One way to cool your cuppa while you do your outside chores
I mentioned in my post yesterday that our farm, being an old one, had some archaeological treasures. I should clarify: Speed things up about a couple thousand years, and this might be so. Otherwise, let’s say it had “garbage dumps.”
Yes, it is relatively well known that those big garbage trucks that rumble down 98% of this country’s roads today are a recent invention. In cities, yes, municipalities realized early that they need to offer garbage services to its citizens, or a high price would be paid in terms of disease and vermin and the like. But in the country? Pshaw. That’s for RICH folks. The Old Fart farmer we bought this place from burned everything he could, and that which was not burned was chucked to a high point on the land. I mean, you could LOOK at the garbage from a long way off. What kind of sense is that? Cheap Farmer Sense, is whut.
My romantic notion of farmers as Good Stewards of the Earth was rather dashed. It’s kind of like soiling the nest. Why would you DO that?
But notice that upon which my coffee cup is set. It is the gate, the old wooden gate, from an old farm truck. I retrieved it from The Pile and put it to new use as a table on the back deck. I confess I adore old crap like this. I really shouldn’t, too, as I am an architect and am supposed to worship the New, and the Newly Built (especially if it comes from my office).
Oh, the pile? I got a 20-yard dumpster and schlepped all the stuff into it, along with all the other crap we pulled out of the house (flooring, curtains, canned cauliflower from 1983…). And now I have an arbor on top of its cleared ground. But I still find “treasures.”