The Farm Down the Hill

Back in January, a friend mentioned a new farm in our area. "Apparently, it's all hydroponic and artificial light," she said, "and it's located in one of the warehouses by the dog park. They have a weekly CSA."

I was stunned! Surprised by the proximity and the set-up, but also by the fact that I had no idea it was there. And even though I still had several weeks left on my traditional winter CSA, I signed up for a four-week trial right away. 

Again, I was blown away. First, they delivered my veggies right to my door, and second, everything in the bag was amazing-- fresh and delicious. They had found a fan. Soon, I was in for the ten-week, auto-renewing plan. The flexibility to skip a delivery at any time made the move a no-brainer, and their partnership with other local producers to include honey, lentils, and other pantry items to complement their fresh vegetables was a nice bonus.

The farm also did lots of community outreach, sponsoring tours and field trips to its facility. There was also an opportunity to order heirloom seedlings for my own garden, an offer I took advantage of. Today was the day when I went to pick up my tomatoes and peppers, and to be honest, I wasn't sure what to expect when I pushed my way through the industrial door. At 8 am, a few employees also arrived with me, and they welcomed me into the cavernous space, filled with towering metal racks holding all sorts of plants and a honeycombed ceiling of LED light tubes.

The person coordinating my order was not there yet, but another farmer offered to show me around while we waited. He explained the complex system that moved the plants through light and dark on a 24-hour cycle while also weighing them at certain points and irrigating as necessary. He showed me the seed-starting tables, the harvest and packing area, and then led me to another shelf with a collection of plants. "Wanna try some of the crops we're not quite ready to distribute?" he asked.

Just as I finished my oyster leaf and cleansed my palette with some wasabi arugula, a woman approached with my seedlings. "Thank you so much for your support!" she said.

"And thank you for your hospitality!" I laughed. "I love this place!"

Too Big to Fail

It was an actual crisis. 

More than a thousand students were in 80+ testing groups with hundreds of accommodations and special circumstances following a special schedule, but no one could access the online test. Several staff members were at the ready, monitoring a help request spreadsheet, while my ever-capable temporary testing coordinator partner was simultaneously on a video call with central office and a conference call with the test purveyor's support line. 

After more than 30 minutes into the testing session, no one could find a solution. Out in the hallway, some of the grade-level monitors and I brainstormed troubleshooting strategies and joked around with a bit of gallows humor. "I just want to point out that everybody is in a group with an examiner and all their materials," I said with wide eyes. "That was my job!"

Just as technical support announced that there was no way we could fix the problem until tomorrow, which was useless, since it would be nearly impossible to reset all the moving pieces in less than twenty-four hours, a couple of our own teachers suggested a workaround. Five minutes later, the fix was in place, and our testing session began.

Until today, I'd only seen high-stakes, standardized testing from inside the classroom, and I thought that was ridiculously complicated enough. But watching my colleagues pull together to solve an enormous problem and then troubleshoot the three-hour session, providing equipment, online support, and behavior intervention, I was witness to another category of complexity altogether.

Good Riddance

"You did great!" the dermatologist's assistant told me as I was getting ready to leave the procedure room, where they had cut a two-inch incision and yanked a marble-sized cyst out of my right arm. "Do you want to see it before you go?"

"No!" I said. "Well, maybe."

She held up a specimen cup with a gory little orb floating in saline. "You two have been together a long time," she noted wryly as she turned to place it back on the tray.

"That's true," I agreed. It had been at least 15 years. "Bye now! Take care of yourself!" I waved.

"You, too," she said cheerfully.

"Oh," I laughed. "I was talking to the cyst! I'll see you in ten days when I get my stitches out."

In Pursuit of a One Track Mind

I often advise myself to focus on one thing at a time as much as I can, particularly as I get older. I've discovered that when my mind is two steps ahead of my body, I am much more accident-prone. Whether it's knocking over a full pot of coffee, bumping my head on the freezer door, or tripping up the steps, when these little calamities strike, I know it's because I wasn't paying attention.

Strangely, it rarely happened at school, maybe because teaching was my jam and I was often in a flow state there. Before I retired, though, I often found myself distracted outside of work, and so I made an effort to be as mindful as I could. Then, once my days became less scheduled, it was easier to stay present most of the time.

But right now, I have two part-time jobs with kind of steep learning curves, and even just juggling the hours has become a little stressful. It's also a busy time of year-- in addition to birthday and graduation celebrations, I also need to get my garden cleaned up and planted, and we have some home maintenance projects on the calendar, as well.

Today is a good example of what I mean. This morning, I spent time writing up observation notes from my coaching job, updating details for the standardized test we're administering on Thursday, and making bread. This afternoon, I had to vote in the special election, fill the car with gas, and have a cyst on my arm removed at the dermatologist. 

I was thinking of those last two commitments as I checked in and filled out my ballot at the polls. When I stopped at the gas station on my way to the doctor, I realized I didn't have the magnetic wallet that attaches to my phone. I knew I had it when I voted, and I felt certain I had it when I went to the car. I thought I remembered clipping it to the back of my phone as I waited for Heidi to complete her ballot, so I really hoped I hadn't dropped it in the parking lot or on the sidewalk.

I was feeling extremely aggravated with myself when my phone rang. It was John Smith (yes, really) from the polling place calling to let me know I had left my wallet behind in the voting booth. There was just enough time to swing by and retrieve it before heading off to have my arm dissected, cyst resected, and incision sutured, but I tried not to focus on that!

The Profiler

As I pulled into our parking lot this morning, the sun glinted off something on the edge of the driving lane. Squinting, I could make out a pair of abandoned sunglasses, and I jogged back to retrieve them after parking. Judging by their undamaged condition, I figured they hadn't been there very long, but our lot was nearly empty, so they might have belonged to any number of residents. When I examined them more closely, though, I saw that they were gold Gucci aviators, and that, plus their general location, led me to believe they belonged to our neighbor across the way. I knew that she could be a little scattered at times, especially in the morning, so it wasn't unlikely that she had dropped them on her way to the car.

I placed them on the wall of her patio and promptly forgot all about my detective work until I happened to see her pull in this afternoon. From the window, I could see she was not wearing sunglasses, which, in my mind, strengthened my case. I opened my front door as she was passing. "Are those your sunglasses?" I sang out.

She looked confused. "I don't think so."

"Really?" I was disappointed. "Gucci? Gold? Aviators?" I shook my head. "I was so sure! You're really the only one in the neighborhood who could rock that!"

She laughed and gave me an impulsive hug, tickled by the praise. Then she looked at the shades. "They are mine!" she exclaimed. "I didn't even know they were missing."

Case closed.

Sunday DInner and HBD Bill

To accommodate everyone's schedule, we finally celebrated Bill's birthday tonight, at the tail end of his birthday week. Sunday is not our usual evening to gather, so as I was planning the menu, I tried to play on a Sunday dinner from our childhood, with some elevated elements. 

My dad loved chicken with white gravy, a kind of cross between stew and fricassee, with pieces of bone-in chicken and chunks of celery and carrots. My mom served it with biscuits, peas, and mashed potatoes, a recipe she got from his sister. It is a comforting dish, but it lends itself to a lighter version, particularly if you use spring vegetables. 

I made a version tonight with a sous vide chicken thigh roulade stuffed with herbs and pea shoots. Then I blanched haricot vert, baby carrots, tiny turnips, and baby leeks, and served it all with Yukon gold potato puree and white gravy, and of course, biscuits.

The dish was light but filling, so for dessert I made pumpkin pie tassies and mini cream puffs with custard and chocolate glaze. Just one bite each, if you could stop at one! 

I was pleased with the way the meal turned out but even happier to have the chance to cook for and celebrate my brother. I do love that guy!

Imagine That

 "Are you watching the second season of The Pitt?" a friend asked us a few weeks ago.

"Not yet," I told him. "We're waiting for the whole thing to drop, so we can binge it."

His eyes widened. "You mean you're going to watch it all in one day?" he said. "I guess it will be like you're working the shift with them." He shook his head.

"That's not exactly what we had planned," I laughed. "But, wouldn't that be something!"