Eating my own tail
Aaack. I really need to remember the sunscreen. I’m only 41 and looking at the age spots on my face is giving me nervous nelly hives on my ass.
It’s remarkable that my brain isn’t getting fat and overspilling my ears because all I think about these days is food. Planting it, harvesting it, preparing it, eating it, putting it up for the winter. Buying it at greater and greater cost. I spent $270 at the grocery yesterday, $35 of which was for wine (yeah, lush, we have parties coming up and it’s not polite to go empty handed and then drink someone else’s wine). I’m still buying some produce because my garden is about 15 days behind and only producing greens and herbs right now. Yummy, but not enough to round out a decent menu.
We just returned from a week vaca in MA where we had a giant family/friend reunion-party-celebration to mark birthdays and a graduation from college and a wedding. Happy Congratulations to everyone (Derek, Mom and Steve, Lila and Tyler). But can we talk about the food? One word comes to mind after gratitude, of course, and that word is excess. It was abundant in a way that had me worrying about costs and the future and priorities with the backdrop of mortgage lenders collapsing, of food prices soaring, of farms failing. I can’t help but wonder if a party like that will be possible in five years. Will there be anything on the shelves of the big box stores? Will cole slaw come in pre-shredded, ready-to-mix gallon bags? Will we still only blink a bit at the thought of so much corn on the cob gone to waste?
Speaking of waste, I just yanked out my pepper plants because they haven’t grown but an inch in the month they’ve been in the ground and they were squatting in prime, full-sun real estate in my garden — square footage that can be used to grow plenty of other things that are less shy about reaching their full potential. So now that space has two rows of spicy asian greens for stir fry and miso soup sown, and in about 45 days we’ll hopefully be enjoying those instead of scowling and cursing at the runty, stubborn little pepper plants that couldn’t. I’ll get my peppers at Hilgert’s u-pick like I did last year.
That’s been a big change for me in the garden, this ruthlessness. I’m no longer looking at each plant as deserving of the opportunity to at least try to make it to the end and produce something. Lagging behind? You’re slowing down my pantry, sparky and you’ve got to go. But I’m kind of feeling that way about everything in my life right now. Weeding out the distractions, like that whole restaurant thing. Oy, did that suck up the whole spring with its hours of research and questions and explorations, or what? I’m glad for it because I came out the other side of all that inquiry realizing that no, I do not wish to chain myself to the deck of a ship with inherent sinking tendencies. I mean, life is hard enough as it is, so why work 80 hours a week and make it even harder?
After all of that inward-looking I have come back around full-circle to the realization that I do, indeed wish to work with food and community, and that I am still intrigued and excited by the idea of starting an urban CSA or farm program. So the research continues. I don’t think anything but my attitude towards myself and my life will change this year, unless some awesome job lands in my lap. I need the paycheck and really don’t feel like I want to struggle with the freelance juggle right now on top of all of the other stresses. But seriously, one more year is my limit. Job? You’re on notice.
God. I feel like such a pussy. I was all blustery such a short time ago with my cocky one month and I’m outta there. But then we did the numbers. And yeah, let’s have an awkward segue right…here…back to food: we like to eat.
Aaaand, here’s another topic change. If you were in the room with me right now it would make sense, but you’re not so you’ll just have to roll with me or close the browser window if I’m making you dizzy.
I’ve been listening to the I’m Not There soundtrack a lot (and right at this very moment). Who knew Dylan was (is) such an amazing storyteller? Oh, you did? Well. OK. I can dig it. I’m always behind the times. And this has nothing to do with food, but much to do with nourishment. I watched the film with Chris a few months ago and he fell asleep and I had nobody to turn to in my confusion to ask, so is that supposed to be from his life? or from a song? I’ve never been a huge fan. The persona. I don’t know, it just gave me a good case of the eye-rolls. So we didn’t finish watching, but a bunch of the images stuck with me and I found myself humming the songs.
Then my brother came to stay with us and he’s a huge Dylan fan. HUGE. And he grabbed it at Blockbuster and after two weeks of it sitting on the coffee table, we finally sat down to watch it. Second time around I was able to let go of the need for a strong plot line and to just embrace the power of the performances and of the use of the vignette. To take it at face value.
Derek knows the music, so I’d turn to him with my scrunched up quizzical face and he’d say “well, you know, that’s based on the song that’s about such and such and it’s during the time that he was involved with so and so and this was going on in the world and so yeah…” and of course the details were way more specific and you know, detaily than that but my powers of retention are just shit anymore. Which is probably why I’m not a journalist. But that’s a whole other post. Upshot: I loved the film. Loved. It. Shut it off after the credits rolled and felt like I’d just taken a swim through some really deep water, man. All clean and mineralized and awake. You know?
We sang some Dylan tunes during harmony sing this month and Keyrist on a crusty stick, it made me happy. I go flat a lot still (sorry Cheril and Saunis), but on some non-thinky level I understand harmony and my voice always wants to reach for it. I drive the family nuts because I sing harmony to rock and roll in the car all the time. I don’t sing along to the melody ever any more, I just reach higher or lower and search for that vibration. I wonder if they know that’s what I’m doing, or if they just think I’m totally fucking tone deaf.
Wow. This really is one ramblyassed post, isn’t it? So hey…let me share some photos, okay?
Oh! But first? Jim James’ voice on Goin’ to Acupulco is making me all weepy. My Morning Jacket. Sigh.
OK, so photos! And no more ridiculous topic changes. And apologies! I’m crazy! And Love is the Drug!
This was the highlight of the Middleborough, MA 4th of July Parade this year. It’s the parade our family went to every year when I was a kid, about a mile from our house where I always bought one of those three foot tall pixie stix full of flavored sugar and then tweaked my way through the holiday BBQ and wished Raymond, my Uncle’s wife’s younger brother would brush up against me in the pool.
Er…ah…aaaanyway... I was beyond pleased as punch to see this float pulling away from the town common, full of fresh produce.
Before we left for our vacation, I gave up most of my Flat Leaf Italian Parsley plants to these bastids:
but my Maude, how does one say no to these beauties? Just spectacular. They feasted for three days and were gone.
I shot this Swallowtail a few days before the caterpillars revealed themselves, so I can’t say they turned into this specifically… but I knew they were headed in that general direction: towards truth and beauty.
It’s been an interesting season of observing life happening. It’s giving me hope or something maybe even a little more powerful than hope… sight…insight (?) Or a window into a much bigger picture than the tiny drama of my own little life and its incessant troubles and trials and tribulations.
Hard to believe that something so beautiful, even with a big bite taken out of its wing, is able to find sustenance, take flight, and angle its way towards whatever destination its destiny binds it to — this fact amazes me with its simplicity. Watching it land on the dandelion, then soar away to a high branch on the locust tree until I back away enough for it to feel safe to land with ridiculous delicacy on the yellow blossom to feast again, makes me wonder why I fight so hard.
Really, just fly, eat, fly some more, stay under the radar, eat again, then fly.
and teach the children to do the same, just hopefully with a bit more grace than we manage.
Happiest birthdays to my two…one five…one sixteen (who wouldn’t appreciate my posting his photo, so I won’t). I love you with all the pieces of my broken little heart, and I will always try to help you stay well-fed in every way.
"Grass is the cheapest plant to install and the most expensive to maintain."
~Pat Howell
