I have been exiled from the allotment for a few weeks now in a smaller world of pain. The plot is at the top of a hill and walking steep slopes has been beyond me. The meditation medication it brings me has been unavailable. This weekend I think all that will change. Though it may involve taxis.

A garden, I think, responds to constancy and attention. Fidelity, regularity and care are what works, as in any relationship. It doesn’t do so well when these are withdrawn, no matter the sound reason or intention.

Like me, the plot and its plants work best with companionship. I know the science might be hard to source, but perhaps the proof is in the growing. Gardening is entwined in my life like Morning Glory: it brings me peace, even some understanding. The seedlings need nurture like I once did – and still do.

My pulse rate slows, my anxieties fade, I may walk a little taller. I find an unspoken acceptance there, a place to release, to recharge, to be quiet.

I need spring. It’s not too far away now. Soon it will be time to sort seed. There are still piles of dried Tagetes (marigold) flowers that need my attention and bagging up. Climbing nasturtium from last year’s poles needs to be mixed and sown with this year’s packets. There are deliveries for early summer still to come in – including for my lifetime’s search for the perfect single orange calendula. I think I may have finally found a source so I will report back in May.

I will start by getting a lift today to the allotment, to just sit for a while, maybe pull a weed or three and say how much I have missed it (not necessarily aloud). I have ached in the past weeks. For the plot, for open skies, to freely walk up a hill. To hoe, to sow. To start our new growing season.

Allan Jenkins’s Plot 29 (4th Estate, £9.99) is out now. Order it for £8.79 from guardianbookshop.com