Yesterday, I was perusing the baked goods and was drooling a little over a creme de fleur, which looks like a muffin-ish confection with 3 buttons of custard on the top, indicating what lies below. That sounds pretty good doesn’t it? But wait, it gets better: it’s actually 3 sections, baked together into a muffin-shape, so that you can actually tear 1/3 of it off, and that little guy is a self contained pastry packet of custard!

Oh man.

I gained some control over my visual appetite, and decided that I’d be better off with a pumpkin muffin. “There’s no need for the triple-cripple custard bomb,” I chided myself, ” when that pumpkin muffin will be very good with a small coffee, and a healthier choice overall.” I was feeling pretty good about overcoming my impulsive, custard-laden first choice, and making a wiser, healthier decision.

Except I didn’t. That goddam pumpkin muffin has 530 calories, 81g of carbs, and almost no nutrional value. By comparison, a Big Mac has 540 calories, 45g of carbs, and 25g of protein, as well as calcium and iron. I’m not saying that a Big Mac is healthy, and I’ve certainly got ethical concerns over the source of a lot of those calories, but there’s no denying that from a nutritional perspective, I’d have been better off with Le Big Mac.

Oh, and the creme de fleur? 490 calories with 57g of carbs. And it’s filled with custard, in each of three discreet sections, like a pastry custard tanker filled to overflowing, the tops shaped like little custard flowers. I think it’s even dusted with powdered sugar.

Stupid pumpkin muffin.

Proposition 2 would require that starting in 2015, calves raised for veal, egg-laying hens and pregnant pigs be provided space to lie down, stand up, fully extend their limbs and turn around freely. Proponents say it would prevent animal cruelty; opponents say it would unnecessarily harm farmers and consumers by raising domestic prices and exposing consumers to cheaper, ostensibly more dangerous eggs from other countries.

Now, we’re not talking about giving every calf, chicken, and pig be given an acre of grassy meadow to run free, and a string quartet to score the scene. We’re not even talking about letting them see the sun. Nor are we talking about making this happen tomorrow, or a year from now. And this is light years away from mandating that industrial meat operations handle their wastes the way we require cities to do it.

We’re just talking about making their cages, the place they will likely spend their whole lives, big enough for them to be able to extend their limbs and turn around. That’s all. I mean, Christ, if you were going to establish a base-level, lowest common denominator standard for not being completely inhumane, that might be a good place to start.

But there’s so much in this paragraph that’s wrong.

Proponents say it would prevent animal cruelty… No, I don’t think it will. It goes a short way towards mitigating intense, widespread suffering, but that’s a ways off from actually preventing cruelty.

…opponents say it would unnecessarily harm farmers and consumers… When you’re managing a massive, highly efficient industrial factory system of growing meat, you’re no longer a “farmer” in any traditional sense of the word, so please discontinue attempts to play on my sympathies by putting a wheat chewing actor in overalls in front of me. Also, peddle that “concern for the consumer” bullshit to someone who’s buying it, this is all about your profit margins.

It’s just stunning to me that this is even a close contest.

I love the pedal-powered farm equipment. Story in the WaPo here, website here.

(h/t TheWashCycle)

Also, the old job prohibited supporting or contributing to primary candidates, even displaying a bumper sticker was considered over the line. That shit is over, and I’ve got some lost time to make up for.

And I’ve been thinking lately that, despite how much I despise Grover Norquist personally, and loathe his vision of the American Dream, I’ve gained respect for his tactics when it comes to holding his congress critters accountable. He didn’t complain about how the Republican Party didn’t appeal to him anymore, and he didn’t threaten to give his vote to the Libertarian Party. He organized, and let every Republican know that if they crossed the aisle to raise taxes in any way, shape, or form, that they’d face a primary challenge and get spanked. Say what you will about his politics and policies (no really, say it, use profanity if it helps), but the guy put Republican turncoats on notice, and he took action towards making the GOP his party again.

With that in mind, I just gave $100 to Glenn Greenwald’s effort to hold the Democratic leadership accountable for supporting the latest iteration of the FISA Bill (specifically the provisions providing telecom immunity and giving the Executive branch warrantless wiretapping authority). I’m hoping that Glenn’s campaign to punish these capitulating shitbags is an acorn from which a mighty oak will grow. We need an organization dedicated to protecting our Constitutional rights, that will support Democrats who are likewise committed, that will make sure they know we’re paying attention, and that’s willing and able to support primary challengers when promises are broken. If you’re of a like mind, consider throwing a few bucks in that direction.

That’s right Hoyer, you’re on fuckin’ notice.

So, I’m in the mood for a beer and some Pogues. Howzat sound, yeah?

Have the best weekend ya can.

Saturday, Rebbie and I enjoyed a few early morning moments with coffee before she shot out the door to manage the Mt. Pleasant Farmer’s Market. On cue, the kids were up just a little bit later, and by 10 a.m. I had the Donkey (or whatever it is we’re calling it these days) loaded up with the kids, bottles, an extra tank of milk. Off we rode to join her, under crystal blue skies and marching clouds, at the market.

A Beautiful Day at the Farmer’s Market

The market was bustling and the kids found other children to run around with in short order. Rebbie had put out an appeal in the market newsletter for anyone that wanted to come and provide entertainment, and a couple of enterprising jugglers took up the challenge. They were excellent and had the kids attention all morning.

Jugglin’ Up A Storm at the Mt. Pleasant Farmers’ Market

(Before you start pointing and yelling and asserting that I photoshopped the defocused background in the image, it’s not true. I use The Gimp. The bird is real, though it is not freakishly large, nor is it threatening the juggler on the right.

We rode home after the market to relax a bit before preparing for the Grand Opening of the PG Pool. Shortly after moving to D.C., several folks we met independently suggested we join this pool that we knew nothing about. Pressed as to why, they’d rarely elaborate more than saying, “You just have to join. Just do it. You’ll see.” Of course, they were right.

It’s a community co-op pool, large and inviting, surrounded by a couple acres of grassy meadow and large shade trees. It also has a pretty big toddler pool, lots of play equipment, a couple sandboxes, a volleyball court, and propane barbeque grills.

Best of all, the whole thing is wrapped in a fence high enough to keep the kids inside. But it’s mostly symbolic, since the place if full of other parents and older kids, and they all keep their eyes open for toddlers who think they can make a break for it. Not that many want to, they love being there.

Last summer, I had a recurring pleasant experience of taking a long pull off a beer, realizing I didn’t have a precise bead on either of my kids, and knowing that it was okay. Occasionally I’d look around and notice other parents having the same realization. It’s a real good feeling, I suspect from my mother’s descriptions of growing up in West Peoria that it’s what entire neighborhoods were like in the 50’s.

We lived there last summer, leaving only to attend to unimportant things like work or laundry. The day after Labor Day, when we realized that there’d be no more pool until May, was marked by howling laments, gnashing of teeth and rending of garments. So on Saturday, after the kids had woken from their naps, we loaded up and rode over to the pool for the first time this year. Glory, glory, hallelujah it was good to be back.

Sunday we actually got in the car, which is becoming a rare and strange occurence. We drove up to Baltimore to visit the big Farmers’ Market, and to watch the Indy 500 with my Dad. Pop doesn’t get into most sports, but he loves open-wheel racing, so Indy is his SuperWorldSeriesBowlCupChampionship. My little brother graciously brought his little television out to the deck, where we cooked brats, watched the race, and made the occasional ritual adjustments to the antennae to make the fuzz look different. We also had salad made with lettuce from Gramma Tawny’s garden. Outstanding.

On the way back to D.C., we stopped by Jo-Ann Fabrics in Columbia for foam and batting. We don’t make it up to that neck of the woods often, and it’s a little like docking in the Fabric Quadrant of the Death Star of Consumption. Columbia Circle’s real big, yeah that sucker’s huge.

Foam? Yes, foam! Check out the new pads on the Somethin’R'Nother!

White pads? Wait… are those… is that… it is! It’s Sparkle Vinyl! The seat pads still have to be done, but man those make me happy.

From the very beginning, when the Family Bike of Indeterminate Moniker was just a gleam in my eye, that gleam was sparkle vinyl. I was pretty sure that it was going to be Candy Apple Red. But as the bike came together, the black-and-white look started to assert itself, and it became pretty clear that Pearl Sparkle Vinyl was the way to go.

I can now add “shitty upholsterer”, as well as “inexperienced woodworker” and “inept finish painter”, to the list of skills I’ve acquired building this bike. Man, I can’t wait to add “dangerously unqualified welder” to my skill set.

So on Monday, we had perfect weather. We had the joy in seeing familiar faces, as well as the mostly-familiar faces of children grown 3 seasons older. We had a sweet sparkly ride. What could be better?

2 racks of spare ribs (pre-baked slow and low), asparagus to grill, a big salad, and a pie that I wish I’d taken a picture of before we ate the livin’ hell out of it, that’s what. Three-quarters cherry and one-quarter blueberry, with pastry stripes over the cherries and stars over the blueberry. It was the most delicious flag pie I’ve ever eaten.

How was your weekend?

Via SurlyBlog, check out these photos from Eastside Egg Co-op at Zenger Farm of Portland, Oregon. This beautiful portable chicken coop is outfitted with a heavy heavy bad-ass Surly wheelset (Surly hubs, Large Marge rims and Endomorph tires), mounted to ISO-558-74 Chicken Coop Forks (fabricated by Sacha White of Vanilla Cycles).

Sustainable farming, pastured chickens, human powered farm equipment, bike geek participation… that right there’s a vision of a future that doesn’t suck, folks. Big salute to everyone involved, nice work, and great pics!

Mmmm eggs. And flour, lard, and sugar. And cherries. And coffee.

My wife just sent me a link to this story on CNN about a village in England where they’ve started a farm co-op. It’s a small operation, enough to feed the approximately 100 families involved and have some left over to sell at a market.

I find this model compelling, because the people doing the farming aren’t full time farmers, but rather folks who all live there, and who have some time to contribute. I’m attracted to small sustainable agriculture in the near-term because of all the obvious reasons (quality of food and nutrient density, short travel distance, giving money to local growers instead of Archer Daniels Midland, etc). In the long term, I think we’re all going to have to learn to take care of ourselves again as culture, politics and life become what James Kunstler calls “profoundly local”.

But right now, this very minute, the thought of taking on several acres of growing land in an agriculture area and handling all aspects of the growing food and raising livestock from seed and piglet to table and market is daunting. The work is hard, which is fine. But Rebbie and I have spent most of our adult lives as urban animals, so there’s also the question of whether or not we could handle the geographic and cultural isolation of living where the farmland is, whether or not farming’s even something I’d be good at? Even if we found out that we’re natural born agriculturistas, the scale and the accompanying risks of taking on too much and losing it all are also really scary.

Hampshire’s Village Co-op is a whole different game. The scale isn’t so large, the work and the risk doesn’t have to be shouldered by any one family, and the location isn’t far away from the community. It is the community. In fact, if I’m understanding how their system works, farming isn’t even the primary occupation of most of these farmers, nor is profit the primary motivation. All of that suits me just fine, and seems like something a family could join and try without staking a life savings on.

And a community that grows its food together means a community that can have a potluck without a single three-bean salad showing up. Think about it. Make one huge portion of one dish with locally grown, freshly picked vegetables, enjoy bits of 20 such dishes with your neighbors. Sounds good to me!

With “Green Acres” bein’ our backyards, far-r-r-r-m livin’ can be not-so-hard. (You got that song in your head now, don’t ya? Sorry about that.)