And so it begins.

The first few weeks of not being on the farm were certainly welcome, a little break from sore muscles and getting up early was nice. Now after being sick for a few days in a row, that has all changed. Outside the world is autumnal and beautiful, and meanwhile I'm stuck inside trying to speed my recovery so I can go out and enjoy what I'm missing. When I'm not sleeping, I drink tea, or I look outside, or I put on another pair of socks, or I read Farm City (a book I just got about an urban farmer).

Farm City. I'm only about 100 pages in but to be honest, I'm not too impressed. I can't really put my finger on it, it just doesn't grab me the way I wish it would. That in mind, I must definitely give Novella Carpenter credit for having roused me from my sickly stupor enough to inspire me to do something. I believe that in itself is reason enough for me to praise this book royally.

I've been wanting to build planter boxes for a while, but it wasn't really until I opened up Novella's book and fell into her urban farm that I realized I too could have my little sanctuary. (The petting zoo may not go over so well with my mother, but the vegetables are definitely manageable.)

So, with that begins my quest. I will build a planter box for my mother's garden.

I have exactly 16 days until I fly back east to visit family. Doubtful that I will finish in time. But in any case, the race begins.

No more pie: Part II

It's strange, in some ways it's harder to say goodbye to animals than it is to say goodbye to people. I guess it's because animals are harder to talk to on the phone.

Be thankful for grimy walls

Following my pre-Turkey Day disappointment in humanity, I remembered one of my favorite works of public art. It lives on the Berkeley campus, on a slab of gray just by the square of grass across from Café Strada, where my dog likes to go crazy. There is usually construction there, which of course means lots of cement and blah. It was it's usual boring until one day I noticed the wall had changed. Tiny creatures and flowers were now etched into the grime. And although not really my artistic style, the cartoon-like figures made me smile. As though silently mocking, they stood there showing that public art didn't necessarily have to be a "destructive" thing. 

Note to self: next time you see a graffiti artist being told off, remind them to use a powerhose instead of a spray can.

Wait...you're supposed to be thankful at this time of year, right?

Today I lived in a cloud of flour all day. Made two pumpkin pies, two pumpkin breads (with winter luxury pumpkins from Pie Ranch!) and will soon finish a few batches of cookies. It was the perfect day: clear blue skies, falling leaves, warm, crisp, beautiful.

Alas half way through my baking craze I ran out of flour and oil so I ran to the store....On my way in I saw a man writing with chalk on the cement side of a planter box, the owner of the store stood above him, talking about how it was illegal to write on private property. I didn't think much of it except that I thought it was silly since it was just chalk he was writing with.

On my way out, the drawing man was gone but the owner remained, scrubbing away at what I now saw was an "I love you Brooke" sign. WHAT. A. GRINCH. Some people just have no heart sometimes.

No more pie: Part I

Last day at Pie Ranch was today. Celebrated really well by spending the day working and then going to the barn dance. Excited to move on to other things but it will be sad not going back. And I will miss driving the stretch of Route 1 between San Fran and Davenport every week...