A day off, bumming around

(4 pm. – promoted by ek hornbeck)

I’ve been driving myself like a slave putting raised beds in the garden, because last year’s garden was going very well until the gophers arrived.  So, I’ve been building 6′ x 3′ boxes from redwood fencing and hanging gopher-wire baskets beneath them.  I’ve gone Caddyshack.  It’s not just gophers, but deer, also, which I will drive from the land amidst their mothers’ lamentations.  I’ve put in thousands of feet of deer fence, and that job is nearly done.  Fuck the fucking deer, ‘tho’ I love them dearly, and hate driving them from their ever-dwindling home ranges.  I killed about a zillion worms in the garden violently excavating for the boxes.  Hate that, too, but they’ll be back in hordes once the super-kick-ass compost goes in on top of last years super-kick-ass.  The super-kick-ass consists of redwood sawdust, local organic compost, and chicken manure.  That’s on top of my personal composting over the past few years, wherein I literally sieved-out the forking California adobe clay, added a shite-load of red cedar pine needles for friability, then two years of kitchen waste and grass clippings.  The sheer yardage of soil moved by hand is mind-boggling.  This soil is pure kick-ass and the garden is going to explode this year.  

I knocked myself out yesterday.  When the afternoon breeze finally arrived, my sweat-soaked gratitude was the pure exaltation of nature herself.  Why do I work like a nineteen-year-old at my age?  At precisely 4:58 pm, the gin tonics started flowing as I finished up the eighth of 32 forthcoming boxes.  Per my sister-in-law’s instructions, it will be a pleasure to work in that productive garden when I’m done.  I may not have the balls of a nineteen-year-old, but with age I have gotten a lot better at listening to people.  

Today, I looked at yesterday’s achievements and said, “Wait a sec.  Rather than mindlessly driving deeper into Egypt with your tanks, Rommel, how about a milkshake today instead?”  I can’t remember the last time I had a milkshake.  I took the long way from Rancho Corralitos, through Pleasant Valley, Day Valley, Valencia Valley, a beauty-flecked drive of redwoods and apple orchards through the central coast that sneaks up on to a local coffee shop where the golden-skinned barista goddess makes the “chocolate dream” shake that includes bananas and peanut butter.  It was so good I could barely hold my lane on the drive home.  Today, I merely managed to throw a little straw around the boxes and water the rapidly germinating seeds, but otherwise just tonked around on the piano and played with the dog.  But I did score that milkshake.

Natalie Merchant was on my mind much of the day.  This song, for all Dharma Bums:

Her voice has a laid back and luscious register.  Hey, Jack, now for the tricky part…

I love the sustained chords and melody, as only she can do it.


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  1. with the Iranian ambassador?  Fuck the jerk.  And double-fuck him on Ukraine and Syria.  What a compleat anthology of total fucking asshole.

  2. kills, then when she momentarily drops to Ab, then raises A, then drops to E, Oy.  That’s the register thing. It’s compelling.  

  3. kills, then when she momentarily drops to Ab, then raises A, then drops to E, Oy.  That’s the register thing. It’s compelling.  

  4. kills, then when she momentarily drops to Ab, then raises A, then drops to E, Oy.  That’s the register thing. It’s compelling.  

  5. kid oakland.  I hate linking to DK anymore, but long time, no see, buddy.

    • TMC on April 13, 2014 at 1:27 am

    so I settle for my herb garden along the back fence and barrel planters for green peppers and plum and beefsteak tomatoes.

    My Grandfather had a great vegetable garden just outside the backdoor of the house I grew up in back in the 50’s and 60’s. My aunt and I used to sit on the back steps and eat fresh picked tomatoes sprinkled with salt. All summer we had fresh green beans and zucchini.

    We had chickens in the back by the horses’ barn (we had three) and a rooster. Our neighbor shot the rooster one morning and landed himself in jail for discharging a firearm in NYC. That was back in the late fifties and I don’t remember if he was charged with anything else. He did spend some time in jail, so I suspect there were other charges. My Dad was really pissed and wanted to beat the crap out of him but he held back because my Grandfather was so up set and he had a really bad heart.

    Hard to realize that we were part of NYC then, no Verrazano Bridge, just, the buses and two trains (we are down to  one) to the ferries to Manhattan and Brooklyn. We even had our own little airport and a drive in movie theater, the rest was farms and woods.

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