I call them the kids: they have been around the house ever since Pablo and I have dwelled at Hwy 19. There is David, the kid from Big Spring, Matt, who has moved with his mother to Washington, Justin, who lives somewhere around the Gasconade and recently quit his longterm dish washing gig, a scrawny boy called Robert who just quit his job as kitchen chief, a redhead with holes in his ears who just quit his job in the vintage restaurant, and Pablo, who since he quit his job (rightly so I might add) a year ago never did get another one. They were 9 and now they are 22 ish and going on 40. There is still this ultimate sense that life is there fully for their enjoyment, the unbridled enthusiasm about the future and theconviction that things will work out. An endearing innocence, no planning, no knowlegde and really no goal. Reminds me of myself: even now, I do have this place and this stuff growing but not much of a plan, other than to see if I can grow something, and then sell it somewhere.
We get bigger, older, blinder, richer, smarter, but it remains the same at its core. A bunch of kids, now with cars, hanging out doing stupid stuff late at night, "hanging out". Shoot yourself in the foot with a bibi gun to see if it hurts (YES), have competitions to see who can throw a 14 feet cedar pole the furthest, set up a shooting range with rotten tomatoes, pick tomatoes and throw the rotten ones at eachother, drink till you drop and go and take a walk in the woods.
So Justin is currently the default assistant manager: he kind of just doesn't go away for one thing and he seems to have a fine relationship with the chickens. (They have slowed down to about 7 dozen a day, so the stress of cackle berry moving has eased.) Pablo, hasn't been around much last week because he is taking a realtor class in St. L. courtesey of Rich Lauer. Better in school than hoeing. David, our Afghanistan veteran, regurlarly brings out his stash of artillery, but right now the funds are low and they are target shooting with plastic bb's and an air riffle.
It costs a bit of money to keep those kids on the payroll, but there are benefits. Both Justin and Pablo have been tractoring, plowing, disking, planting and the like, they have started seeds in trays, transplanted them, and today put the driptape out on their pumpkin patch, built a little awning to the pavillion, that kind of stuff. If nothing else, at least they have done it once and gotten some experience out of it. Kind of miss Pablo because I am not going to the markets. And Justin is just plugging along, redirecting after he threw the dish washer carreer out with the bath water.
Oh, another field day, this one took the cake for most ambitious field day from a group from Columbia called Slow Food. Let you not be misled by the name, their itinirary was so jampacked that they had all of 16. 5 minutes to visit the farm. It was fun though: showed them the walk in cooler, which has fullfilled a fantasy of mine. It is 95 degrees outside and I have a cot in this cooler, and 2 blankets and sleep in 45 degrees. SWEET! Needs a flat screen tv yet, and the beer is cold and within reach. And Nathan, the resident maniac mower wants the place to be spotless, so it has all been mowed again to the 5/16th golfcourse green hight. Just as well, because next weekend there is the next tour, courtesey of Shelbie Blank, our local VISTA coordinator. So the grass will be short yet, and I will be officially fielddayed out, enough of it.
Gardenwise, I once again am in the top 5 of most impressive weeds in the county! Cheerios there but really, I need a vacation (and I'll get one too).
Will have a sing up saying Maters and Taters, but the maters in the greenhouse all have some kind of fungus, not good. The fruit is good, but the plants are dying off already, maybe the ones outside will kick start the next week or so. Can't hurt to have doused them with horsemanure. That is really nice, Scott comes by once in a while with a trailer of fresh horsemanure.
Oh and Shoeshine and the fun police dog have left. Eventually it will work out. Only one constant in this whole world: nothing remains the same.
Pieter Los, born in Scotland, raised in the Netherlands, lost in the USA. .