Wednesday, July 8, 2009


No fruit yet, but plenty of blooms. (Because I didn't get them in the ground till Memorial Day weekend.)

Nice rain Sunday morning during Wimbledon and then a bit more yesterday, so they're all set for water for awhile, though my makeshift cistern is very full.

Made 2 4'x4'x10" planters and 7 42"x42"x10" planters, in which I'm composting the richest stuff you've ever seen. I happen to like that smell. Some don't.

The days are long and hot, and my air conditioning duct work is messed up, so I haven't been using it. Pretty rough. I need to get under the house and see what the deal is.

Other than that, still 30 minutes at a time.


bright said...

There was this old tomato farmer named Bob that used to come in to the restaurant. He didn't have a lot of teeth, he chain smoked, and he was oblivious to the "Please Wait To Be Seated" sign. He would meet there with the head of the migrant group who worked his fields. He'd say, I'm meeting with a Spanish gentleman today, two coffees. He drove a 1978 Oldsmobile Cutlass and, in season, his back seat was littered with the best tomatoes you ever saw. He'd say, You gals go ahead and take some home. So we'd take our smoke breaks outside, get a few tomatoes each from the car. It was never locked. So this one day, I walk up to him with the coffee pot and he notices I look like I've been tumble-dried. He says, What's wrong and I stare at him and say in that zombie voice, I just broke up with my [2nd gay] boyfriend, and he says, Aw hell kid, go get a tomato and forget about it.

Best fucking tomato of my life.

switters said...

Great story. I think I'm (not-so) slowly turning into that guy.

"Home". It's tricky. I don't know where it is anymore. Maybe Iowa.

Great to see you.

bright said...

Please keep better hold of your teeth than Bob did. Even Iowans need to chew stuff. Really.

Keifus said...

Sidewalk thing isn't going so great. A month of rain hasn't treated the little veggie plants very well, but they stuggle on. (My compost crate is a symphony of rot, however.)

If that tomato guy was in these parts, you would have to use the word "flinty."

switters said...

The rains. Saw that.

My brother, Al, in Mount Gilead, Ohio, has initiated a "forced drought" on account of the yellowish leaves. He's sending me pictures for a diagnosis, but he knows all that I know.

I'm a composting fiend. Paula gives me all her kitchen material. It's like soup. Or stew. I find it to be a rewarding art.