Things happen and continuing happening; for example, after further machete action upon long, long, 12-feet or longer poinsettia stalks, the mf cuts a poinsettia bouquet for Marfa. She loves and cares for flowers, it would not surprise the mf un poquito if Marfa nurtures each of the machete-cut stalks in peat moss or other starterContinue reading “The Mushroom Farmer, Chapter 12”
“It’s raining,” said the mf to their friend Marfa, who was cleaning their oven. Oh Marfa: she cleaned like the wind, as neighbor Agnes had rightly declared. Marfa looked up in surprise and doubt. Mr. mf was always joking. What did he mean? But this time it really was raining. You could see the splashesContinue reading “The Mushroom Farmer, Chapter 11”
The pandemic on the day before Christmas Eve on the mf’s inner exurban sidewalk in Los Angeles is no joke. Everybody within 20 feet of each other — and no one comes any closer — says a hello that implies, Godspeed. It feels holy to say hello to your neighbors when you live in theContinue reading “The Mushroom Farmer, Chapter Ten”
Maybe next time, the mf would remember to till the soil before planting. Why did he forget this time? Oh, this pandemic has people in a tizzy, even people who seem not to be in a tizzy.
Things have happened. Big things; little things: things. For example, mushrooms have started growing. Not the golden oyster mushrooms, which the mf planted earlier in the week to much inner fanfare on dead bamboo leaves wrapped in a one-ply plastic shroud. He has checked beneath the shroud, once, inobtrustively, not to seem in a rush.Continue reading “The Mushroom Farmer, Chapter 8”
He can’t possibly think that 100 pounds of fruit would feed two million hungry people indefinitely — can he?
The mf’s go-to ethical rule of thumb is that we don’t have to repair the entire world, but we have to do our part.
Is the mf doing his part?
There could be no mistaking the mf’s excitement about impregnating dead, soaking wet banana leaves with golden oyster mushroom spawn. He was all but twitching. Grinning, yes. Beaming, yes. Agog is a good way of putting it. He had covered the soggy dead bamboo leaves with a plastic sheet to help keep them moist. NowContinue reading “The Mushroom Farmer, Chapter 5”
Oh yes, she like to squat amid the regalia of her golden plumage upon her throne of failed compost. Q: How can compost not turn into compost? A: Give it more time. This is what Kentucky is doing. She is made of water and carbon, energized by sunlight; the same could be said of theContinue reading “Kentucky is a Brooder”