that sustain us. At first I was afraid I would fail with the allotment, but instead I find myself growing along with it.