Saturday, April 9, 2011

It was the best of times, It was the end of times.

I watched a show about the impending doom of 2012 and realized I need to fortify the homestead to survive the end times.  Well, maybe not, if was going to be paranoid about events to come I would probably be more worried about the devaluation of the dollar and the potential for sky rocketing inflation.  Of course if that happens and it takes a wheel barrel full of dollars to buy a loaf of bread the my cucumbers should go up in value. If one tomato sells for a kazillion, trillion, monopoly money dollars then I will at least have some tomatoes.  What I have realized about myself, however is that I prefer living in earthquake country to a hurricane zone.  By that I mean that growing up in California you get use to earthquakes and when they happen, they happen. Not much you can do about it, no sense worring about it.  Hurricanes, on the other hand, are on the news for weeks with predicitions about where they going to land.  Of course those predictions don't really mean squat until the last little bit. You can get prepared, seal up the house, pack the car, and run for life only to have it turn and head somewhere else.

Of course when we moved here everyone said don't worry about hurricanes they don't come this far inland. Uhhh, well, in the six years we have lived here two have come through.  Probably, my  fault bad weather seems to follow me around.  In the six years the ran fall here has also significantly dropped off and the branch that runs behind the house has dried up every summer, which it never did in all the time my wife lived here as a kid.  If there was some kind of societal collapse we would be in a better place than many to feed ourselves and survive, but one thing I learned living here is that people moved to the city to get work because having to kill, grow or gather everything to feed a family would be a huge pain in the ass. I would be a much slimmer fellow than I am now. 

Little by little I have been putting in this years garden.  So far I have some zucchini, squash, green beans, carrots, shallots, tomatoes and cucumbers in the ground with about half of it poking up through the soil.  In the next couple weeks I have to get peppers, eggplant, herbs, and possibly some corn and melon in the ground.  I had kind of been finding it hard to muster the enthusiasm to the planting done, but some squash plants had come up on their own in the garden either from seeds that didn't sprout last year or some squash that got forgotten in the garden.  The smell of those plants gave me the shove I needed.  I never thought it would matter, but that sort of earthy smell always make me want to spend more time in the garden.  The smell conjures up memories of being in my grandfathers garden as little kid in Delano.  I don't remember much from before I was around ten years old so I am always surprised when I smell the squash or tomatoes and it instantly takes me back to that house. Now I wonder if grandpa was getting ready for the end times and just didn't want to spook a little kid by letting on that the world was gonna end.


  1. I expect that Grandpa was intent on putting food on the table, end or no end. Your Grandpa, like my Mama, was probably an organic gardener before the term caught on with more sophisticated types.

  2. Maybe, I don't really remember him talking about it much, but every year that smell takes me back. I can suddenly see the faded wooden fence, the light blue sprinkler hose.