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Might I Have A Bit Of Earth?
Jul. 5th, 2011 11:23 pmDad is having so much fun messing around with my vegetable garden that he now thinks we should farm the whole dang backyard.
I gotta admit, I did not see that one coming.
Good thing I checked out all those books on self-sufficiency and urban homesteading weeks ago. It wasn’t hard to find them—they are everywhere. It seems that I am not the only one who wants to acquire some useful skills in case of nuclear and/or zombie apocalypse. Or maybe the current economic depression is influencing the zeitgeist. Either way, it means a lot of books about Mini-Homesteading For Dumb Bastards, books that guarantee that, by the time you’re all set up, the only thing you’ll be needing the grocery store for is to buy hygiene products and maybe satisfy your occasional cravings for Ding-Dongs.*
Anyway, I’m gonna start digging up the big dumb hill in the backyard, so that it can be planted next year. Mom thinks I’m nuts for going along with Dad—she doesn’t realize that I was actually toying with the idea of digging up the hill but wasn’t sure he would go for it. It’s hard to know with Dad, sometimes, but once he got all excited about it himself, all bets were off.
ME: I admit, I would rather like to do a native wildflower garden on at least some of the hill.
MY SISTER: I say you do a garden consisting entirely of gallopingly invasive non-native species! A garden that boldly proclaims “Fuck you!” to the neighbors and the local wildlife!
ME: Hell, no. If I plant invasives, they will be paired off with native counterparts so that they can fight to the death. I will have the first ever dedicated garden Thunderdome!
So I guess I’m off to buy a shovel in the next few days, since the only hobbit-sized shovel we have is on its last gasp. We’ll work on how to shore up the hill next.
*I’m guessing that some of the more dedicated books also tell you how to make your own hygiene products. Until they invent trees that sprout rolls of toilet paper, I’m sticking with the grocery store.
I gotta admit, I did not see that one coming.
Good thing I checked out all those books on self-sufficiency and urban homesteading weeks ago. It wasn’t hard to find them—they are everywhere. It seems that I am not the only one who wants to acquire some useful skills in case of nuclear and/or zombie apocalypse. Or maybe the current economic depression is influencing the zeitgeist. Either way, it means a lot of books about Mini-Homesteading For Dumb Bastards, books that guarantee that, by the time you’re all set up, the only thing you’ll be needing the grocery store for is to buy hygiene products and maybe satisfy your occasional cravings for Ding-Dongs.*
Anyway, I’m gonna start digging up the big dumb hill in the backyard, so that it can be planted next year. Mom thinks I’m nuts for going along with Dad—she doesn’t realize that I was actually toying with the idea of digging up the hill but wasn’t sure he would go for it. It’s hard to know with Dad, sometimes, but once he got all excited about it himself, all bets were off.
ME: I admit, I would rather like to do a native wildflower garden on at least some of the hill.
MY SISTER: I say you do a garden consisting entirely of gallopingly invasive non-native species! A garden that boldly proclaims “Fuck you!” to the neighbors and the local wildlife!
ME: Hell, no. If I plant invasives, they will be paired off with native counterparts so that they can fight to the death. I will have the first ever dedicated garden Thunderdome!
So I guess I’m off to buy a shovel in the next few days, since the only hobbit-sized shovel we have is on its last gasp. We’ll work on how to shore up the hill next.
*I’m guessing that some of the more dedicated books also tell you how to make your own hygiene products. Until they invent trees that sprout rolls of toilet paper, I’m sticking with the grocery store.
