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This first bit might seem like too much information, but read to the end it gets better. Last Friday Eme farted. This is not an abnormal occurrence anywhere for anyone, but what happened next is definitely something I have never experienced. Eme blamed it on the basil. Eme blamed her not-so-silent farts on a plant whose sweet fragrance is well documented. I know it was the closest thing to us, but with all the frogs and toads and crickets around I’m still in shock at Eme’s choice of scapegoat. And ever since then Eme has been blaming all her farts on me– even the silent ones which works out well because it serves as a warning to not go near Eme for a few minutes.
On Tuesday Izzard, Zak, Scout, the new kid and I pulled two beds of red storage onions out of the ground and managed to fit about 75% of them on one of the farm’s hay wagons. I was in the wagon setting onions out and I imagined myself as a lion in a cage for the circus or at the zoo, can’t say that I envy those animals– no matter what Pi says. I also watched the first half of Across the Universe with Miss Whatsit.
On Wednesday Izzard, MB and I went up to the Argo greenhouse to plant lettuce. Shortly after our arrival we were greeted by Bacon, Pork Chop, Pork Roast, Hot Dog and Baby Back Ribs. The pigs don’t get names because they’re food, but the pigs are not food to me so to they have names. Anyway we found out five of the pigs had made a break for it sometime earlier that morning (or late the night before) . I helped Izzard and a couple farmers herd the five back toward their fenced off pasture. With the morning excitement behind us I went back to the greenhouse to finish seeding the lettuce and realized I won’t be here to transplant them. I’ve really begun my final countdown at Camphill.
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Thursday night I pickled the last of the cucumbers I had from the garden. They had been picked over a week prior to pickling and were starting to yellow, but I think they should still taste like the rest of the pickles I’ve made. While I was pouring the brine into the jars I kept singing the chourus to Chevelle’s song Jars. Now that I’m done though I’m seeing mistakes I’ve already made, like only using garlic and basil for pickling spices. I’m hoping the pickles still come out well- I’ve got another week before the first batch will be worth testing. With all the effort I put into processing these cucumbers and tomatoes though I hope they turn out well.
Last week finished with Miss Whatsit and I watching the second half of Across the Universe and then telling each other stories about MB, who is the latest addition to our morning crew in the garden. This first story happened some time two weeks ago, but upon Miss Whatsit’s insistence, I’m including it here mainly for her chuckles (since I think you need to know MB for to find humor in the first story).
Izzard was told that if you call MB MacScotchy she will correct you saying her last name is MacDonald. Izzard decided to try it out and MB corrected him the first time he said it. But after he kept asking Scotchy to get the bucket and telling Scotchy to help us clean up the tomato plant carnage, she stopped correcting him. MB started calling herself Scotchy-head. Now every so often Izzard calls her Scotchy or Scotchy-head. The nickname drives me nuts, but MB doesn’t seem to care. The second is an on-going occurrence. MB has quite an imagination, MB isn’t a big fan of work and encouraging MB to work requires as much attention to her as it does to the work being done. So I’m constantly reminding MB that it’s time to work. Last week Izzard asked her what she thought would happen if she didn’t start working. Her completely serious and unprompted response, “MB will be in big ass trouble.” Which left Izzard and I stunned saying, “Yep, big ass trouble.”