I suppose people have been leaving cities, intent on procuring food the old-fashioned way, since cities began, but none as memorably as Eddie Albert and Eva Gabor. I didn’t watch much television as a child (this does not redound to my credit; my parents sneered until I turned it off), but even I remember Oliver and Lisa trying to make a go of it outside their natural habitat. Fortunately, in our version, both Kevin and I are Eddie Albert. Although we’ve never quite reached his level of haplessness, we certainly have his enthusiasm.
These past couple of weeks, though, have been rough. The weather is so unremittingly cold and damp that our plants won’t grow. It takes all their energy just to hold their own against the wind and rain – not to mention the cat, who persists in digging up our seedlings in the interest of personal hygiene. The trout aren’t biting, the stripers are elusive, and we strongly suspect that one of our chickens is a rooster.
Under these trying circumstances, I find my inner Eva asserting herself, reminding me of the charms of the city, where all our plants were inside, our heat came unbidden out of the radiator, and we didn’t give a damn about the sex of our chicken. I think I appreciate fresh air as much as the next guy, but right now Times Skvare is looking awfully good.
This is very unfair to Kevin, who is saddled with a wife with all Eva’s citified ways, but without the sexy Hungarian accent and the really nice boobs. (All that glamour, from a country known for goulash and mathematicians!) And so I am posting this with the intention of getting it out of my system so I can get back to weeding, fishing, and finding yet another way to prepare clams.
Besides, I think the sun is coming out.