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”
Sometimes she lets me scratch her neck. I get in there under the feathers and sure enough, her neck is thin but I don’t think of it as scrawny. I think of it as lifeline.