I’ve Got Worms! Mom’s Got Jokes…

My garden has been working well for me, despite my poor watering skills. The consultants came to check on the garden last week, so right before they came, guess what Mark and I were doing…WEEDING! And we found lots of worms. According to several websites "Worms are so important to the health and vitality of your soil. They help increase the amounts of air and water in the soil, they help with the decomposition of organic matter and they leave behind fertilizer in the form of castings. They're kind of like little tillers in your garden." Although they are super yucky ( I almost screamed when I flung the first couple of my fingers), they are nutrient rich and important to the health of the garden.

The garden was pronounced doing well by the consultants. In spite of the moderate climate in Vermont, and the regular rain we get, I do need to do more watering (OK I need to water period!). And more weeding… The Mizuna and Curly Cress are sprouting like mad. The squash is growing nicely, the Rhubarb is overdue for cutting, and the broccoli, cabbage and cauliflower are growing nicely. The corn, onions and peppers need alittle help. The spinach isn't doing so well, but the collards look great. We got lucky.

Then we go to visit my family in Central California. It was in the mid 70s when we left Vermont. In Southern Cali, it was 90! Then we went up to the Central Valley to see the parents. It was triple digits there! I forgot about all this heat. I wilted. And so did my Mom's potted flowers she bought for an event. We watered them and spritzed them and some revived. It reminded me of my garden, which wouldn't have stood a chance in this climate. I would just have a pile of dirt.

So while we're visiting my mother is making jokes. She asked if they checked our passports at the airport. Now that we live in Vermont, we're foreigners. Ha ha ha. If the population in Vermont was 600,000, it's now 600, 002 with the addition of Mark and I. Ha ha ha. Mark and I just doubled the Black population in the state of Vermont. Of course we said we've seen/met several Blacks, but Mom doesn't believe it. And when they visit next month she and Joy (my sister) are going to be doing their own census of Blacks. I told her traffic was light during my commute to and from volunteering in Burlington. Mom's response was, how could there be traffic with only 300 people in the state.

We had a lovely visit. We had a catered family dinner which was superb. And my parents hosted a Summer Salad Celebration. Although it was hotter than Hades, we had a blast.

My parents and one of my sisters will be visiting us in Vermont in a few weeksw. Their visit will surely offer comic relief. It might be a good time to invite our neighbors over for an introduction.

Lions & Tigers & Bears & Snakes!

Mark and I have been in Vermont for about two months now. One would think we would be used to or at least prepared for all types of critters. Well… although there may not be any lions and tigers (at least I don't think so) there are other things of which we should be aware. I've had multiple close encounters with bugs, but I won't bore you with that. One night Mark is getting ready to go out on the deck to smoke. This is one of the few nights he hasn't made a fire (did I mention he's a pyro). He looks down as he's opening the sliding glass door and sees eyes. He flips on the switch and low and behold there is an animal that resembles a cat on steroids. The thing hissed at him.

He was of course startled and went for a large stick to chase it away. The thing disappeared. I told him that's what he gets for smoking! Come to find out it's a fisher cat. Vermont imported these things to take care of the overgrowing porcupine population a few years ago. Apparently they are natural predators of porcupines (who knew!) and now these fisher cats are overpopulated. Will we ever learn? I pray that I never see one of those up close.

So then Mark is out building the fence for the bison (that we moved up to Vermont to raise) when a horn beeps. A state trooper (another one) had pulled into our driveway. The trooper was going house to house in our area to alert residents that there had been a black bear citing. The trooper asked Mark to call in if we saw the bear, but if it was on our property we had the right to shoot it! Why would we want to shoot a bear? Apparently shoot bear is common in Vermont… The trooper said that their preference is to trap the bear and relocate it, but some people want to shoot them. Poor bear. Mark is down at the corner store one morning, which also happens to be a gathering spot for old-timers (men) who gossip about the goings on in the area. Mark tries to be there a couple of times a week. They were talking about when a young man had shot a bear and put it in the bed of his truck to go around and show all his friends. Well, two weeks later when this young man was done showing off, he went to take the bear out of his bed and it came apart. The bear had decomposed so much in the two weeks he was showing off that he couldn't use any of it (for food, or for it's fur). Yuck! We just received word that the bear sited in our area had been trapped and relocated. Go Bear!

A week or so ago, Mark was having a happy time on his riding tractor, mowing the vast lawn that we have. The grass, weeds and stuff had grown pretty tall (at least 3 to 4 feet). All the sudden something slides across his lap under his shirt and out through his shirt sleeve. It was a snake! Now as you can imagine, he jumped off the tractor and ran. I know he screamed too. He smoked several cigarettes after that encounter. I guess I can't blame him there. It took him awhile (several days) to go get his mower… So maybe there are no lions and tigers, but there are definitely bears and snakes. I swear, Mark has all the fun.

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.