To Till Or Be Tilled

My homework for this darn garden was till, put manure down, then till again. Sounds simple, right? Well, where the heck do you find a till (on craigslist they are $200-$400 used) and where the heck do I find manure. Mark knew where we could rent a till. It was $75 for 24 hours! Seemed like a lot to me. I wanted the smaller one which was only $45 for 24 hours. But Mark insisted we needed the bigger one, so we went for it. I hit pay dirt on craigslist for the manure. I found someone with free sheep shit north of Burlington (more than one hour away). I had a meeting in Burlington anyway, so we went. We LOVED Burlington. Actually, I'd been there twice before. Mark wandered around while I was in my meeting. It's the biggest city in Vermont. No other state has it's biggest city as small as Burlington… It has a nice vibe, like a small San Francisco. Burlington is situated on the Lake Champlain which separates Vermont from upstate New York. It's beautiful up there. And guess what, there is some cultural diversity. I think the majority of the 5,000 Blacks who live in Vermont live in and around Burlington.

The sheep shit was in the Champlain Islands which is just north of Burlington. Another beautiful area. The farm is situated on 10 acres and has lakefront property. We had a moment of second thoughts about where we bought our house - there is no way we could afford that, but it was a pretty nice spread. The gentleman we met was very nice.

He runs an angora sheep farm – the sheep are bred for fiber, not for meat. The sheep are so darn cute. Especially the kids. And they are so gentle. He showed us his whole operation which was pretty simple. So guess what I want to do… So the sheep shit is in a big pile just waiting for someone to take it. Some of the shit spilled out of the bucket from the tractor thingy while the gentleman was loading it on the truck, so the guy pushed it back on (with his bare hands!!!) then declared "the manure sure is hot!" I don't think those would have been my words. He invited us back anytime and especially for the Open Studio weekend in mid-July. It's the same weekend as the SolarFest (we want to get off the grid), so it will be a busy weekend.

So we drive back home with a pile of sheep shit in the back of the truck and no one gives us a second glance. Guess it's normal to drive around with a pile of shit in Vermont.

So when we get back home I tilled (ok Mark helped but I did 80-90% of it) then spread the sheep shit around (It didn't smell as bad as I thought it would) then tilled again.

What the heck made me want the garden plot so darn big. In the middle of tilling, a light bulb illuminates in my head. I scream for Mark to throw me his phone so I can call my father. It's Monday and I think I missed Father's Day. Well, thankfully I didn't. We still had another week. My parents think I'm a weirdo.

Anyway, I have a new-found respect for farmers after tilling. It's not easy work. In fact its very hard work. And the only real bug I saw was a beetle (it was kind of big) that I took pleasure in tilling over... And I wanted to get the smaller, less expensive tiller… In the end, I was so proud of myself. I'm sore and tired from tilling, I thought calluses would appear on my hands any minute, maybe I'll lose weight doing this. Can't wait to plant next weekend.

The garden plot is fairly big. The consultants told me to till however big I wanted the garden to eventually be, and we would cover what we didn't use for next year. The plot measures approximately 30 feet by 60 feet. If you get an angora sweater or blanket from us in a couple of years…you'll know that we have a well fertilized, well tilled, plentiful garden.

Gardening 101

So, I’ve decided to plant a garden. I have this idea of living from the land and taking advantage of being in this beautiful place. I want to eliminate the need of going to the grocery store. I’d like to can, freeze or eat fresh fruits and vegetables from my garden and eat fresh eggs that I collected from my hens. I haven’t figured out the meat thing yet, but I will. Maybe I’ll become a vegetarian… I’m starting out with a 10X12 foot plot and will grow from there. What I don’t use in some form or another I can sell or use to barter, maybe for meat. I went to the local farmer’s market and it was somewhat disappointing. There were only a few vendors with fresh vegetables, mostly lettuce and spinach. I called the State and the local organizer and found that if I bake it, make it, or grow it, I can sell it there. I'm about to be a real farmer… There are only a few requirements like for grading eggs or weighed merchandise.

Back to the garden - I hired someone to help me plan it, plant it, and provide general advice. (yeah, I know-how bourgeois) I knew it was late in the season and wanted to get a jump on planting something, like collard greens (mucho yummy). These ladies came out to check out the spot. I found the perfect spot on the side of the house on a small hill that faces east. This spot

gets sun from sunrise to 4 or 5pm. It was perfect. They walked around and kicked and pulled and tasted the weeds. Then they said, what’s this? I responded what do you mean (I didn’t go that far down with them because of bugs). They asked if something was our water well. I said no, our well is in the front somewhere. ( I later was reminded that it was actually in the back) They stomped on the surface and then asked if it was the sewage cap. Well we had the sewage system tested before we bought the house. They had to replace some thingamajig because it eroded. The sewage folks said that garbage disposals were evil. So I knew the sewage was several yards away. So I confidently replied no. Then I called Mark over to see if he knew what is was. Guess what, it was the sewage cap. Apparently the sewage container is long and wide and runs right through the middle of my “spot”.

(sewage inspection/repair)

The ladies started looking around and suggested another spot, not too far away. Right where Mark suggested we put a pool… Well I don’t want a pool, so I thought it was perfect. And Mark doesn’t think this gardening thing is going to last so he said, no problem. Then they told me that a plant that Mark had identified as skunk cabbage (we are some dumb city folk) was actually rhubarb. Rhubarb is very tart, so I wrinkled my nose. They told me to keep the rhubarb, it was an expensive plant and fruit and I could always sell it.
(This tree outside the kitchen winow, and coincindently near where the sewage system was repaired, blossomed so nicely I just had to share a picture)

The first thing I had to do was cut the overgrown grass on this new spot. No problem, Mark and Poochy love playing on the tractor. Then we need to till it. Then we can plant. So I had homework. I asked Poochy(visiting again) who was on the tractor at the time, to mow it for me at some point. I warned him not to mow over the rhubarb. He said no problem. Well guess what, I went inside to do something and when I came out, guess who was mowing over the rhubarb… Mark! Poochy hadn’t relayed the message. Oh well. I guess there’s always next year. So till... Stay tuned!

These Folks Sure Are Nice, But Where's Their Teeth

I drive around alot without knowing how to get to wherever I want to go. I just stop at a store, gas station, or stop someone on the street and ask for directions. People have been very nice with providing directions and helpful information. But I have never seen more white people missing their teeth. From the woman at the grocery store, to the men at the gas station, to the folks at the department store - all in different cities . I don't get it.

To be fair, I do have to admit that when I met my husband, he was missing one of his front teeth. I was very upfront with him about how shallow I am. He was already a cutie, but I told him to get that taken care of. It took six months, lots of money, and multiple appointments but he finally had a perfect smile. That was 5 years ago. Then this past weekend, while mowing some of our overgrown acreage, he sneezed and his tooth flew out and he mowed over it. So he now blends in with the natives. But don't think I don't remind him every day to make an appointment to get that taken care of...again.

I went to Montpelier, the State Capitol a few days ago. I needed to finally register my car in Vermont. I'd been driving around with an expired temporary tag for two months. Can you believe from the time I walked into the DMV to the time I left was a total of less than 30 minutes! I thought when I got my drivers license in Springfield, that the quick in and out was an anomaly because it was a satellite office. But it appears to be the norm in Vermont. In Connecticut, it took me 2 hours standing in line just to change my name (after we were married) -and I was there first thing in the morning!

Then Mark and Poochy (who was visiting again) decided to set off more fireworks. One of our neighbors was not too happy. He pulled into the driveway so quickly, Mark initially thought it was the state police again. Poochy got spooked and ran into the basement. Mark, who is 6 foot 3 and change, walked up to the guy when he realized it was a truck. Our neighbor blubbered about the commotion of the fireworks and warned/asked us to limit it to the weekends. It was Sunday evening...about 8:30pm. He said he works 3rd shift. Mark agreed. Then the next morning guess who Mark runs into at the gas station, but the same neighbor. Apparently he was sleeping, and the fireworks woke him up. He apologized to Mark, Mark apologized to the guy and it's now all good. When the guy saw Mark in the daytime, with that missing tooth, he probably thought he was a native...

Here Come The Black Folks…There Goes The Neighborhood!

Memorial Day weeked was beautiful. My husband's friend since childhood "Poochy" came up to visit. The weather was perfect all weekend long. I hung out around the house while they went fishing. However, they didn't bring home any fish for dinner.

What they did bring home was fireworks. So we set them off Saturday and Sunday evening on our property. I think they were bootleg, but no one bothered us. Probably because they had already bothered us...

We had a great time riding the quad, the dirt bike, eating, drinking and setting off fireworks. Mark gave me a new pet, a bunny we named Niger. He is so soft and cuddly. We need to get him a proper home and train him to poop in a pan.

We also hung out by the fire. Mark is a pyromaniac, and Poochy was happy to help him I do have to admit it keeps you warm during the cool summer evenings.

So we’v e been in Vermont for a full month now and we’ve had the pleasure of being visited by the police twice. The first time was the weekend we moved in. our new neighbors called the police reporting “suspicious” activity at our brand new home. They knew the previous owners and saw someone (code for Black folks) with a Uhaul trailer and thought the previous residents were being robbed. I wasn’t home, but my husband was-waiting for the cable company. Apparently the police were lurking on the property and my husband heard the radio and went looking for the source of the voice. The police had surrounded the property. When my husband explained that we were the new owners, the policeman sat down on the front stoop and hung out with my husband for awhile.

The second time, I heard a knock on the door while I was having coffee one morning during the Memorial Day weekend. My husband and his friend had left to go discover the area (they ended up in New Hampshire). I was mad at my husband and thought he was being cute by knocking on the door, interrupting me. Boy was I surprised when I opened the door and saw a short white male state trooper. He said the neighbors had called the police since someone was riding a quad (four wheel all terrain vehicle) on the public roads. He knew it was us because he follwed the tire tracks (code for we are the only Blacks in the immediate area). He warned me it was a whopping $150 ticket. He didn’t realize that in CT, I paid three times that for deliquent parking tickets. He warned us to stay off the public roads, then questioned where we were from and if this was our vacation home. I advised him our home was in VT now. Then I immediately called my husband who thought it was hilarious.

The next day, while he was out riding the (registered, street legal) dirt bike through town, the same state trooper introduced himself to my husband and reiterated the warning about the quad. I wonder how he realized it was the same guy…

I guess our neighbors know we’re here. We should go formally introduce ourselves!

Crazy Black Man

Lord, please don't let there have been a satellite focused in our area around midnight last night... Last night, I was spooked by a beeping sound. I could not for the life of me locate the origin of that sound. Although I was in bed before 11pm, I was still wide awake at midnight when my husband came to bed. My husband-who sleeps nude then complains of being cold-said he didn't hear the beeping. He blamed it on my imagination, then our rabbit, and told me to go to sleep.

Now, we live in the woods. OK, not quite the woods, but our property is mostly surrounded by wooded (densely treed/foilaged) areas, so you can't see too far out. All kinds of things went through my mind, namely that we were the unwilling and unknowing stars of Scary Movie V. You know, lure people out by an incessant beeping... My husband was snoring in 30 seconds flat, so 30 minutes later after laying awake with my heart pounding, then going through the house trying to locate the source of the beeping, I finally roused him. He was not a happy camper. He told me to get my knife (I have a Gerber Obsidian) http://www.gerbergear.com/index.php/product/id/318 . and handle my business. After all, what am I going to do when he's not there, he yelled. What do you mean, I responded. You better always be here! He then nodded back off. I finally determined that the beeping was coming from the front of the house, possibly his truck, and insisted he get up and find it. So he got up, reluctantly. He was mad! He jumped out of bed and stomped out the front door shoeless (plus don't forget he sleeps nude) and was loudly cussing about being interrupted for something stupid and went over to his truck. When he realized it wasn't his truck he started cussing, loudly again about this and that. He then located the source of the beeping... an old smoke detector he had neglected to dispose of properly and ripped it apart, still cussing, and took the battery out, still cussing and threw it to the ground. He then stomped back in and went straight to bed.

I was stunned. Speechless. As I closed and locked the front door I figured that any boogeymen or werewolves were definitely deterred by his outburst. I then proceeded to get into the bed next to my snoring husband. I was finally able to get some sleep. Wish I had a camera handy to film that Crazy Black Man.