I am not someone who always recognizes happy when she sees it. As a Type A perfectionist, there's always something that could have been better or faster or more efficient. But today, right now, I feel happy. My husband is kind and funny. My kids are well-adjusted and successful. And not here. Even better. But I'll be so, so happy to hear about the tennis tournament when they get back.
Today was one of those days when I got a lot done. Nothing major, just the 35 little piddly things that have been hovering over my to-do list for ages. Things like putting recipes torn from newspaper and already-covered-in-soy-sauce-and-what-looks-like-bread-dough into binders, finishing up some leftover laundry, dishes done, homemade bread made, east side flower bed tilled, weeded, and mulched. I feel great. It may look on the outside like a manic-depressive on a tear, but I know you're not a licensed psychologist.
And it's early fall in Texas. There's nothing else like it anywhere. One beer, seven neighbors. As I walked back home for dinner, I realized how blessed my life is. I'm just going to sit back and enjoy it.
Happy Fall!
Showing posts with label gardening. Show all posts
Showing posts with label gardening. Show all posts
Tuesday, October 2, 2012
Friday, August 10, 2012
Starting Over
Right before I left in July, I pulled almost everything out of the garden. Everything. It was horrifying. Some of the tomato plants had new fruit budding. It was awful. I had worked so hard for that garden, and it physically hurt to pull everything out (that might also be because there are steel edges to the fencing I used for my tomato cages and I cut myself about 235 times). I left one bed for the housesitter to manage, but she wasn't all that interested in the jalapeños, so when I got back, I had a bumper crop. Which I canned. Which is all I did all of June, too.
After I pulled everything out, I tilled up the beds, pulled off the square-foot grid strings and covered everything in a blanket of hay and hoped for the best. It felt really good in cathartic, sweaty kind of way, but it was really sad, too. As my brother-in-law reminds me, Stephen King says this about writing: You have to "kill your darlings." In writing and in gardening, I guess.
So, this week, I started over. It seems almost unimaginable that everything I did last spring now has to be repeated for fall. I drove to the Natural Gardener in the 105 degree heat and bagged my own compost. Needless to say, there was no Tomato Larry that day - it was EMPTY in the bag-your-own-lot. Because I am insane.
I pulled off all the hay, tilled in all the new compost and started some beans and tomatoes. Which is exactly where I was at the end of March last year. And I'm okay with that. Like laundry and dishes and most other things in life, there's always something more to be done. My challenge is to do it with a lighter heart. And without cussing. Still working on that one.
I had to hit the ground running this week to get the fall garden in, but I was ready. Tomatoes and beans went in this week. And this time, I actually did some planning for successive crops like onions, garlic, leeks, cauliflower and broccoli. So, I know where I'm going as it begins to get cooler.
And where I'm going right now is bush beans and tomatoes. I'm feeling pretty good about that.
Keep it green, y'all!
After I pulled everything out, I tilled up the beds, pulled off the square-foot grid strings and covered everything in a blanket of hay and hoped for the best. It felt really good in cathartic, sweaty kind of way, but it was really sad, too. As my brother-in-law reminds me, Stephen King says this about writing: You have to "kill your darlings." In writing and in gardening, I guess.
So, this week, I started over. It seems almost unimaginable that everything I did last spring now has to be repeated for fall. I drove to the Natural Gardener in the 105 degree heat and bagged my own compost. Needless to say, there was no Tomato Larry that day - it was EMPTY in the bag-your-own-lot. Because I am insane.
I pulled off all the hay, tilled in all the new compost and started some beans and tomatoes. Which is exactly where I was at the end of March last year. And I'm okay with that. Like laundry and dishes and most other things in life, there's always something more to be done. My challenge is to do it with a lighter heart. And without cussing. Still working on that one.
I had to hit the ground running this week to get the fall garden in, but I was ready. Tomatoes and beans went in this week. And this time, I actually did some planning for successive crops like onions, garlic, leeks, cauliflower and broccoli. So, I know where I'm going as it begins to get cooler.
And where I'm going right now is bush beans and tomatoes. I'm feeling pretty good about that.
Keep it green, y'all!
Friday, July 6, 2012
Some Catching Up
So, it wasn't so nutty that I just sat around in my pajamas for an entire month and actively chose not to blog. It actually felt like the opposite of lazy. It felt like mass chaos all the time. Well, except for the weeks that the French Open was on. And the weeks that Wimbledon was on. Okay, so basically for the 12 days between the tournaments, it was busy. It seems only right that I catch you up on a few things.
1. The Garden - I am actually pretty pleased with how things turned out. And given my overwhelming need to control everything and everyone, I have been able to look at this first summer season as a great experiment. Had some failures: got tomato herpes, got round, orange cucumbers (?!), got squash borers, and had some deer damage.
We also had some great successes: had bees, had some squash before the borers hit, had green beans, had LOTS of tomatoes, as in way more than I can eat (as in I become the tomato Unabomber, wearing dingy clothes and dropping off unwanted baggies full of the things), had LOTS of tomatillos (we're swimming in salsa), and finally, just before everything got pulled for high summer, had pickling cucumbers, and had a fair pepper yield. And above all, I learned a lot of lessons.
But the best part has nothing to do with gardening. The best part is that S, my little one, who is not always the first one to volunteer for hot, sweaty work or really any work at all, has become my right-hand farmer. She's got a great eye for which tomatillos were ready to pick and was always willing to help or harvest or water. Her enthusiasm and joy got me through on those days when it was just too hot, or too much trouble, or just too much period. It's been a real gift to get to spend that kind of time with her, the kind of time that will hopefully lead to her having her own garden some day. Or at least will keep me from locking her up in her room for rolling her eyes. Or arguing with everything I say. Or not emptying the dishwasher after I ask. Five times. But I digress.
2. The Pantry - Looking back over the last month, my fallow period, in the words of a dear writer friend, I do realize that I might have been really busy doing exactly what I set out to do with this project. With the time required by the garden, and the time required to put up food whose origins I can trace to my back door, maybe I wasn't so much not writing, but brainstorming! Yeah, that's what we'll call it.
Anyway, it seems like at least twice a week, I would have so much produce that I had to can before it went bad. Now, I love canning, especially when it comes with a group of friends and some cold beer, but I'll tell you, I wasn't necessarily prepared for twice a week. Those folks who had to can to make it through the winter were not fucking around. With all my own produce and some plums that a friend brought and a couple of pounds of organic strawberries on sale, I've put up gallons of tomatillo salsa, quarts of tomato salsa, sweet-hots (cucumber and jalapeño pickles that are the best things in the world. On goat cheese. All I'm saying.), pickle relish, jalapeño jelly, plum jam, strawberry jam. It's fucking 10 o'clock at night, and I'm leaving for vacation tomorrow morning. And I'm still canning.
3. The Project - Well, I'm proud to say that we haven't fallen all the way off the wagon. We are still not eating out when we are in town although I have gotten caught a once or twice six hours out from our last meal. It's been an interesting dilemma: do I literally starve my kids to make a point? Isn't that just as bad as feeding your kids fast food? I'm not sure what the answer is, but we haven't ever cheated with a full meal. We did, however, one day a couple of weeks ago, have to buy a snack at a convenience store. Not sure where, but it did amount to some food that hadn't come into our possession in an approved way. I think it was some nuts and some peanut butter crackers. Admittedly, those are both items that would have been in our house or even our car had I gotten my shit together. But I didn't.
4. The Miracle - It's been a tough summer for G. A super-hard worker and awesome kid, she struggled with math in middle school, which put her behind a little for high school. And because she has mean parents, she is taking Algebra II this summer. Yep. That's right. Summer school. And not just summer school. Summer school in the subject that you hate the most. Not only that, but she missed camp and an opportunity to go see her friend play softball in Colorado, where we spend most of July. Things are sucking for her right now.
That said, she's been a real trooper. She hasn't complained much and has even formed a pretty good relationship with her teacher, which will be helpful next year. During all this, she turned 16. Which meant that she had earned a dinner out. At a restaurant. Of her choosing. But, as awful and miserable as most of her summer has been, the kid chose to eat at home. Can you believe? Now what she chose to eat were some insanely expensive steaks, but they were worth every penny, and we had a wonderful time.
So, this crazy experiment that has made her so miserable, this attempt to recalibrate and reset our eating priorities may, just possibly, have caused the teeniest, tiniest shift in her eating choices. And in the rest of ours as well. I'm almost afraid to say it out loud.
This just might work.
1. The Garden - I am actually pretty pleased with how things turned out. And given my overwhelming need to control everything and everyone, I have been able to look at this first summer season as a great experiment. Had some failures: got tomato herpes, got round, orange cucumbers (?!), got squash borers, and had some deer damage.
We also had some great successes: had bees, had some squash before the borers hit, had green beans, had LOTS of tomatoes, as in way more than I can eat (as in I become the tomato Unabomber, wearing dingy clothes and dropping off unwanted baggies full of the things), had LOTS of tomatillos (we're swimming in salsa), and finally, just before everything got pulled for high summer, had pickling cucumbers, and had a fair pepper yield. And above all, I learned a lot of lessons.
But the best part has nothing to do with gardening. The best part is that S, my little one, who is not always the first one to volunteer for hot, sweaty work or really any work at all, has become my right-hand farmer. She's got a great eye for which tomatillos were ready to pick and was always willing to help or harvest or water. Her enthusiasm and joy got me through on those days when it was just too hot, or too much trouble, or just too much period. It's been a real gift to get to spend that kind of time with her, the kind of time that will hopefully lead to her having her own garden some day. Or at least will keep me from locking her up in her room for rolling her eyes. Or arguing with everything I say. Or not emptying the dishwasher after I ask. Five times. But I digress.
2. The Pantry - Looking back over the last month, my fallow period, in the words of a dear writer friend, I do realize that I might have been really busy doing exactly what I set out to do with this project. With the time required by the garden, and the time required to put up food whose origins I can trace to my back door, maybe I wasn't so much not writing, but brainstorming! Yeah, that's what we'll call it.
Anyway, it seems like at least twice a week, I would have so much produce that I had to can before it went bad. Now, I love canning, especially when it comes with a group of friends and some cold beer, but I'll tell you, I wasn't necessarily prepared for twice a week. Those folks who had to can to make it through the winter were not fucking around. With all my own produce and some plums that a friend brought and a couple of pounds of organic strawberries on sale, I've put up gallons of tomatillo salsa, quarts of tomato salsa, sweet-hots (cucumber and jalapeño pickles that are the best things in the world. On goat cheese. All I'm saying.), pickle relish, jalapeño jelly, plum jam, strawberry jam. It's fucking 10 o'clock at night, and I'm leaving for vacation tomorrow morning. And I'm still canning.3. The Project - Well, I'm proud to say that we haven't fallen all the way off the wagon. We are still not eating out when we are in town although I have gotten caught a once or twice six hours out from our last meal. It's been an interesting dilemma: do I literally starve my kids to make a point? Isn't that just as bad as feeding your kids fast food? I'm not sure what the answer is, but we haven't ever cheated with a full meal. We did, however, one day a couple of weeks ago, have to buy a snack at a convenience store. Not sure where, but it did amount to some food that hadn't come into our possession in an approved way. I think it was some nuts and some peanut butter crackers. Admittedly, those are both items that would have been in our house or even our car had I gotten my shit together. But I didn't.
4. The Miracle - It's been a tough summer for G. A super-hard worker and awesome kid, she struggled with math in middle school, which put her behind a little for high school. And because she has mean parents, she is taking Algebra II this summer. Yep. That's right. Summer school. And not just summer school. Summer school in the subject that you hate the most. Not only that, but she missed camp and an opportunity to go see her friend play softball in Colorado, where we spend most of July. Things are sucking for her right now.
That said, she's been a real trooper. She hasn't complained much and has even formed a pretty good relationship with her teacher, which will be helpful next year. During all this, she turned 16. Which meant that she had earned a dinner out. At a restaurant. Of her choosing. But, as awful and miserable as most of her summer has been, the kid chose to eat at home. Can you believe? Now what she chose to eat were some insanely expensive steaks, but they were worth every penny, and we had a wonderful time.
So, this crazy experiment that has made her so miserable, this attempt to recalibrate and reset our eating priorities may, just possibly, have caused the teeniest, tiniest shift in her eating choices. And in the rest of ours as well. I'm almost afraid to say it out loud.
This just might work.
Sunday, May 20, 2012
Mother May I
It really is one of life's great ironies that Mother's Day falls squarely in the middle of May. When no mother ON EARTH has time to take a day off to do anything. Now, don't get me wrong. I like cards and presents just as much as the next girl, but seriously, any other month would be better. The week before Christmas would be better. We hear all the time about how busy the holidays are, how stressful, etc. That's for everyone involved in the retail business. Everyone involved in the parent business knows that May is the busiest, most stressful time of the year.
Every special occasion, dance, concert, band clinic, band tryout, tennis clinic, tennis lesson, and any extracurricular activity you can think of falls in May. Because God forbid we spread it out. No, no. We've got to get our testing in. I feel like we haven't been home in months. And I'm tired. So tired. And doesn't it always just seem like there's one more little hiccup to make May busier? The in-laws drop in (for a three day stay), a friend has knee surgery (and I love to cook), the college-aged son is back in town (with all of the weird negotiation over limits that that entails), or a beloved mother's home must be sold (in another town). Each of these are things we each take on with joy and dignity and grace, but isn't it odd how these additional blessings/burdens always seem to come in May? Maybe it's God's way of making summer that much more of a relief.
And this is where it really gets weird. I was a teacher for so long that I learned to look only toward summer for my freedom and release. If I can just make it to Spring Break. . .if I can just make it to TAKS. . . if I can just make it to Memorial Day. . . only three days left!!!! Only now, with a full year of home-working under my belt, it suddenly seems weird that my days are going to get fuller. As in, there will be more people in them. And more things to do. I haven't decided whether that's a good thing or not.
But I'll tell you what is a good thing. Vegetables. And canning. Today's harvest includes: 8 tomatillos, a dozen assorted peppers, and the year's first cucumbers. Three of them turned out great. Two of them look like alien heads. Perhaps for them, relish. Off to can.
Every special occasion, dance, concert, band clinic, band tryout, tennis clinic, tennis lesson, and any extracurricular activity you can think of falls in May. Because God forbid we spread it out. No, no. We've got to get our testing in. I feel like we haven't been home in months. And I'm tired. So tired. And doesn't it always just seem like there's one more little hiccup to make May busier? The in-laws drop in (for a three day stay), a friend has knee surgery (and I love to cook), the college-aged son is back in town (with all of the weird negotiation over limits that that entails), or a beloved mother's home must be sold (in another town). Each of these are things we each take on with joy and dignity and grace, but isn't it odd how these additional blessings/burdens always seem to come in May? Maybe it's God's way of making summer that much more of a relief.
And this is where it really gets weird. I was a teacher for so long that I learned to look only toward summer for my freedom and release. If I can just make it to Spring Break. . .if I can just make it to TAKS. . . if I can just make it to Memorial Day. . . only three days left!!!! Only now, with a full year of home-working under my belt, it suddenly seems weird that my days are going to get fuller. As in, there will be more people in them. And more things to do. I haven't decided whether that's a good thing or not.
But I'll tell you what is a good thing. Vegetables. And canning. Today's harvest includes: 8 tomatillos, a dozen assorted peppers, and the year's first cucumbers. Three of them turned out great. Two of them look like alien heads. Perhaps for them, relish. Off to can.
Friday, April 20, 2012
Second Harvest: Salsa
I'm beginning to cheer up! Pulled three of these babies off my pepper plants (the only things that aren't turning yellow in my nitrogen-imbalanced nightmare). Three peppers aren't enough to can, but they are enough for SALSA!
Immediately, I had to text SS to get her unreal weekly salsa recipe, which I LOVE.
Her version:
2-3 cans stewed tomatoes, one salt-free (I didn't have stewed)
2-6 fresh jalapenos (I only had 3)
1/4 c. apple cider vinegar
garlic
sugar
Blend and cook for 10 minutes.
As usual, I didn't have half of the necessary ingredients, so my version looked like this:
My version:
3 15 oz. cans diced tomatoes
1 onion, quartered (stewed tomatoes already have onion in them)
3 fresh jalapenos
2 cloves garlic, mashed
1/4 c/ apple cider vinegar
1 t. salt (my people like a saltier rather than a sweeter salsa, so I added the salt)
I dumped everything in a non-reactive pot and cooked for 45 minutes on medium heat until really soft. A/K/A I put it on the stove and went outside to do something, started moving dirt, forgot all about the salsa, and came running in to find it almost bubbling over. Turned out OK. I think it allowed the more liquid-y diced tomatoes to reduce down. Blended everything with a stick blender. Then had to leave, so pot sat to come to room temp for a couple of hours. It thickened up a little and is now completely perfect.
Me gusta!
 |
| So, bad light + Iphone + bad perspective = blurry 4-foot-tall jalapeno. It was about 4 inches in real life. |
Immediately, I had to text SS to get her unreal weekly salsa recipe, which I LOVE.
Her version:
2-3 cans stewed tomatoes, one salt-free (I didn't have stewed)
2-6 fresh jalapenos (I only had 3)
1/4 c. apple cider vinegar
garlic
sugar
Blend and cook for 10 minutes.
As usual, I didn't have half of the necessary ingredients, so my version looked like this:
My version:
3 15 oz. cans diced tomatoes
1 onion, quartered (stewed tomatoes already have onion in them)
3 fresh jalapenos
2 cloves garlic, mashed
1/4 c/ apple cider vinegar
1 t. salt (my people like a saltier rather than a sweeter salsa, so I added the salt)
I dumped everything in a non-reactive pot and cooked for 45 minutes on medium heat until really soft. A/K/A I put it on the stove and went outside to do something, started moving dirt, forgot all about the salsa, and came running in to find it almost bubbling over. Turned out OK. I think it allowed the more liquid-y diced tomatoes to reduce down. Blended everything with a stick blender. Then had to leave, so pot sat to come to room temp for a couple of hours. It thickened up a little and is now completely perfect.
Me gusta!
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
First Harvest
Look!
Here it is. The sweaty, dirty, back-breaking, dirt-hauling, caterpillar-killing, soul-sucking drudgery has finally paid off.
With 5 radishes.
At least they were tasty.
Ugh. I'm so over this.
Here it is. The sweaty, dirty, back-breaking, dirt-hauling, caterpillar-killing, soul-sucking drudgery has finally paid off.
With 5 radishes.
At least they were tasty.
Ugh. I'm so over this.
Friday, April 6, 2012
Garden Party
Another big day at Casa O. today. I’ve been slaving and slaving away on
my pest control project home-canning garden for weeks, and it
was time to show it off. I don’t
get to see my teacher friends nearly enough, and all the kids were off school, so DAC and I decided on a garden party.
It was so nice to take a break from mind-numbing drudgery home gardening and enjoy the day. We had homemade lemonade, both child and adult versions, toll house chocolate chip cookies, and sand tarts from the 1968 Houston Junior League Cookbook. The little girls hung in there for the front yard portion of the tour, then bagged to hang with the big kids on the back porch. I'm pretty sure it had something to do with cookies. Or chihuahuas. I'm not sure. I'm willing to consider the possibility that my gardening successes and failures are not all that riveting to the 7 and 9 year--old set. Or maybe to anyone. Wait. What?
 |
| "I'll give you $3 if you'll be in my picture." |
I am rereading Barbara Kingsolver's Animal, Vegetable, Miracle again (thanks, MWM) and continue to be amazed at her dedication to feeding her family from her own garden and community. And God bless her. But good heavens, how in the hell did she do it? I. Am. Absolutely. Exhausted. Self-help books talk a lot about mindfulness and being in the moment. Enjoying nature, accepting that you cannot change what is, look around at the beauty around you. Fuck that. I'm sweaty, stinky, rashy, bloody from cuts and scrapes, and so sore from digging and hauling that I can't turn my head to the right.
But today was a different kind of moment. It was a lovely, lovely day. There was a nice breeze under the trees. There were good friends. There was vodka. It was so nice to just sit. And visit with a dear, special, wonderful friend. The big girls love running around with the little girls: they had cookies on the couch, a game of Sketch-It, and made bracelets, which left plenty of quiet time for the mamas. A good deal all around.
And I am really, really proud of how it all came out. The garden does look nice. There is actual, real fruit (actually vegetable) on the plants. That's a baby jalapeno. I'm a mom! Those are tomatillos blooming behind it. All the more special was to have a friend to share it with. And it was nice to feel like there wasn't anything else I needed to do or anywhere else I needed to go. Those are the moments that make the sweat, the stink, the blood, and the rashes worth it.
Things were just perfect until it was time to leave. T made the terrible error of asking DAC what she and the girls were having for dinner. "Well, since we’re not on the project, oh, sorry, we’ll
probably pick up something on the way home." G visibly paled when C said "let's go to Schlotzsky's." A long discussion ensued about why we were on the project and what it meant for us. Considerable attention was paid to the loopholes by C, who is smart as a whip, and only just a little bit concerned that her mama might want to go on the project, too. Loopholes only make it worse. Then, the sweet, little family bade their goodbyes and rolled off into the twilight. And my kids had leftovers. Which is just fine.
And, no, I didn't just finish the last of the sand tarts.
Why do you ask?
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Why My Feet Look Like This
So, this past week, T. and I embarked on a little project. Well, not so little. As in it took both of us two full days to actually build the things not to mention several days to plan, amass materials, and return items several times to actually get the right thing. The returns lady at the Lowe's knows my first name now. Sigh.
In addition, I can't get the mud off my feet. I wore rubber clogs the whole time, but the long hours in the mud/clay of Central Texas and the permanently gooey state of my shoes has left these horrible brown (burnt siena in the 64 box) stains on my feet. It's so bad that I had to wear socks at yoga yesterday, which never leads to good things. And I will save you the description of what's under my toenails. And I've showered every day since Sunday. Maybe. Okay. Just once. Okay. Yesterday.
In addition, I can't get the mud off my feet. I wore rubber clogs the whole time, but the long hours in the mud/clay of Central Texas and the permanently gooey state of my shoes has left these horrible brown (burnt siena in the 64 box) stains on my feet. It's so bad that I had to wear socks at yoga yesterday, which never leads to good things. And I will save you the description of what's under my toenails. And I've showered every day since Sunday. Maybe. Okay. Just once. Okay. Yesterday.
Everything took a really long time because we were creating this design from scratch, incorporating ideas from gardens we liked the looks of but couldn't afford and gardens we could afford but didn't like the looks of. The basic premise and what we used for our fencing (cages) came from Square Foot Gardening (also the reason for the small beds and grids), the Suwanee, GA extension service and the Austin Food Bank. There's also great information at the SFG Forum.
I also had a most expert tutorial and demonstration from my friend, R, another recovering lawyer turned mom turned gardener. It really does help to actually SEE what you're going for. If you can, go find someone who's doing the square foot thing and ask to visit. She might even offer you her leftover seed. Most of R's seed love has already sprouted in the front bed.
And for our new beds, what started as a mish-mash of ideas has turned into something really beautiful and that we're really proud of. Even the girls are excited to help keep the gardens going.
I also had a most expert tutorial and demonstration from my friend, R, another recovering lawyer turned mom turned gardener. It really does help to actually SEE what you're going for. If you can, go find someone who's doing the square foot thing and ask to visit. She might even offer you her leftover seed. Most of R's seed love has already sprouted in the front bed.
And for our new beds, what started as a mish-mash of ideas has turned into something really beautiful and that we're really proud of. Even the girls are excited to help keep the gardens going.
 |
| We started with bare ground along the edge of a new granite gravel pathway. The poles are electrical conduit (a/k/a/ cheap fencing) is for the garden cages that we built later. |
 |
| After tilling the soil where the beds would go, we built a frame from UNTREATED pine (cedar was crazy expensive) boards 12" high. We bought these handy, dandy (but NOT cheap) corners from Gardener's Supply Co. We decided to spend the money here because having a place to put our supports kept us from having to build a giant deer fence around all three beds. Because the damn deer eat everything. |
 |
| We removed about half of the tilled soil and supplemented with several bags of organic Hill Country Garden Soil from Natural Gardener and Turkey Compost, which is what Larry told us to buy. |
 |
| After making my square foot grid, I planted both transplants and seeds. My goal was to grow only what I will be able to either eat or can for later: tomatoes, tomatillos, and peppers from transplants, pickling cucumbers, radishes, and squash from seed. |
 |
| So, the final product (late on day 2) was beautiful. We also spent some real money on the fence panels because they provide structural support. Still far, far cheaper than fencing the entire area. Other than the fencing, all the metal caging and hardware came from the electrical aisle at the Lowe's. T. has promised to put together a materials list. Check back for details. |
Now, I just have to wait to see what all comes up!
And get a pedicure.
Monday, March 5, 2012
Dear Douchebag
Austin really is the greatest city. I love it here. Aside from one very difficult year in my hometown of Houston (difficult because of a job, not the city itself), I have lived in or near Austin since 1987. Austin is diverse, tolerant, smart, fun, musical, and a whole lot of other adjectives. It can also be, well, a little too Austin for its own good.
Yesterday, I went with L, my superfabulous tennis partner and canning partner and cooking partner and friend, to the bag-your-own-dirt section at the Natural Gardener. A mecca of sorts around these parts, Natural Gardener has all kinds of organic soils and amendments and groovy things for your garden. And even better, instead of buying by the bag, you can go and dig your own, thereby recycling (less plastic from using your own bags) AND saving money (no labor other than your own, no transport costs, no markup). Neat, huh?
We arrived well before opening time and joined the long line of cars (it's almost planting season around here AND the weather was PERFECT - and I mean perfect even for Central Texas -- clear skies, mid 60's, slight breeze) waiting for the gates to open. When the pearly gates opened, we drove slowly to the way back, delicately marked SOIL with an arrow. It's true - what they're putting out elevates dirt to soil and beyond.
L and I were the only ones there for a solid half an hour - digging, bagging, filling, sweating, chatting. It was great. I'd have been miserable if I'd had to do it all alone, which I will have to do tomorrow. Because I can't measure volume. Which, by the way, is cubed and not squared. Dammit. We were soon joined by a benevolent and wise farmer guy who, as one does when sharing laborious tasks, began to chat. Turns out, he's got a large garden/farm out east of town and belongs to all manner of volunteer tomato forums (fora?). We chatted about tomato varieties, amendments (went with the turkey compost based on his recommendation), and blossom-end rot.
Please don't stop reading because you couldn't care less about tomatoes - this is about what nice looks like and what asshole looks like. Carry on.
Now, this type of conversation isn't going to happen just anywhere, but it was lovely. I mean really lovely. And even though I don't tend toward the wistful, it felt like blowing bubbles in the summer time. One of those little moments that you probably will forget later but will wish desperately that you had held onto it just a little longer. Our new friend, Larry, went so far as to give us each two tester tomato plants. He and his tomato buddies are cultivating new heirloom/hybrids, and he had a bunch in the back of his truck that he didn't need. Now, he didn't know us from Adam (Eve?). He, like us, had found a pleasant moment of time with some people with common interests and a gift of gab. So, he shared his knowledge and his tomato plants with us. It was, in what has become such a big city, magical.
Until. As L. and I were tying up our bags of garden dirt and getting ready to move on to the turkey compost, we noticed that the soil yard had filled up significantly. As in packed. As in sardines. So, she remarked, "I didn't realize that gardening had become so popular." And then, we got "outAustined." It's a phenomenon that you see every once in a while, usually at Whole Foods or REI or Natural Gardener (great places all, just locations for this disturbing trend). And it's not pretty. A young (to me - maybe early-30's) gentleman in just the right race t-shirt, from just the right 10K, with just the right track pants, said, "Well, gardening's been popular for a long time. You're just new to it, and you've come at a very busy time." And then gave us the stink eye because apparently we had less right to be there than he. So here is my missive to him:
Dear Douchebag,
Oh, no, you didn't. Let me just say that my friend L is from a farm in Gonzalez, Texas. She and her sister have access to some of the best produce you've ever eaten, including jalapenos so hot that I couldn't put my contacts in for a week after we canned them. She has the most beautiful gardens you have ever seen. She is also a lovely lady in her late 50s. You are the most condescending and preposterous and disrespectful piece of work that I have seen in a long time. And it popped my bubble. I am angry. And angry. I don't like people messing with my friends. I don't like general disrespect. And I don't like you thinking that you have anything on anyone, especially when you DON'T EVEN KNOW US.
And I especially don't like you taking what was a community of gardeners and planters, of amateurs and grizzled veterans, of like-minded strangers and friends and turning it into some kind of twisted game so that you can feel superior. Now, I realize that by letting you bother me I gave you control over my day, which you didn't deserve, and I am a bigger person that that, so I should have just ignored you. Bladdiddy, bladdiddy, blah. But Austin didn't used to be like that. And it's so much more than that. And I was having a perfectly nice tomato fantasy with my new friend. Larry, until you shit on it. So, thanks for that. Seriously, just be nice. It's really simple.
Love,
Me
Hrumph. One of my favorite people in the whole world had a bumper sticker in the 90s that I loved. People could live by this.
Mean people suck.
Yesterday, I went with L, my superfabulous tennis partner and canning partner and cooking partner and friend, to the bag-your-own-dirt section at the Natural Gardener. A mecca of sorts around these parts, Natural Gardener has all kinds of organic soils and amendments and groovy things for your garden. And even better, instead of buying by the bag, you can go and dig your own, thereby recycling (less plastic from using your own bags) AND saving money (no labor other than your own, no transport costs, no markup). Neat, huh?
We arrived well before opening time and joined the long line of cars (it's almost planting season around here AND the weather was PERFECT - and I mean perfect even for Central Texas -- clear skies, mid 60's, slight breeze) waiting for the gates to open. When the pearly gates opened, we drove slowly to the way back, delicately marked SOIL with an arrow. It's true - what they're putting out elevates dirt to soil and beyond.
L and I were the only ones there for a solid half an hour - digging, bagging, filling, sweating, chatting. It was great. I'd have been miserable if I'd had to do it all alone, which I will have to do tomorrow. Because I can't measure volume. Which, by the way, is cubed and not squared. Dammit. We were soon joined by a benevolent and wise farmer guy who, as one does when sharing laborious tasks, began to chat. Turns out, he's got a large garden/farm out east of town and belongs to all manner of volunteer tomato forums (fora?). We chatted about tomato varieties, amendments (went with the turkey compost based on his recommendation), and blossom-end rot.
Please don't stop reading because you couldn't care less about tomatoes - this is about what nice looks like and what asshole looks like. Carry on.
Now, this type of conversation isn't going to happen just anywhere, but it was lovely. I mean really lovely. And even though I don't tend toward the wistful, it felt like blowing bubbles in the summer time. One of those little moments that you probably will forget later but will wish desperately that you had held onto it just a little longer. Our new friend, Larry, went so far as to give us each two tester tomato plants. He and his tomato buddies are cultivating new heirloom/hybrids, and he had a bunch in the back of his truck that he didn't need. Now, he didn't know us from Adam (Eve?). He, like us, had found a pleasant moment of time with some people with common interests and a gift of gab. So, he shared his knowledge and his tomato plants with us. It was, in what has become such a big city, magical.
Until. As L. and I were tying up our bags of garden dirt and getting ready to move on to the turkey compost, we noticed that the soil yard had filled up significantly. As in packed. As in sardines. So, she remarked, "I didn't realize that gardening had become so popular." And then, we got "outAustined." It's a phenomenon that you see every once in a while, usually at Whole Foods or REI or Natural Gardener (great places all, just locations for this disturbing trend). And it's not pretty. A young (to me - maybe early-30's) gentleman in just the right race t-shirt, from just the right 10K, with just the right track pants, said, "Well, gardening's been popular for a long time. You're just new to it, and you've come at a very busy time." And then gave us the stink eye because apparently we had less right to be there than he. So here is my missive to him:
Dear Douchebag,
Oh, no, you didn't. Let me just say that my friend L is from a farm in Gonzalez, Texas. She and her sister have access to some of the best produce you've ever eaten, including jalapenos so hot that I couldn't put my contacts in for a week after we canned them. She has the most beautiful gardens you have ever seen. She is also a lovely lady in her late 50s. You are the most condescending and preposterous and disrespectful piece of work that I have seen in a long time. And it popped my bubble. I am angry. And angry. I don't like people messing with my friends. I don't like general disrespect. And I don't like you thinking that you have anything on anyone, especially when you DON'T EVEN KNOW US.
And I especially don't like you taking what was a community of gardeners and planters, of amateurs and grizzled veterans, of like-minded strangers and friends and turning it into some kind of twisted game so that you can feel superior. Now, I realize that by letting you bother me I gave you control over my day, which you didn't deserve, and I am a bigger person that that, so I should have just ignored you. Bladdiddy, bladdiddy, blah. But Austin didn't used to be like that. And it's so much more than that. And I was having a perfectly nice tomato fantasy with my new friend. Larry, until you shit on it. So, thanks for that. Seriously, just be nice. It's really simple.
Love,
Me
Hrumph. One of my favorite people in the whole world had a bumper sticker in the 90s that I loved. People could live by this.
Mean people suck.
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