Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Am I Local Or Loco? You Decide.
When I was in Asheville I walked around taking pictures of signs with the word "local" in them.
"It's like shooting fish in a barrel," I kept saying.
Everything in Asheville is local.
Which is cool and awesome. We should all practice local more. Buy local. Support our neighbors whether they are artists or cheese- or candle- or diaper-makers. Or growers of tomatoes or raisers of pigs or makers of bacon (yes, especially those) or potters or brewers or musicians or bakers.
We should. Because it does matter and we all know it.
But how does a community form like the one in Asheville has formed where local not only matters but has become a way of life?
I don't know.
All I know is that Asheville is a spectacularly nice place with a lot of commerce, a thriving downtown, excellent food and the sweetest, most polite people I've ever met. As Hank said the first night we were there, "The devil does not live in Asheville."
The word "earnest" kept coming to my mind. The people of Asheville seem to be honestly earnest about making their home a place to be proud of, a place to raise children in, a place to retire to and be busy in. A place to try out a dream.
No. I am not moving to Asheville. As far as I know.
Unfortunately, sometimes, like Hank, I just want to dance with the devil. You know what I mean?
Plus, my roots here are too damn deep.
But I sure am glad I have Asheville as a place to visit.
Mr. Moon and I had a fine, local time of it last night right here in Lloyd. We still had some of those bream on ice and instead of frying them, which is the time-honored traditional and delicious way to cook them, I dipped them in egg (local) and milk (not local) and then in Panko and flour and cornmeal and baked them. I also made some rosemary potatoes. We are still eating potatoes from the garden.
They looked like this:
I don't know why I always take pictures of food in the oven. I guess I like the lighting there.
The garden is just about done but the cherry tomatoes have put forth one last, valiant effort and we went out and picked a basket of them along with a few peppers and one regular tomato. They looked like this:
Unfortunately, we left the damn basket where Damn Buster could get to it and this morning, it looked like this:
Fucking vegetable-eating dog.
Maybe he just likes eating local.
Well, whatever, I have spent enough time here. I need to go out and let the chickens out. The new chickens are doing quite well with the exception of Suzie who somehow managed to get grabbed IN THE COOP by something that ripped her head off.
I am not kidding you.
Fortunately, I was out of town when this occurred.
But the other five are hanging with the original family, sort of, although there is still some segregation going on.
All right. What's one more picture?
They have not blended into one flock, exactly, but the flocks co-mingle. I am interested to see what happens as the new ones mature. As I have asked before, will there be fucking and/or fighting?
Who knows? Only time will tell.
Stay posted right here where we may not always be local as a community but where it is, in a way, a way of life. And where the devil does sometimes appear and if we are in the proper mood, we invite him in because he is a very charismatic and charming fellow and he knows all the dance steps.
But then we send him off and he goes, grumbling but full of fish and potatoes, tomatoes and eggs, his head spinning with the music, his feet finding their way home.