Friday, April 24, 2015

We *may* eat a lot of peaches. If we can get out of here without murdering anyone. I don't think they get a lot of peaches in jail, is what I'm saying.

So, we're kind of in the middle of some more crazy crap in our quest to become the least responsible adults, but instead of diving into that just all right out of the gate, I'm going to talk about plants.

Cheaper than a therapist right here.
Because I'm a plant nerd and also because this crazy crap involves me leaving a garden that I have so literally poured in blood, sweat and tears. And swears and The Money Chicken and bees and a load of seeds and an apple tree that we chose special for Bubba out of a farm stand line up of, like 20 varieties.

To be clear, the bees are coming with us. As is The Money Chicken. 

Plus, also a billion weekends, half a sabbatical, a business, after work cocktail hours and a cat.

Yes. Rocket's back there.

All buried in her old sunning spot (In an urn. Or whatever's inside the little wood box the vet gave me. Not, like, all alarmingly stiff and taxidermy-y wrapped in a blankie or something.) with her middle paw toe just standing at the ready.

So, yeah. Memories and shit.

Oh, and also the front yard meadow. Bye, buddy. You look effing amazing. FINALLY.

We're moving!


But for now - the plants.

I'm having these discussions with each plant sort of non-verbally.

Carpenteria californica, we need to talk...

Like, I look at the bush anenome and in my head I'm, like, "Hey, buddy. Remember the good times we had when I went to that hippie nursery in the woods and picked you out of all those other sorta boring-looking native plants just based on the little picture stuck in your pot and the fact that you didn't need summer water? Yeah? Remember? And then you got awesome. I never watered you after that first winter and BOOM you've gotten bigger and flowered more and when I pruned you properly thanks to all the horticulture classes you got all gorgeous and then I read this thing at a nursery about how come more people don't grow you and I felt proud. Remember? Yeah. You're cool. I'm going to plant you again."

Or whatever.

Each plant is like this. I'm fucking losing it. How will I really drive away and leave behind the grapes that like their fall pruning and making of wreath from their prunings behind? Who will do that now? HUH?

Um, no one. Because most people are normal.

And the citrus trees with their monthly fertilizing?

Um, no one. Because no one fertilizes their citrus trees adequately.

And the everything else with their everything else needs?

By having some shitty ass neighbors, that's how.

Oh - you didn't think this was going to be all about plants without any bitching, did you?


Anyway then, don't misunderstand me, the majority of our neighbors are AWESOME. And by AWESOME, I mean AWESOME. You know this.

As I type, they're out there dropping off treats, voluntarily taking Jada to their houses when agents have to come show our house to clients, hosting dinner at their houses so that we can get in our hanging out time before moving, texting us with well wishes, offering to help us pack and all kinds of nice awesome things. You know - awesomey stuff that awesome neighbors do when they find out you're moving and want to help/show that they'll miss you/be awesome some more.

But those aren't the neighbors I'm talking about.

I'm talking about the shitty neighbors and the only purpose that they're serving right now is the one that will make it possible to leave all the plants, our sweet house and everything else behind.

Because of fuck those guys.

THANKS SO MUCH TO THEM for providing the crucial "How do we get our asses to the country?" puzzle piece.


Because yesterday, after eight (!) years of saying nothing about the fence that we installed (on our own dime mind you because they refused to pay a cent - you remember) they want it changed.

Before we move.

So that they can reclaim a 10 ft2 space next to their house in the name of "We need access to clean our windows."

Access which they'd have if they'd open the gate.

Which apparently they're unable to do because of they're retarded and want to fuck with us.

And they want it done NOW so that they don't have to go through this with The New Neighbors.

Because, you know, we're all just so close already that it's easier to do with us than unknown new people.

Or maybe because they know that, aside from my oft-referenced aluminum bat, we're unarmed and, with The New Neighbors - who knows, right?

Whatever. These neighbors are asshats.


Thankfully, we have the grooviest, savviest, and also very AWESOME realtor who smoothed everything out with these chuckleheads and coached me on how to smooth everything out with them without using the bat as encouragement.

Poor bat - barely gets any skull time.

So, yeah, we're moving y'all.

99% of our neighbors are awesome and we'll be sad to leave them. 1% of our neighbors are complete assholes and will be lucky if I don't take a farewell swing at them with Cracky the Bat.

But either way we'll be leaving the suburbs of Silicon Valley behind and going to farm country.

Prepare yourself, countryside, for full time facecuddling.

Because that's what you do when you are two kids in adult bodies and are left unsupervised to make life choices.

I'll facecuddle you too, Hawk Carrying Freshly Killed Mouse.


  1. Well. I assume you're not going toooooo far away because awesome job is awesome. So, I'm guessing down toward Salinas Valley. We have friends down that way (one has her PhD in plant genetics and works for Monsanto - but she works with lettuce, which isn't part of the "evil" part that people like to bitch about). So, there's that.

    Also, tell me how to get the fucking grass to grow in my yard. We seeded, we watered, we fenced it off so asshole dog and small children couldn't get there, we covered it with hay (because that's what we did in Wisconsin and it worked perfectly), and.......nothing. Just a big mess of hay. ::sigh:: I suppose I should just google that shit...

    1. Nah - we're just going to Santa Cruz County. Not sure exactly where yet, but somewhere around there. Closer to the awesome farm and job that are both awesome.

      And dude - why are you planting grass? You're in CA. We have drought. I'm going to go ahead and say that's why your grass isn't growing. It knows that it's doomed and/or it hasn't gotten enough water and/or the hay is blocking the light it needs to germinate and establish.

      Highly recommend lawn alternatives like this;

      Not to be all DO WHAT I SAY and shit, but...just...DROUGHT. I skeered.

    2. We have some major dirt patches/holes in our yard, partly due to dog and small child, partly due to drought, partly due to insufficient water, and it was just bugging us.

      I raked up all the hay I could find and we're just going to say "FUCK IT" for now. It just means we wear shoes in the back yard as to not track all the dirt into the house. ::sigh::

      Damn drought.

  2. I still can't believe you're moving. But I am so happy for your next adventure. We look forward to helping in the packing/unpacking/general stress.

    1. I can't believe it either. I have regular bouts of stress sweating and neighbor murdering. We better move soon!

  3. Whoop, there it is. I was just WAITING FOR THIS. You know, after all that, "I'm a farmer!" thing. Because once you get a taste of the rural life, it becomes more or less unbearable to live in very close proximity to too many people. Especially if they're assholes.

    So when do we get the details? General location, acreage, will you get livestock?

    I am very sad on your behalf about your soon-to-be-ex garden, though. That is a great garden you have to leave behind. Sniff.

    1. Yeah - it was an inevitability. Bubba has been counting on this, though. We've been talking about moving away from...well...civilization for a couple of years and when I declared that I was going to be a farmer, he was, like, "GREAT! Let's get the fuck out of here."

      Sort of a leap at the time, but I appreciate the support.

      General location is Santa Cruz county. Otherwise, we know nothing. We haven't found a new place yet (had to sell the old place first), but we're looking at places with at least an acre and sunny usable space for my NEW garden that will, with any luck, be managed with a tractor with PTO and associated implements.

      Because if I'm going to give up my badass suburban garden, I'm going to have a proper country garden. And that means tractors. And tractor implements. And me NEVER EVER building beds by hand with a shovel like a savage.

      We'll see.

  4. I wish you much happiness at your new "digs" will create beauty wherever you land! xo

  5. First of all, I would send you peaches in prison. Not even ones in a can, I'd have one of those fancy ass fruit basket things shipped to you. Second, I feel like your Realtor doesn't really understand how shitty these people are. Because the logical solution is to use the bat to bash their window in and then leave them a piece of plywood. Because you don't need to clean fucking plywood.

    1. Such a good suggestion. And honors my deep-seated need to swing the bat at annoying people's heads.


      Plus, I could really go for a basket of peaches...

  6. Bummer about having to give up your current garden, but making a new one is super fun - we just bought a house in Santa Cruz and I've been busy shoving vegetables in every sunny spot in the yard. Good luck with the real estate over here, it can be rough!

  7. so.... i am now making finny's 'best sauce ever' as i do every year and i had to google "finny knits best sauce ever" and then visit the most recent post or two to make sure you're still around... so thanks, for about 8 years of sauce making. you're awesome.


[2013 update: You can't comment as an anonymous person anymore. Too many douchebags were leaving bullshit SPAM comments and my inbox was getting flooded, but if you're here to comment in a real way like a real person, go to it.]

Look at you commenting, that's fun.

So, here's the thing with commenting, unless you have an email address associated with your own profile, your comment will still post, but I won't have an email address with which to reply to you personally.

Sucks, right?

Anyway, to remedy this, I usually come back to my posts and post replies in the comment field with you.

But, if you ever want to email me directly to talk about pumpkins or shoes or what it's like to spend a good part of your day Swiffering - shoot me an email to finnyknitsATgmailDOTcom.