There She Blows

Is it not pleasant to putter around in the garden innoccent and unsuspecting of any dangers. We actually have several gardens now made and planted, and a gardener who either does not like how we do things or does not like it that we actually do things, or maybe he does not like why we do things, or where we do things, or... Anyway, he always rather boldly tries to do it for us. In this case that is okay, Katie needs to remain alert because a surprise lurks ominously above.

A bottle of watermelon juice? Oh, but what a history and destiny this bottle contains in itself. A couple weeks ago it was a normal old harmless water bottle, until we filled it a third full with rotten watermelon juice. Closing it tightly we left it out for about two weeks, and when we went back for it, we found it puffed out of shape hard as rock. It appeared like a disaster waiting to happen, and being as considerate and kind as we are, we decided to give it a hand and help it happen.

After making this highly intriguing discovering, we set about to expanding our arsenal.  And that is the moral, natural is always better, even for bombs. We call it explosive sustainability. Or I guess the moral Katie got out of this is never let boys have too much time on their hands.
The Post Host is still me, David, and plants may grow and bombs may blow, but you will never know/ When I will post again

Off We Go...

Allow me to introduce the fifth member of our team (I am not sure who the fourth one is)...Minidor.  This huffing puffing chugging machine makes all our work possible, and even makes work for us, too. We cruise around town at an astonishing maximum speed of roughly around 31.06856 miles/hour.  If there ever was a threesome that needed a complete make over it is the three-wheeled vehicle we call our transportation.  Actually, it has been a good little bucket of rattling nuts and bolts (guess who are the nuts).  To date, it has given us only slight discomfort, and that is usually in the lower back. It somehow manages to take us everywhere, from  one side of FFC to the other side, to church, to the airport, to picking up hay and coconut fibers, to places that I wish it could not take us. For example, a local dairy farm where we retrieved cow dung. Happily, know one has gotten hurt on our trips.

However, one of its most important duties if that of conveying us safely to the organic shop were we purchase the necessities of sustaining life, red rice, dates, millet, Braggs Soy Sauce, etc.  Neither is the outcome always pleasant.  It is not easy to be crammed into a tiny cab with three shrinking bodies and bundles of goodness on your lap, but it is easy to eat to much in such a situation.
The moral of the story is of course eat while the eating is good.
and the secondary moral is if at first you do not succ(eat), try try again.  Now you know why I stray to far from the kitchen floor (they do not use tables, just the floor).
And this is David your Post Host. I still need to learn to be a hospitable host, because you just never know when I will post again.

Downright Trudgery

Tragic drudgery...trudgery, that is what happens behind the new project building.

This long stretch of ruble sprawls itself behind the House of Hope, but it did not look very hopeful.  In your minds eye imagine this as a road of rocks, covered in concrete, wearing a mask of dust, dirt, and debris.Can you imagine that? Well all I have to do is go there and its stares me in the face.  Some person, and I will not say names had the wonderful idea of cleaning this out by hand.  How in the world did I ever agree? 

So we grabbed our shovels, buckets, pick, iron rod, and homemade rake and threw ourselves into the daunting task of uncovering the earth from her cumbersome concrete coat.  To avoid the suffocating afternoon heat we toil here mostly in the evening under the glow of tube lights jimmy rigged expressly for the  purpose.

As if to lull me into complacency, progress was rapid for the first couple of days, seeing that the concrete was only an inch thick or so.  Breaking the cement with rod and pick, we could fairly easily scoop out the chunks and then sift them so as not to lose any of the dirt.  While the finer workable dirt is restored to the garden area, a huge mountain of heavy stone, jagged cement, and brittle brick is growing just around the corner from were we work.  I am still not sure just what we are going to do with it all, but I have a hunch we will be doing a lot hauling in the near future.  Unfortunately, and I should have seen it coming my way, just as we were guessing and anticipating the day when we would finish we struck the mother load.  Rocks buried to a depth of about two feet. What would have taken us one day to do has occupied three days of labor.  Next time we will count the chicks after they hatch.

The story is not all sadness and sorrow.  On the contrary we enjoy ourselves. One night I think the dust and  fatigue went to our heads and we tangled ourselves into a dust biting wrestling match.  Making sure to stay on the softer dirt, the game went on for a while.  It is not like we were not tired from working and needed to get our energy out, we had just temporarily slipped outside the realm of sanity.  Of course it happened on the day I wore my white shirt.  And that is the moral of the story, do not wear a white shirt to a dirty job.

Well, you can always find something enjoyable about any job you do. Can any body tell me something enjoyable about washing a white shirt by hand?

David the Post Host has done it again. Although I cannot tell you when we will be done, I can let you know ex post facto because you never know when I will post again.