Here’s a interesting opportunity - Michael Pollan is joining the Slow Food DC listserv for a couple of days (right now!) to respond to questions and comments about a chapter from his upcoming book in April - The Omnivore’s Dilemma: A Natural History of Four Meals. He published one chapter in the New York Times Magazine last Sunday. The chapter that he sent to Slow Food DC had to do with Joel Salatin’s farm, the local food movement, and the Slow Food movement. If you join the list via the link above and look at the archives, you can get in on it. You know that I worship Michael Pollan, so I wrote a request to the email provided on his web site to see if he might do the same for our listserv here. Wouldn’t that be awesome? I hope that if I get a direct response I don’t act like a fool like I did when I met Ellen Gilchrist. It should be easier with email - you just sit on your hands for a certain length of time before you hit send.

We went to the Prose Jam at the Green Bean tonight, where the fabulous Zha K read one of my favorite posts, and where she was accompanied by the only child that has ever made me regret not having children, and where I finally, after many sightings at Sushi 101, met Ed Cone.

High weirdness and wonderfulness - the discovery of a blogging niece. Who loves Tom Waits. And David Lynch. I have several nieces, so I won’t say what side of the family she is from. Who I’m sure will LET ME KNOW through a comment if I am never supposed to mention her or link to her, and whose privacy is safe with me. I’ll delete this paragraph in a heartbeat. But it made my week that she found us on the net.

It brings to mind a problem that I was struggling with last year. Sandy and I are both proud of this blog. But I don’t necessarily want it made known to all my family and friends. Where do you draw the line before you duck and go anonymous with your innermost thoughts? So far I haven’t done it, but it would kill my creativity immediately if I was to find out that my mother was reading this blog. The fact that it could still happen, and that my husband keeps passing out my URL, is the main reason I’m not more wide open.

Tomorrow I’m supposed to set up and staff a Slow Food table at the Earth Day celebration. I announced it to about 150 people over email and on the SFPT blog. Problem is, I think I forgot to tell the actual organizers that I would be there. Welcome to my world this week. Here’s the conversation I had with Sandy about it at Natty Greene’s tonight.

“I think I emailed her, but maybe I didn’t. Maybe it’s all an il-LUUUUU-sion.”

“You’re actually in a straitjacket, and you just think that you see all these people around you.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

“It happened right after our honeymoon. You’ve been imagining everything all these years.”

Which is a perfect lead-in to this: the release of The Meatrix II: Revolting. Send it to everyone you know who eats. It might change the way they see the world.

At lunch today I came home and planted three cardoons in the Monticello Jr. garden. Then after work I planted my five artichokes - three near the back in the former “physick” garden and two in the former rock garden.

The only new indoor seeds that have sprouted are mammoth dill, calendula, one hollyhock, and sweet annie. Oh yes, and woad, which I understand is a noxious weed in some states. One of my dyeing expert friends warned me that my neighbors would hate me if I planted it. Even though I haven’t done any natural dyeing in a long time, I’ve long been interested in woad because it produces a blue dye. I’ve planted it to identify it and if I plant it I promise to harvest it before it goes to seed! One day when I get back to fiber arts I may begin dyeing again, but for now it’s horticultural curiosity.

Besides, my neighbors are pretty tolerant. I live on a very cool street. Except for the house number thieves, I like it here.

Tonight I put about 8 teaspoons worth of old coffee grounds and 12 crushed eggshells in a gallon jar, and filled it with the hot water from boiling the eggs. I plan to use this for bottom watering fertilizer for the seedlings. Don’t copy me, though, it’s an experiment and I may kill everything and I don’t want the blame if it happens to you!

I’d say that the seedlings could go out on the front porch tomorrow. It has a tile floor and gets lots of afternoon sun.

TONIGHT Partly Cloudy Lo: 40°F
WEDNESDAY Partly Cloudy Hi: 65°F
WEDNESDAY NIGHT Partly Cloudy Lo: 40°F
THURSDAY Partly Cloudy Hi: 69°F
THURSDAY NIGHT Partly Cloudy Lo: 45°F
FRIDAY Partly Cloudy Hi: 70°F
FRIDAY NIGHT Chance Showers Lo: 51°F Pop: 50%
SATURDAY Chance Of Showers Hi: 70°F Pop: 30%
SATURDAY NIGHT Mostly Clear Lo: 45°F

I’m going to make deviled eggs for another potluck on Thursday night (the community gardeners), so I thought I’d save the water from the boiled eggs, crush up the eggshells in it, add a teeny tiny bit of fish emulsion (but not too much!) and use that on the seedlings after I re-pot the rest of them. I need a lot more pots than I have, and I need a lot more potting soil. In fact, I have way, way too many tomatoes.

Sandy just told me that I was in a sourpuss mood, and he’s right. There are just too many things that need to be done, and it ain’t happening around here. It’s as much my fault as his - I have taken on so many outside projects that I don’t feel like doing housework or taking care of the car repairs, which need to be done if we are to sell this thing that sits like the Hulk in the driveway. Sandy is addicted to a computer game and I am obviously addicted to blogging. I get a lot done but my home is a mess almost beyond redemption. Taking pretty pictures is fun but it doesn’t get the kitchen floor mopped.

Pat Bush described it as “the perfect Slow Food house.” Most of the farm house had been added on to an 18th century log cabin. A sunny sitting room adjoined the kitchen, which still had a colonial-era hearth and chimney. It had been closed off because of the heat loss, but it was still impressive. Pat said that inside the hooks to hang the pots were still in place and that they had found several cast iron pots, including a spider (like a frying pan with legs) that were identified as pre-Civil War by historic preservationists. She said that just once they’d like to open it up, cook one big meal, and close it off again.

A wood stove made the house very cozy. There were fascinating antiques and artwork all over the place. Brian said that the barns and outbuildings and house were stuffed with old furniture, clothing, bottles, and correspondence of the previous owner, who lived there into her 90s and had no heir. She left the place to the man who looked after it for her with the stipulation that the property never be developed, and he rents it to Pat and Brian.

Pat is known for her expertise in medicinal herbs at the Greensboro Farmers’ Curb Market. She and Brian operate a CSA and many of the people at the work day and potluck were members. They sell eggs, vegetables, cut flowers, and plants, and if NAIS doesn’t stop them, their plan is to begin selling heritage breed chickens and turkeys.

I swear these turkeys mooned me. That’s okay, I know what your future holds, buddy.

These girls had fun gathering eggs.

I finally got to meet a cat named Bob, the end of a lifetime search. He wasn’t too keen on making friends, though.

The potluck was incredible, because we had several traditions represented - turkey with mole prepared with ingredients brought from Mexico, a Nicaraguan cake called “Tres Leches,” Palestinian delights, raw foodies’ salads, and an tasty peppery chicken soup. I’m not known to be a social critter, but I had a really great time.

I told Pat that I was insanely jealous. She said that even though they loved the place, most of what they could see most days was all the work that needed to be done. I could understand that. I’m still insanely jealous.

Yesterday I drove out to Handance Farm in Rockingham County for their Mushroom Inoculation and Work Day. By the time I got there, much of the work had been done. The major task at hand was to help Pat and Brian Bush inoculate freshly cut logs with shiitake mushroom spawn. The first step is to drill holes all over the log. That’s Brian in the middle.

The log is passed to the next team of two, who fill specially made plungers with shiitake spawn and press the spawn into the holes.

Then the holes and all other cut surfaces are painted with cheese wax to prevent them from being contaminated with other fungi (and critters). An identifying tag is nailed to the end, and it is stacked in a pile.

Here’s how they stacked last year’s logs. The mushroom farm that Sandy and I went to last year made a mushroom house out of the logs - seems like a perfect place for a hobbit.

Next - chickens, turkeys, a cat named Bob, an outstanding potluck dinner, and jealousy, oh yes.

I thought I’d share a few of Sandy’s photos from the 225th anniversary of the Battle of Guilford Courthouse re-enactment. This is probably my favorite, but it looks better full size.

For me, the fun part of a reenactment is when the public is NOT there. Yes, we dress up and keep going 18th century style the whole time. Most of us, anyway. I must admit here that I stayed home for this particular reenactment, but the photos always make me regret it when I miss them!

I bought a Salem Rosemary and tarragon at the curb market and planted them along with the thyme in the new herb bed. Then I decided that the parsley would look just dandy all year lining the path away from the house, so I dug up four more of those and moved them.

You cannot have enough rosemary and thyme as far as I’m concerned. I am going to root some rosemary and thyme later this year when life slows down a bit. It’s easy enough to do, but I’m concentrating on seeds right now.

I finally planted the Ruby Red Swiss Chard and Bloomsdale Long-standing Spinach outside in various spots. Both packets are from High Mowing Seeds - I bought them off a display at Earth Fare.

In the March 2006 issue of The Progressive, Wendell Berry gets down to the bottom of The Prejudice Against Country People in this excerpt below:

The stereotype of the farmer as rustic simpleton or uncouth redneck is, like most stereotypes, easily refuted: All you have to do is compare it with a number of real people. But the stereotype of the small farmer as obsolete human clinging to an obsolete kind of life, though equally false, is harder to deal with because it comes from a more complicated prejudice, entrenched in superstition and a kind of insanity.

The prejudice begins in the idea that work is bad, and that manual work outdoors is the worst work of all. The superstition is that since all work is bad, all “labor-saving” is good. The insanity is to rationalize the industrial pillage of the natural world and to heap scorn upon the land-using cultures on which human society depends for its life.

The industrialization of agriculture has replaced working people with machines and chemicals. The people thus replaced have, supposedly, gone into the “better” work of offices or factories. But in all the enterprises of the industrial economy, as in industrial war, we finally reach the end of the desk jobs, the indoor work, the glamour of forcing nature to submission by push-buttons and levers, and we come to the unsheltered use of the body. Somebody, finally, must lift the garbage can, stop the leaks in the roof, fix the broken machinery, walk in the mud and the snow, build and mend the pasture fences, help the calving cow.

Oh, how I love this man.

I have probably experienced more prejudice in my life because of my country drawl more than any other factor of my life. I always appreciated the honesty of one person who told me, “You know, when I first met you I thought you were stupid because of your accent. Now I realize that I was prejudiced and I was wrong.” At least he confirmed what I already knew.

Of course, this has much to do with Gomer Pyle and the Beverly Hillbillies, and the perception of the news anchorperson’s neutral accent as the only correct way to speak. The media has always treated rural people as people who are too stupid to make it in the “real world.” Wealthy country people are generally depicted as stuck in the past or evil or both.

But Wendell dug below the layer of media stereotypes and struck at the core of the problem - work. Physical labor is seen as low-class work fit only for those who can’t get a “real job,” or for desperate illegal immigrants.

I finally broke down and called the cable company to reinstall HBO this week. Although I really do watch very little TV, I am only human and I cannot be so good as to skip the new season of the Sopranos. I lost Arrested Development and whined incessantly about that, and the Sopranos is SO MUCH MORE than that. I’m doing you a favor by doing this, and you’ll never know just how much.

We found a bar that featured a “Bada Bing” night and showed the Sopranos, so we didn’t miss the first episode. The problem was that we hated the bar. We felt old there, and when we got there a little early to stake out seats, the band blasted our eardrums at top volume with Bob Seger and Lynyrd Skynyrd so we drank more because we couldn’t have a conversation. By the time we left, it could’ve been a problem. We work on Monday mornings, and we’re not the drinkers we used to be. So that was not a good option.

It was cheaper and safer to get HBO. I got it installed just in time to see the repeat of the second episode tonight at 10.

Tomorrow I’m heading out to Handance Farm for their mushroom inoculation and work day. There will also be a potluck. Slow Food potlucks are about as good as they get, but I always agonize over what to take to a potluck. My big cooking thing is soup, which doesn’t travel well, and requires extra cups or bowls. When you’re already balancing a heaping plate of food and desserts, the soup becomes a big pain rather than the joy that it should be. I always used to take bread, but the local organic bakery always donates more than we need. So I’m thinking maybe something simple like chocolate chip cookies. There are never too many chocolate chip cookies at an event, and I have the fair-trade chocolate chips and cocoa to do it right.

It looks like I’m going to be doing the layout and graphics for our convivium’s Local Food Guide project, which is a bit scary, and will take up a lot of my free time in the next couple of months. I think that it will be fun too, though. I’ll get to do some photography and I’ll make a little extra money to put toward our plane tickets for Italy.

Work is at its busiest time for me, and I’ve given up on school work. Italian class was fun, but I can’t concentrate at 9 a.m. because of the medicine I take in the morning and because work is distracting. I haven’t studied, and I’ve barely kept up with the reading for my global ag class. This is partly because I find it depressing and overwhelming, and partly because eye strain and allergies are kicking my butt.

And I’ve volunteered to staff a table two Saturday afternoons in April, and Deep Roots needs my help with the newsletter, and I’ve still got work to do for the last of my spring crop and garden prep for my summer crops. Sheesh, whatever happened to my simple living plan?

But whenever things get too bad, I enjoy going out back on my lunch hour and pulling a few weeds, and I have taken the time to read two Stephanie Plum mysteries. See, I still have a grip on my priorities.

Oh, and by the way, tomorrow I should get my 10,000th visitor on this blog. Ummm…not that I’m paying attention to stats anymore…