OK, you got me. We have neither woods nor do we have a river, they call it a river, but as far as I know a river requires water. We have river road, that runs near the dried up river and several washes that are capable of sweeping a car away during the monsoon, but no real river. We had a river at one time, but the last to see that was the Pima Indians before there was a settlement here. I`m wandering again, deal with it.
The mug maiden and her BFF (that`s internets lingo for best friend forever) Illene of ArtbyIllene went to a farmers market on Sunday. The haul included 5 different varieties of tomato. They go good with bacon, lettuce and a nice helping of mayo on toast with some dill pickles, chips and a bib. Cheese, always welcome and a couple of really ugly cucumbers and various other herbs. I thought the haul was complete until I walked outside. Low and behold, there sat a plastic bag of (please excuse the expression) worm poop! I`ve been told, by the queen of course, that this black as tar earth is magic for her plants.
I sat down lookin at that bag and started to remember the old horse troughs that were filled with black dirt and a large serving of worms. We used then mostly for fishing, but on occasion scaring the girls. There was 2 of these big `ol troughs, one had red wigglers, and the other those big ugly night crawlers. When the uncles wanted to take a little trip to the pond and get some lunch, a cattle prod was inserted into the dirt, the trigger was pulled and the worms came right up to the surface for the easy pickin. The removal tool was usually your hand, but a modified pasta scoop was available for the ladies. A paw full was plopped in an old coffee can and off we`d go to wet `em a bit and catch some lunch. Now, I`m not the sharpest tool in the shed but I don`t think it dawned on anyone back in `58 that there was a market for that the worms left behind. It was also a great place to put your left over salad fixins after dinner. I can only imagine how this plant will look after a few weeks on worm poop. I hope a fella named Jack doesn`t happen by and take to climbing. The mug maiden will need to make bigger pots. At least the scrap clay will get used up faster, or should I say re-purposed from butterfly fridg magnets to flower pots. by John assistant to the queen.
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