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Wednesday, March 25, 2009


I am but an humble amanuensis here, recording what has transpired. Or some of it at least.

Last night, far into the dark, a tiny light marked the tractor's grumbling path back and forth across our field, spreading manure--40 truckloads, according to Tom, although there are still manure mountains in place beside the driveway. Rockdust was mixed into the compost today.

We had a very late supper of our approximation of a muffaletta, with Central Grocery's olive salad. Tom and Jeff were there, but Scharko (white-bearded old hippie from Georgia) and Steve (carpenter from somewhere in Tennessee) were new at the farm table.

Tom had inadvertently locked Steve in George's pasture, where he had been sprinkling biodynamic "potentiating juju" (his description) across the potato patch with a whisk broom--a zen state accompanied by random meditations on the meaning of life, the contents of his business card, and what was really in the bucket. Steve declared HIMSELF potentiated, since he had inhaled some of the mix--a condition we tactfully did not explore--but still required phone calls and rescuers to unlock the gate.

This bunch, plus at least Jim and George, had also planted potatoes and lettuce today and I don't know what all else, and I know for a fact that manure spreader envy ran rampant and unchecked, as they watched Jeff's machine in action.

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