I wanted to show you this:What?? I'm made things grow from the ground. Food is budding! I don't understand it, but I'll take it, gratefully. The carrots were a bust and yes, the eggplant didn't feel like coming out of the ground either. But look at this beauty. This may or may not turn into a green pepper at a later date.First tomato babies:I got a little baby Kaffir Lime tree. The stacked double leaves are the thing; ground up, they make a Thai-inspired dish magical.And here's the big sister dwarf Meyer Lemon tree. Can't wait for this to mature more.I'm mesmerized by the zucchini leaves.
I think there's Grow Food Fever going around, which is the best of all recent sickness. In the alley behind our apartment there are a circle of pots next to a carport. Food is growing inside of them. There are long-ass tomatoes, swiss chard, chili pepper (?) and strawberries. The pot arrangement looks junky until you walk up to it. Then your heart melts. Empty wine bottles line the concrete wall behind the plants, left for the recycle collectors, and the garbage smells and the asphalt is potholed in crumbling formation, but when I hover over the tiny alley farm witnessing a neighbor's efforts and how they put it on public display to root on the tiny plants, I feel a large sense of triumph. The pots all but scream, Isn't this a good idea? This is about the best form of food advocacy as any.
Except for maybe this which I saw when I walked the dogs down the alley next to Mina's elementary school the other day:Who are these people smart and cool enough to plant alley farms and hop a fence to graffiti Grow Food in perfect beet colors? I love them.
So anyway, I've been watching every minute of the Tour de France. It's so good and riveting; drama filled and yes, I'm drunk on Lance Armstrong's drive, but every time I open my mouth to talk about the Tour de France with people who are not watching, which is everybody, I'm embarrassed. The majority of eyes glaze over as I try to explain a Stage 3 crosswind attack -- I mean, it was brilliant! -- but still, who the fuck cares. But I so want to talk about it!! I have to restrain myself. Husband pretty much cuts me off and says, "Who's winning?" Yea but-- You can't just -- UUGG. This much restraint is cruel on me.