City Mouse

Josh and I have been trying to become more “green”. The city of Pittsburgh has now deemed recycling a mandatory affair, which was just the push we needed. We purchased our little blue buckets, emblazoned with the arrow symbol, and now happily fill them with glass and plastic and metal and paper things. I am thoroughly enjoying it, since it is a chance to more fully involve my love of Tetris — sort, sort, sort — into my every day life. Our plan is to eventually have more recyclables than landfill garbage. I know, I know, we hippies should probably cut our hair and get jobs.

Also part of the plan: a more extensive vegetable garden. I tried a small garden last year with what I’ll call “moderate success”. Out of six plants, three were decimated overnight by a rabbit, and the remaining yielded about 1.2 million yellow pear tomatoes and a single green pepper.

A friend came up last weekend bearing a large bag of vegetable seed packets and we spent part of Saturday planting them. It was during this time that I realized, while she poked holes in fresh potting soil with a kabob stick and I delicately delivered little seeds into said holes, that I am such a city mouse. Good grief. We giggled like little girls that got a forbidden Ouiji board into a fourth grade sleepover.

Look. I spent weeks at my aunt’s farm for several summers during my childhood. I’ve helped bale hay and performed other farmly duties. I’ve collected items from my grandparents’ garden. Planting seeds should not have been as silly as it was, but I felt like I was performing 7th year Hogwarts magic. Classic quotes from the afternoon included:

“How will they know to wake up?”

“Augh!” (There were bees)

“Oh, right. Yes, well, I guess pea seeds would, of course, be… peas.”

That’s just embarrassing. There is also the issue of where I am going to put them all once they begin growing, but I’m still not convinced I did it right or that anything will come from the little things. I saw them when I put them in. They did not look alive, I tell you.

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And, yes, they are spending their formative time in a cut-off Yeungling box. Because that’s how we do it here in Pittsburgh (yinz).

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