|
 |
Broke Wife, Big City
When the future seems too cucumbersome
By Aprill Brandon
The other day, my 4-year-old daughter came tearing through the house,
her tangled hair flying wildly all around. She slammed to a stop in
front of me, her eyes wide and bright, and promptly shoved two strange
green objects directly into my face.
“MOM! We got gherkins!”
“Wow, that’s amazing, baby,” I said while internally giggling because
gherkin has always sounded like a dirty word to me since it rhymes with
merkin and deep down I am forever 13-years-old.
“We’re going to eat like cakes tonight!” she proudly declared.
“Or maybe like kings,” her 6-year-old brother deadpanned.
“EAT LIKE CAKES!” she bellowed excitedly again while running manically around in circles with the gherkins high above her head.
The point of this adorably heartwarming story? My family has
successfully gardened. Like some kind of coven of dirt wizards. We took
a bunch of tiny seeds and stuffed them haphazardly into the ground and
remembered to water them like three times but mostly ignored them and
BEHOLD. We have grown our own food! Well, gherkins. And cucumbers,
which are technically food even though they taste like water that is
whispering the word “lawn.” We also successfully grew some sunflowers,
so if you are ever in the mood for a pickle and cucumber salad
sprinkled with sunflower seeds, come on over. But hurry. I only have
enough for like three of you. Maybe two and a half. Also the lettuce
never sprouted, or the tomatoes. Or the dozen other seeds we stuck into
our much too small gardening box so they had to fight for survival Mad
Max-style. The pumpkins thrived for awhile but then got a fungus or
something according to some half-hearted Googling I did.
Anyway, back to the point.
There is one.
I’m assuming.
We’ll see.
Anyway, all in all it weren’t too shabby for our first time gardening,
if I do say so myself. In fact, all this successful mastery over the
land makes me wonder what else I could learn to do for myself. You
know, if civilization eventually collapses or something (not that it
will *hysterical laughter hysterical laughter hysterical laughter tiny
sob*). I mean, I read “Little House on the Prairie” as a kid. And
“Hatchet.” And spent an entire summer obsessed with “The Island of Blue
Dolphins.” AND I’ve seen the 1985 Canadian made-for-TV-movie “Anne of
Green Gables” starring the inimitable Megan Follows no less than 140
times. I’m practically a pioneer woman already.
All you really need are the basics. And there’s, what, like only four or five of them, right?
So first, food. BOOM. Done. Pretty much mastered.
Oxygen? Already know how to use it. Next.
Shelter? This one does seem a bit more involved. And possibly out of my
league. Mostly because of the paperwork involved. I can likely figure
out four walls and a roof and a massive walk-in closet. But I'll
probably have to get a permit or something. Something will likely have
to be notarized. Which sounds like a whole thing. Maybe I’ll just keep
renting for the moment.
Now clothes on the other hand, that I know I can handle. I’m old enough
that I was forced to learn to sew by public educators. Of course, I
only learned how to sew one thing so my family will all be wearing
ill-fitting shorts that fall unflattering just below the knee. But they
WILL be clothed. Partially.
And, perhaps most importantly of all, alcohol. Because if the
apocalypse does come, and I somehow manage to survive, I cannot make
small talk with a bunch of smug doomsday preppers while sober. So,
what? I’d need grapes for wine, potatoes for vodka, hops and barley(?)
and wheat(?) and organic carbonization(?) for some craft beer. All of
which I assume you just mash up together and wait a hot minute and it
magically turns into quality libations.
So, see? We’re all going to be fine. FINE. Just fine. If my family can make it, so can yours.
But just as a back-up plan, please vote this November.
Can’t get enough of Aprill? Can’t wait until next week?
Check out her website at http://aprillbrandon.com/
|
|
|
|
