Eat Here and Get Gas

I took a short break from knitting this weekend, since John and I decided (at 4 pm on Saturday) to put in the vegetable garden. We're coming to realize that we're not really yard people. Neither of us has any interest in mowing grass, nor do we really care about sitting in our yard. We have no kids, so we don't need to have a place for them to play (plus also, there are parks nearby). And did I mention that we both hate mowing grass? We really do.

It's pretty clear to us that previous owners cared even less about the appearance of the yard. It's a big house on a small lot, so there's not a whole lot to work with. The front and side of the house are a mess, and they'll stay that way for a few more weeks. You know how you have that neighbor and when you think of that neighbor you think, "I really wish they'd at least trim the weeds back from the street." Well, we're the people you're thinking about. For now. I mean, the front and the side? They're gonna take professional help.

Last Tuesday I took the weed whacker to the "back strip" -- it's about 4 feet wide and 40 feet long. The weeds were past my knees. PAST MY KNEES. We don't go behind the garage very often, and our next door neighbors (who have as perfectly manicured a yard as you can imagine) are just too nice to say anything. So, I whacked down the tall crap and started uprooting the weeds from the plot we use for a vegetable garden. I worked for two hours, and when I stopped, I'd cleared about 2 feet of the usable 15, and I'd filled a garbage can. The 45-gallon kind.

There are no before pictures for a reason, folks.

So, Saturday, John and I got the starts we wanted, and between 5 and 7:30, I pulled, he shoveled and turned and raked, and we planted.

Another thing: you should not dig in our yard without wearing leather gloves. The main component in our soil isn't dirt, or sand, or weeds, or worms. It's broken glass. Seriously. I don't know what previous owners did with the yard, but I do know that they drank a LOT of bottled beer, and they chucked the bottles out the kitchen window and into the back strip. For, like, 50 years. (When we had the juniper removed from the front yard a year ago, we found out that they also enjoyed a fair amount of Schlitz Malt Liquor. The tall weeds were the least of their problems.)



We have really low expectations on crop yield here. Basically, if we get a few tomatos that taste like tomatos should (and not like they usually do when you buy them at the Freddy's), we'll be happy.

Along the back fence we have 3 rows of corn, and there are 4 tomato plants (3 varieties) under the kitchen window. Along the chainlink fence, we have 4 types of peppers: Thai hot, Anaheim Chili, Hungarian Wax Hot, and Gypsy Sweet. Yes, I put the Hungarians next to the Gypsies. This would have caused my grandmother to yell, "Vee are not like zee Gypzees! Vee are Hungarian, but not like zee Gypzees!" (Which is of course why I did it.) At the end of the peppers we have some scallions. In front of the peppers, we've got some herbs: parsley, basil, oregano, cilantro, and chives. Against the house is some rosemary and some zucchini plants. Mostly, I want fried zucchini blossoms.

This was a lot of work. Really. So, when we finished, John wanted to get burgers in town, and I was too tired to resist greasy fries. While waiting in the parking lot at Burgerville (because they make it all Fresh!), John pointed out the sign at Our Daily Bread. This was the place we went for dinner our First Night in Portland. We were tired. We had no stuff. The house was hot, and there was no hot water. Our Daily Bread was open, and we didn't know that it would be filthy. I ordered a turkey sandwich and was served meatloaf and mashed potatoes that bore no resemblance to actual potatoes. The whole time we were there, we were wondering, "WHAT HAVE WE DONE? WHAT ARE WE DOING IN PORTLAND? THIS WAS A BIG MISTAKE."

But it wasn't, right? I mean, now we can look back on that dinner and laugh, and be thankful that we don't eat there. Ever. Not even when we're doubled over laughing at their sign.