Well, if it just drizzles for a few hours this morning, then quits, I should be OK with the rototiller. 'course, if the back yard turns to mud soup, it'll be challenging...It's 4:30am. Porky and I have been out on the front porch already, having a cigarette and coffee. It's a gentle rain, barely wetting the concrete on the porch step.
All the weeds are chopped. Ma and I did it by hand, using the neighbor's hoe as a scythe. I've raked most up and have them drying in the driveway, so I can seperate out the large rocks for landscaping around the pond I'm building.
Some parts of the yard can't be tilled: there are just too many large rocks. But these areas are small. One is a slight mound. I'll put a table and chairs out there, facing the pond. There are natural paths, too.
So, I'll work with the land as it is, rather than try to force it to be as I want. Wherever grasses and weeds have grown well, I'll plant. Barren ground will stay that way.
I was laughing: as I chopped weeds yesterday, I heard neighbors' weed eaters in other yards. All that wasted gasoline and electricity! And, later, they'd be complaining that they never have time to go to the gym to work out.
Now, don't get me wrong: it's hard work and my arms are sore. But it's meditative work. It's wholesome. Weed eaters are so loud and obnoxious, they're more like an assault than a garden chore. You can't think! Your arms buzz and your head rattles. A hoe just whispers and swishes through the weeds, occasionally chiming against a rock.
Even with all their lawn equipment, my neighbor's yards are, for the most part, more overgrown than ours. Interesting.
I'm starting to get excited now. I can visualize the corn over there and the gourds in that tree and the ducks in that tall grass and marigolds.
It'll be fun to have dinner guests sitting out there. And the cats will love having a shady jungle; they'll never want to hop the fence to poop in Grace's funeral home yard.
I can imagine the bees and wasps and lady bugs and mantis.....
There's a sense of real satisfaction from being self sufficient. It's a pleasure to gather eggs in the yard. Feels good to take a load of sweet smelling cloths off the line.
I have a juicer, I found in someone's garbage. Ma drinks fruit juices every day. It's nice to make it for her. I use the pulps in other cooking, too.
Ma had some guests over the other day. He wrote a play she's working on and his wife is a retired teacher, as is he. I made "Navajo" tacos. I made everything from scratch. Since Ma isn't supposed to eat wheat, I made the fry bread with reduced wheat (you need only enough gluten for it to swell like a balloon in hot oil) and spelt flour. I cooked a cheap chuck roast, marinated in beer, cumin and cilantro. We made pico de gallo (a form of raw salsa, made of tomatoes, onions, garlic, lime juice, jalepeno peppers and cilantro) and guacamole (basically the same, but with avacado). I made a bastardized tortilla soup/posole (pork/hominy stew).
I even made flan, Mexican almond custard, covered in caramel sauce. I accented it with dried: rose petals, lavendar, safflower and sprinkled it with almonds. Now, THAT was GOOD!
Those guests are STILL raving about the "feast" they had here! I even served marguritas. Oh, they were tickled! They said it was the best meal they had while they were here.
I almost killed Ma as I made the meal: she's slower than I am at chores. She's a bit clumsy. And her head is so full of details about her job, she can't retain new details about preparing a dinner party. I began to understand why Martha Stewart is characterized as a perfectionistic bitch. It has to be done RIGHT! And one has to be able to count on one's staff to do their jobs...
Well, although we left each other that morning, exasperated and grumpy, by the time Ma brought the guests home on the bus and I met them in the street, the meal was fabulous and waiting cheerfully for them.
I, of course, was tired. Yet, I charmed the pants off of them, even Ma. And, after they all left, I even put the food away and washed all the dishes.
I just wanted everything RIGHT, y'know? I burned a steak and a roast and made 2 experimental flans that came out horrible in the process, but that's just extra pet food in a situation like that...
The writer asked me how many days it had taken to prepare it. I replied honestly: it had taken 3 days. He said, if I do this on an ordinary occasion, what on earth do I do for Thanksgiving and Christmas? I grinned.
Even though I spent them alone here this year, I still cooked a spread. I go all out, when good foods are marked cheap during the holidays.
Well, it's almost 5am. I want more coffee and another cigarette. Should be light soon. Hope the rain slacks off. I still have weeds and rocks to rake up; it'd be easier if they weren't wet.
My arms are sore....
No comments:
Post a Comment