I can think of about three-thousand things I’d rather do than till our garden but weeding it isn’t one of them.
When we were first getting ready to overturn our new garden space, our next-door neighbor offered the use of his tiller. The neighbor’s tiller is a beast of a machine. It is a heavy duty field and farm model that has about five-hundred horse power. That tiller actually makes me feel like I’m trying to hold a herd of elephants back from thundering away into the back yard.
We spread out compost and I tilled the garden, and we planted our soon-to-be delicious home grown herbs and veggies, and set to waiting. While we waited I put up a fence to keep our dogs and other pests out. We tended and watched the spring weather and waited. Soon sprouts of our veggies and volunteers from the compost were popping up everywhere.
And so I thought for sure that the tilling was over. One good till was all it would take. I felt a rather large sigh of relief wash through me. Micki, however said that as the weeds and grass began to grow anew, that we’d have to be vigilant and use our smaller tiller to keep the ground turned and pliable.
The best laid plans of Micki and Dave.
Over the next few weeks, we got busy. Actually, we stay busy. Our weekends are sometimes booked three weekends in advance, and though I love to work in the garden, spontaneously weeding is one I’d leave off my list of preferred garden tasks.
Add tiling to that list as well, please
So, though we were bringing in a good haul of veggies and herbs, our garden was nearly overtaken with weeds, which we had failed to deal with while they were yet small.
Soon, though we were still able to bring in veggies and Micki was drying herbs galore, neither of us wanted to go into the garden alone for fear that some prehistorically huge spider or beetle would snag us and drag us to its underground lair.
Then, on a recent weekend, we both found ourselves not as busy as usual, we decided to get on with it and hit the garden hard. We would weed, trim and bravely face the unknown beasts within.
Sounded like it would be easy.
After a solid hour of making little or no progress, I finally resorted to the weed whacker, trimming everything down to a nub. Not our veggies, mind you, just the weeds. I did accidentally mow down the parsley sign made for us by a local potter... ...and the parsley too.
During our excavation, we stumbled on a small spider and a good sized snake which added a little excitement to the dullness of the task.
Micki finally convinced me (no small task in itself,) to get out our tiller and turn over the newly trimmed soil, so that more weeds didn’t pop up and so our garden would continue to be more manageable.
Grudgingly convinced, I went and got out our little tiller. We then spent another hour, between us, trying to get the stupid thing to start. It patently refused. In a chorus of oaths of frustration, we finally gave up for the day and headed in to get cleaned up and work on some inside chores.
The tiller went and spent some time at our local small engine repair shop this past week and now runs like a two-cycle top.
I woke this morning feeling refreshed and itching to get some work done, so I put on my gardening duds, started our tiller and hit the garden hard.
I overturned all the earth that wasn’t sporting veggie plants and herbs. After the big storm last night, the ground was soft and almost luxuriantly smooth. I know that I’ll have to give another good once-over this week, and I’ll need to get a good hard-tine rake in the meantime, for all the rocks and excess weeds, but in the meantime, I feel like a big hurdle has been cleared.
Now, we can plant some late summer veggies without worrying about giant arachnids.
And the moral of the story is simple: from now on, to keep up with the weeds, I’m going to be a serial tiller.
This is a blog about beer.
How I feel about good beer is no secret. If you don’t know, well then you don’t know me very well. A good beer for me, is one of the greatest pleasures that we can enjoy on this planet. Paired with a lovely home cooked meal, served ice cold after a long day of hard yard work, enjoyed by the pool or after a hike, good beer is an amazing addition to just about any activity except while driving or at work, of course.
Some folks choose not to imbibe and that is fine. They just don’t know what they’re missing.
For several years now, the infrastructure brought to our community from the availability of alcohol through legal means has made our downtown pop like it hasn’t since the decadent fifties.
Several restaurants, a wine and beer shop, two art galleries and a whole host of very cool antique stores along with many businesses and our beloved theatre now adorn Sunset Avenue, where a handful of years ago, while we were still a ‘dry’ county, those building stood empty and if one watched closely, one would see tumbleweeds bouncing aimlessly down the empty street.
I can hardly imagine a life without at least one opportunity to try a really good artisan beer. You may not agree, of course. For you, it may be the fruit of the vine that lights up your mind, or maybe you like a nice vodka and tonic to help you relax.
That’s fine.
I love beer.
Some people enjoy classical music, some art, some baseball and some love hiking. I love all of these things too; I just prefer to enjoy them with a good brew.
Imagine just for a moment, that you are sitting comfortably in your favorite chair. Clutched in one hand is a cold mug of heavenly ale. You close your eyes as the first strains of Beethoven’s 9th Symphony reach your ears. How amazing is that?
Hang on, I’m not done.
Imagine the smells of freshly cut grass at your local baseball park. The roar of the crowd after the solid crack of bat to ball, in one hand an over-large hotdog with mustard and onions and in the other, a cold beer. Take me out to the ball game any time!
But wait there’s more!
Imagine the serenity of a long hike in the woods. Hours spent in the engaging activity of just walking and looking. Now imagine that what waits for you when you arrive home, slightly grimy and exhausted from the trail, is a nice clay flagon of Extra Special Bitters. I can think of few things better, actually. And I could go on and on.
As you must know, recently a local brewery-to-be successfully completed its Kickstarter Campaign in Asheboro, solidifying the fact that the people of our town want a local brew pub with original (and delicious) craft beers. 
(For More on the Saintly Four visit their website here: http://foursaintsbrewing.com/)
The success of this Kickstarter serves only to fuel one fact: I’m not alone in my love of a good beer.
The Four Saints Brewing Compnay have an amazingly delicious selection of brews, all made with the most elegant care and tender love. Tasting them, as I have had much occasion to do, my mind flares with culinary possibility. Their Potter’s Clay Amber Ale would liven up a grilled chicken breast or a hamburger. Their Stout One must, (must I tell you) be had with steak or roast beef, roasted taters and carrots on the side.
The only thing missing from their repertoire is a can.
I know it is a long way off. The facilities to successfully bottle, can and carefully package their art is a big step and must be gotten to gradually but I hope and wish for the day when I can carry a can of 4S beer in my pack and enjoy nature’s majesty at a high overlook, or the at rippling burble and tranquility of a wooded brook, dappled with sun and shade and slowly sip the packaged deliciousness of a well crafted beer.
Well, I can dream can’t I?
A conversation via Facebook with Micki’s English Cousin who is visiting a small Mediterranean Isle proved to me that the Europeans know the importance of good (and portable) beer.
Being able to tote your can of Guinness with you as you stroll along the sapphire sea seems to be a delight well out of my reach. (Yes, I’ll be getting right to work on my passport, Micki dear, don’t worry!)
For me, though the promise of a future with canned 4S beer is only diminished by the logistics of how I could keep it cold.
It’s one thing to have the lightweight bringability of a good can of beer, but one must also think about temperature. Hours nestled in a backpack inches from the 98.6 degrees of my back would shoot the internal temperature of the can and the beer in it, straight through the roof.
I am so obsessed with maintaining an extremely light and sleek weight for my hiking gear, that I actually concocted an idea (which I shared with the English Cousin) for a small photovoltaic cell mounted high on my pack, which would power a small series of cooling tubes inserted carefully in the lining of my pack’s beer compartment. When I find that perfect spot on the trail or when we arrive at our camping spot for the evening, pulling a chilled and moisture speckled can of Four Saints’ Honey Ginger Pale Ale from the special cooling compartment in my pack would be an unbelievable delight for me.
But, those dreams are a long way off and it is not my intent to pressure our brewery friends with hopes of portability. There are more current issues to tend to and tackle. Like, why in Europe you can get a six-pack of canned Gunness just about anywhere but here in Our Great Nation you can only get four together. I’ll try to get right to the bottom of that problem soon.
The future is full of promise and I’m looking forward to it as I enjoy a nice cold craft beer!
Cheers and please drink responsibly!
