If he were not 86 years old and having difficulty remembering where he put his teeth, the Would-be Mayor of Welch would have declared today a celebration in the community. He did not but it did not interfere with the festive mood that infects my little wide-place in the road. Today marks the Return of the Bodines.
American progress has its champions: Whitney, Fulton, Edison, Ford, Jobs. Lost among such giants is that humble agricultural engineer and backwoods hobbyist, Jethro Bodine. Or, at least, that is what the folklore is around here. Perplexed by how to assist a tomato to grow upwards instead of creeping along the ground being the vine it is, some scholars might speculate that Bodine undertook rigorous examination of a variety of structures that would provide support without doing any harm to the tender tomato. After hours, maybe even minutes, of experimentation, so the story goes, Bodine happened upon using the lowly privet with which he assembled the now-famous Bodine Tomato Cage. As everyone knows, privet is the sworn enemy of all that is decent and just. Eliminating it is a virtue of the highest order. The genius of Jethro Bodine was his ability to transition beyond the mundane and view the lowly privet as a tool to serve a higher purpose. His inspiration was an instant success in Welch. Numerous neighboring farmers, possibly numbering as many as seven and certainly as many as one, threw themselves into copying the design and gaining insights into construction techniques at the foot of the master inventor. Since those halcyon days, Bodine Tomato Cages are a common sight in Welch and in the surrounding burbs.
The Return of the Bodines signifies the real coming of Spring. The Bodines are brought out of storage and strategically placed over the newly planted tomatoes. During the growing season, these clever structures will provide support for the ripening fruit. It is a day that transforms the garden from field to treasure. The day could be marked by marching bands, pretty little girls twirling batons and intoxicated fireman driving their shiney equipment through downtown Welch, assuming there were one. Perhaps someday it will. In the meantime, the absence of fireworks, fly-overs, political speeches and bar-be-que does not diminish the excitement of the Return of the Bodines to the fields. They mean warm days, ice tea under the oak tree, fishing instead of hoeing, screen doors, and fans. The Return of the Bodines is one of the best days of the year.
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
Sunday, March 18, 2012
Feast Day for St. Rebecca
Today is the celebration of the nativity of the Blessed Saint Rebecca. She was born 82 years ago. I prayed for her soul today at Mass. When I dropped by to see The Old Goat, I detected that he was aware of the significance of the date although we did not discuss it. Still, her absence is a source of deep regret.
In November before she died in February, I woke up one morning and needed to talk to my Mom. I was living in Missouri at the time. I drove the 700 miles to sit in her kitchen and talked with her about nothing in particular. As I have indicated in previous posts, the Blessed Rebecca was an extraordinary cook. She felt her boys ought to be able to cook for themselves. I am happy to say that Tinker and I learned early about feeding ourselves. She was a sweet, sweet person. I know The Old Goat misses her. I certainly do.
I offered a prayer for her kind spirit this morning at Mass, safe in the assurance that a person of such genuine beauty is always welcomed into God's enternal busom.
You know how Irish boys are about their mothers. You can steal my truck, kick my dog, destroy my crops, kill my chickens. But, never, ever, speak ill about my mama.
In November before she died in February, I woke up one morning and needed to talk to my Mom. I was living in Missouri at the time. I drove the 700 miles to sit in her kitchen and talked with her about nothing in particular. As I have indicated in previous posts, the Blessed Rebecca was an extraordinary cook. She felt her boys ought to be able to cook for themselves. I am happy to say that Tinker and I learned early about feeding ourselves. She was a sweet, sweet person. I know The Old Goat misses her. I certainly do.
I offered a prayer for her kind spirit this morning at Mass, safe in the assurance that a person of such genuine beauty is always welcomed into God's enternal busom.
You know how Irish boys are about their mothers. You can steal my truck, kick my dog, destroy my crops, kill my chickens. But, never, ever, speak ill about my mama.
Friday, March 16, 2012
Strange Week on the Homestead
Some weeks pass normally -- Saturday morning breakfast at Jacks, Thursday night, fish at the Happy Trails, Friday, burgers at BurgerKing. That went on for months. Then, The Old Goat up and fell apart. Since then, it has been a different story around here. He has not been out of his house in two weeks. He now has a lady sit with him during the days. He is weak and seems to reflect his age. All of this has thrown my routine off. Instead of having dinner ready at my house Sunday through Wednesday at 4:30, I have to have dinner at his house by 3 because his caretaker wants to make sure he eats his dinner before she leaves at 4. I am not bitching too much about the earlier times. Having his caretaker around has made life mucho easier. Just that having to stop whatever I am doing in order to prepare dinner for mid-afternoon is troublesome. I am falling into a pattern of getting up a litter earlier, usually around 5 or so, and working until mid-day then stopping to cook dinner. Whenever it is finished, I package it up and take it to The Old Goats house. Then, I can return to my labors. There is nothing wrong with the schedule. It is just different and, as such, strange. It will remain so until it becomes the routine then any deviation will be castigated as innovative and repugnant.
Regarding real work, I spent the last two days (both beautiful with warm temperatures and sunny skies) mowing, bushhogging, cleaning, and burning, especially in the pasture. There are five pipes of stuff scattered in the pasture -- piles of limbs, brush, old cornstalks, and other miscellaneous items. Instead of waiting for it all to degrade naturally, I am opting to speed up the process. I am taking to the flame. Eliminating the piles certainly helps the looks of the grounds. In addition, today I trimmed around the lake and it looks great.
Regarding real work, I spent the last two days (both beautiful with warm temperatures and sunny skies) mowing, bushhogging, cleaning, and burning, especially in the pasture. There are five pipes of stuff scattered in the pasture -- piles of limbs, brush, old cornstalks, and other miscellaneous items. Instead of waiting for it all to degrade naturally, I am opting to speed up the process. I am taking to the flame. Eliminating the piles certainly helps the looks of the grounds. In addition, today I trimmed around the lake and it looks great.
Monday, March 12, 2012
Rainy day in the Deep South
Last year I was certain that my lake would dry up and would become a grassy low spot in the pasture. Now it is full, brimming full in fact. We have had lots of rain. Today, when the ground is saturated, we had almost an inch. Fortunately, it is warm and Spring is certainly in the air. The coming warmer days work well in combating the natural depressant of cloudy, rainy weather.
I had hoped to take off this morning for some time with WitchWoman but cancelled my plans when it was apparent that too many things are up in the air. The Old Goat, my job with ASAN, my personal business affairs, timely planting. Lots of things got in the way. Then, it rained ... again. And, it rained some more. Water is standing in the rows of my gardens. What is a man to do? Naturally, drink heavily. But, because so much education, I don't swill cheap beer or tacky whiskey. No. I imbibe fine wine. Stuff that cost real money. Luckily, it doesn't take much to remove me from drab reality and grainy living.
I spent most the day in brain work. Taking care of every day affairs then turning my attention to my job. The Alabama Legisture, perhaps the worst in the country, is gutting funds for farmers' markets, an act ASAN opposes. Then, there is a bill to set up a fund to reimburse restaurants for purchasing Alabama produced vegetables, fruits and meats. Go figure. Caesar gives and Caesar takss.
I want to talk about my farm but I know what an impossible bore that is. There is really nothing else going on in my life besides growing stuff and working hard every day to live a simple, sincere, serene and solitary life. I am doing my best to become active in my parish. I was elected to the vestry. I am responsible for the parish garden. It is a conservative parish which is fine even thought I have a more expansive interpretation of Jesus' directives.
It is a rainy day here. Nothing worse when all you really want to do is get outside and dig in the dirt.
I had hoped to take off this morning for some time with WitchWoman but cancelled my plans when it was apparent that too many things are up in the air. The Old Goat, my job with ASAN, my personal business affairs, timely planting. Lots of things got in the way. Then, it rained ... again. And, it rained some more. Water is standing in the rows of my gardens. What is a man to do? Naturally, drink heavily. But, because so much education, I don't swill cheap beer or tacky whiskey. No. I imbibe fine wine. Stuff that cost real money. Luckily, it doesn't take much to remove me from drab reality and grainy living.
I spent most the day in brain work. Taking care of every day affairs then turning my attention to my job. The Alabama Legisture, perhaps the worst in the country, is gutting funds for farmers' markets, an act ASAN opposes. Then, there is a bill to set up a fund to reimburse restaurants for purchasing Alabama produced vegetables, fruits and meats. Go figure. Caesar gives and Caesar takss.
I want to talk about my farm but I know what an impossible bore that is. There is really nothing else going on in my life besides growing stuff and working hard every day to live a simple, sincere, serene and solitary life. I am doing my best to become active in my parish. I was elected to the vestry. I am responsible for the parish garden. It is a conservative parish which is fine even thought I have a more expansive interpretation of Jesus' directives.
It is a rainy day here. Nothing worse when all you really want to do is get outside and dig in the dirt.
Friday, March 9, 2012
Taking care of The Old Goat
The Old Goat is sick. He spent ten days at the University of Alabama-Birmingham hospital. They finally installed a shunt in his head to treat hydrochephelus but I doubt if it will make much difference. He may not fall as often as before but the real issue is that he is aging. Tinker and I secured the services of a very nice lady to sit with him. Mrs. Phillips. She cleans and cooks. Generally, she watches him to make sure he does not hurt himself. Lately, he has taken to forgetting to turn off water faucets, close refrigerators, turn off his electric razor. So far, nothing he has forgotten to do has been a threat to his health. Mrs. Phillips will help prevent dangerous situations.
On other fronts, I got my onions and cabbage in during the one day I had of dry weather. The night I planted it rained over an inch here. The lake that looked as if it would dry up last summer is now brimming full. The ground is saturated and it will be a week before it is dry enough to sustain any real work. Not only did I get my cabbage and onions in, I was also able to put in the same for the parish garden, albeit on a smaller scale. In a week or so, I will go back and plant English peas, lettuces, beets and spinach. I have an attraction to the cool weather crops. Naturally, I love tomatoes and okra and corn – all hot weather characters – but the freshness of the cool weather guys is rewarding. In six weeks we will be enjoying all sorts of spring vegetables. The taste differential between what is grown in the garden and what comes out of a can is remarkable. Unless you have done the taste test, you would not believe the difference.
I could spend the rest of this commentary talking about the work of the Alabama Sustainable Ag Network but I will refrain. They are such good people, working hard every day to bring the best to the tables of Alabama folks. It is honorable work.
I put Sassafrass and her five kittens out in the greenhouse today. I enjoyed watching them scamper all over the house but they were getting a bit messy. I am hopeful that two will find homes soon. I have no prospects for the other three. I might keep one, maybe two. Somebody will lose in the end. It is such a shame because they are beautiful little creatures.
The new chickens are just now beginning to lay eggs. The older bunch has essentially quit which means I am feeding them to entertain themselves. I am so gutless that I won’t chop off a few heads and put the old girls in the freezer. I know that if I intend to live this life, that is part of it. I am avoiding the inevitable. A friend of mine suggested that I follow his example – he has modified his chopping block with Velcro strips to affix the chicken to the block in order that the chop can be administered quickly, efficiently and humanely. I have not taken it to that level, yet. It is, however, just a matter of time. Can it be that a killer’s heart lurks in every farmer?
On other fronts, I got my onions and cabbage in during the one day I had of dry weather. The night I planted it rained over an inch here. The lake that looked as if it would dry up last summer is now brimming full. The ground is saturated and it will be a week before it is dry enough to sustain any real work. Not only did I get my cabbage and onions in, I was also able to put in the same for the parish garden, albeit on a smaller scale. In a week or so, I will go back and plant English peas, lettuces, beets and spinach. I have an attraction to the cool weather crops. Naturally, I love tomatoes and okra and corn – all hot weather characters – but the freshness of the cool weather guys is rewarding. In six weeks we will be enjoying all sorts of spring vegetables. The taste differential between what is grown in the garden and what comes out of a can is remarkable. Unless you have done the taste test, you would not believe the difference.
I could spend the rest of this commentary talking about the work of the Alabama Sustainable Ag Network but I will refrain. They are such good people, working hard every day to bring the best to the tables of Alabama folks. It is honorable work.
I put Sassafrass and her five kittens out in the greenhouse today. I enjoyed watching them scamper all over the house but they were getting a bit messy. I am hopeful that two will find homes soon. I have no prospects for the other three. I might keep one, maybe two. Somebody will lose in the end. It is such a shame because they are beautiful little creatures.
The new chickens are just now beginning to lay eggs. The older bunch has essentially quit which means I am feeding them to entertain themselves. I am so gutless that I won’t chop off a few heads and put the old girls in the freezer. I know that if I intend to live this life, that is part of it. I am avoiding the inevitable. A friend of mine suggested that I follow his example – he has modified his chopping block with Velcro strips to affix the chicken to the block in order that the chop can be administered quickly, efficiently and humanely. I have not taken it to that level, yet. It is, however, just a matter of time. Can it be that a killer’s heart lurks in every farmer?
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Inevitability of Old Age
My time has been devoted exclusively to The Old Goat these last two weeks. He was falling. So, I took him to a doctor who referred him to the UAB Hospital, Neurosurgical Section. After ten days of testing, they concluded it was hydrochephalus. Yesterday, a drain pipe was installed in his head and today they cut him loose. Now, I am wondering how he will make it on his own since he can barely walk unassisted. TOG has claimed all of my time in the last two weeks. I missed a number of meetings with my job with the Alabama Sustainable Ag Network (ASAN). In fact, I missed the Georgia Organics/ASAN conference this weekend. It is the cost of having an aging (or is it ageing?) parent. I drove to Birmingham every day early and returned to Welch late. By the time I got home I have enough time to close up the chickens, feed the animals before going to bed.
I think my life is on hold for the time being. I hope my employer will understand. Truth is that my Dad and I have never been friends. My brother, Tinker, and Dad are big buddies but I guess I was a Mama's boy. The Blessed Saint Rebecca and I understood each other. TOG and I clashed ... often. Sort of ironic that now, all these years later, I seem to have responsibility for his care. I am learning something about what my own old age will be. Certainly, I don't expect my children to care for me. It is for that reason that if I make it to 75, the day I do, I am going to the store and buying three or four cartons of cigarettes and all the Scotch my truck will hold and I am going to commit slow suicide, with a great deal of joy. Nothing good happens to the body after turning 80. Trust me. I am seeing this truth every day.
You can't help but feel a pang of sadness for TOG. For so long he was a full-bodied, energetic, able man. Now he can barely climb the two steps into his house. If nothing else, he is instructive.
I think my life is on hold for the time being. I hope my employer will understand. Truth is that my Dad and I have never been friends. My brother, Tinker, and Dad are big buddies but I guess I was a Mama's boy. The Blessed Saint Rebecca and I understood each other. TOG and I clashed ... often. Sort of ironic that now, all these years later, I seem to have responsibility for his care. I am learning something about what my own old age will be. Certainly, I don't expect my children to care for me. It is for that reason that if I make it to 75, the day I do, I am going to the store and buying three or four cartons of cigarettes and all the Scotch my truck will hold and I am going to commit slow suicide, with a great deal of joy. Nothing good happens to the body after turning 80. Trust me. I am seeing this truth every day.
You can't help but feel a pang of sadness for TOG. For so long he was a full-bodied, energetic, able man. Now he can barely climb the two steps into his house. If nothing else, he is instructive.
Monday, January 30, 2012
You Can't Always Get What You Want
Mick Jagger is a god, worthy of praise and adoration. You can't always get what you want but if you try, sometimes, you get what you need. Tell me that is not pure genius. What I have learned in my sorry life is that I am at my best when I live simply and seek those things that are essential and real. Simple stuff, like true love and actual commitment. Jez, how elusive are those things?
The Old Goat and I shared some father-son time today. I drove him to see his dying sister. It was heartbreaking. My aunt gasping for breath, with no clue of she was and who these people were who kept calling her name and asking her inane questions. My Dad cried. The whole scene broke my heart. The Old Goat actually had feelings for somebody other than himself. As we drive to see her, we talked about his childhood and about his father. He was a cruel man. Hard on his kids, eager to take any advantage open to him, not above exploiting any opening. Maybe The Old Goat was an improvement. If so, it had to be the civilizing affect of the Blessed Rebecca.
Spent an enjoyable evening with my friends Jim and Judy. They invited me to join them for dinner while they entertained guest, John and Nicky. What a treat. Great food and wonderful conversation although I think I might have imposed upon the general flow of exchange. Still, it was a much appreciated evening.
If all goes well, the tractor will be back in operation by the end of the week. Assuming we don't have heavy rains, I will spend the end of the week plowing in anticipation of planting onions and potatoes. It is also the time to turn over the parish garden. I want to get the lettuces, cabbage, brussel sprouts and broccoli in as soon as the weather permits.
I spent a couple of days battling privet. Again, assuming the tractor is back in operation this week, I will be able to chip up the slain enemy. I use the chips for middles of my rows in the garden. Mostly, I chip up the privet because I do not like it. I think the bush is a bully and deserves the crushing defeat dealt it at the hands of my chipper. I have lost no sleep over its demise.
Mostly, I am happy with my life. Of course, you don't always get what you want. But, I keep trying and, sure enough, I pretty much get what I need. Mick is a god. And the real God is in heaven, graciously looking over my sorry ass, generally protecting me from myself. Life continues to chug along in the wilds of Alabama.
The Old Goat and I shared some father-son time today. I drove him to see his dying sister. It was heartbreaking. My aunt gasping for breath, with no clue of she was and who these people were who kept calling her name and asking her inane questions. My Dad cried. The whole scene broke my heart. The Old Goat actually had feelings for somebody other than himself. As we drive to see her, we talked about his childhood and about his father. He was a cruel man. Hard on his kids, eager to take any advantage open to him, not above exploiting any opening. Maybe The Old Goat was an improvement. If so, it had to be the civilizing affect of the Blessed Rebecca.
Spent an enjoyable evening with my friends Jim and Judy. They invited me to join them for dinner while they entertained guest, John and Nicky. What a treat. Great food and wonderful conversation although I think I might have imposed upon the general flow of exchange. Still, it was a much appreciated evening.
If all goes well, the tractor will be back in operation by the end of the week. Assuming we don't have heavy rains, I will spend the end of the week plowing in anticipation of planting onions and potatoes. It is also the time to turn over the parish garden. I want to get the lettuces, cabbage, brussel sprouts and broccoli in as soon as the weather permits.
I spent a couple of days battling privet. Again, assuming the tractor is back in operation this week, I will be able to chip up the slain enemy. I use the chips for middles of my rows in the garden. Mostly, I chip up the privet because I do not like it. I think the bush is a bully and deserves the crushing defeat dealt it at the hands of my chipper. I have lost no sleep over its demise.
Mostly, I am happy with my life. Of course, you don't always get what you want. But, I keep trying and, sure enough, I pretty much get what I need. Mick is a god. And the real God is in heaven, graciously looking over my sorry ass, generally protecting me from myself. Life continues to chug along in the wilds of Alabama.
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