Crisper drawers, that is. So you can see what I got in my farmshare this week:
2 heads of lettuce
a bunch of basil and dill
12 ears of corn
a bunch of beets
4 summer squash
an armful of fava beans
a bunch of carrots
Exciting! But I know a good half of you don't come here for the food, so...
It was beginning to look like my dreams of being trapped under the CSA tent with the Farmer during a thunderstorm would never come to fruition. This despite the abundance of storminess this summer. On the way to the pickup yesterday, mighty Zeus hurled lightening bolts in my direction and unleashed an urban tsunami like nothing I’ve ever seen (well, except for that storm two weeks ago, and then again the previous week, and then a couple of times the week before that).
With the roads flooded at every turn, I rolled down the window and yelled up at the sky, face streaming with water: “You can’t keep me from going. I won’t miss it two weeks in a row.” Another flash of lightening and crack of thunder and I sputtered: “Is that the best you can do? I laugh at your scary electricity.” Then he hurled 15 more lightening bolts at me and an immediate explosion of sound that caused both kids and I to scream and soil ourselves simultaneously. Unfortunately, only one of us was wearing a diaper. Luckily, it was me.
All my detours around the washed-out roads landed me back at home and, seeing Husband’s car parked out front, I dropped off the traumatized kids and headed back out again, undeterred. It was still raining when I got to the farm, but a more reasonable soaking rain. The Farmer was manning the tent this time, Zeus having presumably chased him out of the open fields with his jagged javelins.
This is an awful lot of buildup to get to the Farmer and I alone at last among the vegetables. But, I’m afraid I can’t tell you what went on under that tent. How am I ever going to have a normal relationship with this beautiful man if I keep on detailing our every interaction in my public diary? How would I like it if someone were writing about me on his blog? I would like it very much, actually. IN THEORY. I’m a girl, after all. But probably not in practice. Also because it wouldn’t be anyone good, I’m sure. You never get to handpick your own stalkers.
So you’ll just have to use your imagination. In the comment section. Best ending to the story wins Uncle Oinker’s Savory Bacon Mints.