It’s one of those cases where you dream a dream for so long that it takes a while to realize it is now reality.
Who’s laughing now, slugs?
Just as Yawning Tardy No Computer Kid did a good job analyzing diction in Salvage the Bones, so too is the one single dinosaur kale plant doing a good job of unfolding broad crinkly deep green leaves.
He made one yum-yum-yum dinner the first night, mushrooms in a nice sauce with bowtie pasta, like climbing Everest without the cold and climb, just the achievement.
It is as though an octopus has occupied the foot of the orange tree. Here is life and intelligence of a different order, all the more alive and bright for being different.
To be in the presence of a ready-to-fruit Chestnut mushroom block is to feel presence of a great and wild Otherlyness.
The mf is now 60 years old and he is not climbing trees willy-nilly anymore.
Before the mf left, he was frantic to weed Row 6, which was choked with crabgrass. The crabgrass in particular recalled the zig-zag stitches of Frankenstein’s monster, that lonesome and vicious brute. Row 6 altogether made the mf feel the sharp-tooth wound of raising a miscreant. It was neither this nor that. Yes, nigella thrivedContinue reading “The Mushroom Farmer, Book 3, Chapter 14”
The chickens really liked the home-grown oats the mf and his grown-up daughter took turns flinging upon the compost heap.
He would like to stick his face right up to where he has planted corn and scream, “Why won’t you grow!”