Thursday, October 28, 2010

A Final Look-See

Well, its been good.

The zucchini, that is. And our time together on the blog. But really, the zucchini is delicious.

I can't promise this is the last post, but it is surely somewhere near the end ("Phew, thank you. Finally!" would be the appropriate response).

Just as any good story, though, it wouldn't be finished until we took a look-see at the characters in their post-acting lives (and by acting I mean acting out their lives in peace).

Let us begin with "beloved" Jordan. No one really knows why he obtained a title preceding his name, but it stuck, and he is "beloved" Jordan, not to be confused with Jordan the Beloved, who is another kid in the neighborhood that no one likes.

After we discovered that Jordan had a special interest in one of the winners from the Paint the Garden Extravaganza, he took a back seat in the limelight. In fact, he even avoided some of the lights and cameras, while preferring the action. His interests may have dissolved since then, but his memory lives on in, as does the "Don't Tread on Me" sign and some minerals from the last carrot that he ate from the garden. Last we heard he was learning to ski behind some orange hatchback. Ridiculous! Who would drive an orange hatchback?!





















Dave, bless his heart, initially took to extreme sports and is rumored to have a movie in the making involving nitrous and explosives, or one or the other. At some point, though, his adrenaline ran low and he decided to take life slow. He was last spotted blowing milk bubbles and driving a mini-van. Whether this is true or not, we're not absolutely sure, but this picture was purchased from an un-named paparazzi. It is also rumored that Dave recently won a thumb-war with his current landlord, and now holds the rights to make a parkinglotgarden in his new place of residence. Keep your eyes peeled (both for the garden and some old man driving a mini-van under the speed limit).















As for Tyler, he grew a beard, hopped a train, and met some friendly hobos. If this were true, no one would doubt it. Instead, he lives more distant (50 minutes by freight train), though happily, preparing the soil carefully for next spring where he can plant his own Non-Parking-Lot Garden. Word also has it that he may have joined Dave in the big-screen venture or joined the circus. Either is possible. Watch out for the clowns. But really, our inside sources tell us that he has hunkered down somewhere, grown a gnarly beard, and for some reason, continues to lose and then find trinkets and knick-knacks on a daily basis.


And though never mentioned, what about Kory, our 4th roommate? He was always the mysterious one, both to us and the general population. This photo was recently shown on the evening news, as authorities finally cracked down on the culprits for the famed "Christmas Tree Smuggling". I don't know what type of time is associated with a crime like this, but we may likely never see the boy again.














You may remember that a number of plants were transplanted from their original cages. Typically, the wild ones don't do well in captivity, but how about when they are released back into the wild? Tyler adopted all species willing to put down roots in a new home, and a number came off grounded. Strawberries, for example, were a mixed bag. Some picked right up where
they left off and others spent their time lolly-gagging and eventually shriveled and died. It's been rumored, however, that a few of the plants even blossomed this fall, and who knows but that some tiny red berries were consumed by one happy gardener.

What about the zucchini? Lest we forget, he suffered terribly under the gnawing molars of a disreputable doe. He was eaten down and left for dead, but we nursed him carefully through the following months. He was transplanted to Tyler's house, where he took root and took off like a barrel of sea monkeys in the ocean. Some weeks later, just before the frost, he produced this orchestral vegetable and some tasty accompaniments.
Additionally, in spite of being a vegetable, he somehow managed to make it to the polls, early. His only sadness comes from knowing that he won't be around for the presidential elections of 2012. He made us promise, however, that we would support change. We said our vows and cleared our plates of him. No one ever said anything about changing for the better.


How about the potato dogs? You may not remember these, and it is likely, seeing that we never mentioned them. Originally, they were placed as guardians of the apartment complex. We were not allowed to have real dogs, and potato dogs were rumored to work just as well... that is, until they were discovered by real dogs, who ate them in two fell gulps.


Finally, as we shed our final tear, let us remember the onion. For some time, we felt that he failed to grow simply out of spite. "So easy," "the easiest," and "anyone can do it," were all comments made in regards to growing the onion. We considered ourselves failures, but no longer. Just last week, as if he knew the frost was coming, the onion sprouted one more stalk and proclaimed "I am done, already. Just pick me, dang it." So we did.

Monday, October 18, 2010

No Hard Feelings, Just Hard Skin

On the night of the garden's demise, certain vegetables were spared destruction. Among them were two green tomatoes. We believe they were Better Boys, but we offer no guarantees.

Our dearest Jordan insisted that when placed in a sunny spot, they would eventually ripen. Tyler begged to differ and volunteered to keep them in the sunniest of sunny places until the day when they began to rot. At that point, he vowed to make a rotten green tomato goulash and Jordan would be required to eat it as punishment for wishful thinking. Though none of us know what goulash is, it certainly sounds like punishment in itself, and most certainly would be if made with rotten tomatoes.

Two months have past, and the tomatoes are ripe-ish. No goulash will be made tonight (though possibly tomorrow so that Tyler can reap the reward of his doubt).

Instead, we decided to follow through on the garden's last wish and make a peace offering to the Landlord.

This package went out today.



















We made a few assumptions about Mr. Scott, including his name and initials, but I'm sure he'll be happy as soon as he sees how ripe the tomatoes are.

Also included was the following letter:

Dearest Mr. Scott,

We want to begin by saying "no hard feelings." We are well aware of everything that occurred on that bitter summer's night, and no, we're not talking about the temperature. We also are aware of our owners' zeal for the garden and their general feelings of pride in their accomplishments. We acknowledge that this pride may have clashed with that of a certain landlord, and we abstain from making any judgments.

We offer ourselves unto you as a peace offering, as the last of the joyous harvest. Though our skin is wrinkled and old, yet our hearts are warm and red. We represent a summer of labor, a summer of laughs, and a summer of love. We recognize a moment of silence for those who have fallen that we could survive, and pray that their memories and minerals will continue on in the hearts and digestive systems of princes and paupers alike.

May the pollen of Vertumnus forever grace your blossoms.

Signed,
Two ripe tomatoes, (with wishes from the parkinglotgarden)

Wednesday, October 13, 2010

A Little Misunderstanding

It still seems strange to me why the owners were so set on the removal of the garden. Being "green" is the cool thing to do, especially if you want government funding (which we didn't want, and would not take because we have something called principles).

This just goes to show how political everything can be. When a group of students growing vegetables threatens your pride with Beta Carotene, Iron AND Folic Acid (had it not been for the Folic Acid, I'm sure we would yet be harvesting our beloved vegetables), you are left with no alternative but dictatorial mandates of destruction.

Sometimes I wonder if it was just a little misunderstanding that caused this.

In the words of Emerson, "Is it so bad, then, to be misunderstood? Pythagoras was misunderstood, and Socrates, and Jesus, and Luther, and Copernicus, and Galileo, and Newton, and every pure and wise spirit that ever took flesh. To be great is to be misunderstood."

Yeah, we're going to go with that argument, that we were simply misunderstood.

Nonetheless, we're glad we gardened, and even looking back on these sullen faces, we remember more the happy times, the smiling faces, and the greenest parking spot in the lot.










































































In spite of all the happenings that fateful night, we still managed to look forward to better times (or at that fat lady standing on top of a building yelling at us). And that is what counts.

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

Does AD 455 Ring a Bell?


The other day, a shocking discovery was made. I say this while using passive voice, because we're still not sure who made it or what it was. Regarding the garden, however, we discovered that the parkinglotgarden sign had been removed.

I'm not going to point fingers, but Mark did it. Actually, I don't know who Mark is. I was just throwing that out there to make him feel guilty if there was someone named Mark that actually participated in the vandalism.

Before we go into the gory details, let me give you a brief history of Vandalism. The term originated in 455 AD when the East Germanic tribe, called the Vandals, sacked Rome. The term stuck, carrying with it a connotation of senseless destruction.

Now I don't want to insult anyone's family history, or harass them for attending a certain school (University of Idaho), but was this not a senseless act of destruction?















Where once stood a beautifully hand-crafted (on a machine) sign now sits a hopeless residue of glue, exposed on the brick face like the Emperor in his new clothes. Discovered at the scene of the crime was a shovel, which now sits in custody along with the candlestick, revolver, and Colonel Mustard.

I was raised by a mother that taught me to respect the property of others. I suspect that those who did this were not raised by mothers, but by vandals (either that or by Tasmanian Devils). Yes, the lineage has continued through the ages, bringing with it an inherited mutual disrespect for property. For these raised without mothers (not sure how the line passed on without them, but we'll leave that for a different discussion), we will now cover the basics.

Consider yourself motherized.