Entry #63

Entry #63

Wednesday, May 2

Noon: “Dem some ugly vegetables.” This is what came to mind when I took a look at my weekly delivery of farm-fresh organic veggies. I had forgotten to pick them up the previous afternoon, so they were already limp and withered by the time I came to fetch them at morning drop-off.

I had to refer back to the labels on the plastic bins to actually see what the vegetables were this time. Apparently there were beets (that looked like elongated yellowish roots of some sort), cucumbers (also of the yellowish-brown persuasion), wilted chard (we seem to get this every week), more onions, white radishes (I think), and dirt-caked lettuce. I can now understand why people appreciate the “triple-washed” varieties from the grocery store.

On the way home, I stopped at PetCo to find something to eliminate the fleas that now seem to have welcomed themselves into our backyard. The cashier asked if Izzie could have a treat. I said, “Yes, of course,” so she reached into a bin that looked as if it contained vanilla cream sandwich cookies.

“Those look like human cookies,” I said. “They’re made by the same company that makes Oreos, only with less sugar and better ingredients,” she smiled, adding, “Sometimes when I forget my lunch, I eat those, and sometimes the chocolate chip cookies. They have carob instead of chocolate.”

Little did I know that PetCo offers treats for canines and cashiers alike! As I left, I noticed a silver package of Pop Tarts glimmering behind the register. Guess Pop Tarts are about the human equivalent of doggie Oreos.

2:45 p.m. I just finished peeling the cooked beets, or what were labeled as beets. I assumed that they were a variation of golden beets, only when I poured the water out, they looked more like pond water, a brownish green. Still hopeful, I cut off a piece and tried it. I ordinarily like beets, even crave them, but these tasted like salty dish soap. 

So now all I’m left with from my $32 delivery are some wilted lettuce, bug-eaten chard, white radishes, and odd-colored cucumbers. Ah, well. At least I’m doing my part to support the local, organic farmers, right? If only we had a composter here, I could at least rationalize...

4:45 p.m. On the way home we passed a van from ARS Rescue Rooter. I wonder if the original owner was British. It would be more fun to simply call it what is is: Arse Plumbling. “Got a backup? Blocked pipes? Our Arse experts will help you get to the bottom of things...”

6:00 p.m. While cleaning the chard, which I thought I might make for dinner, I got to the bottom of the bowl and discovered a live beetle. “That’s nasty,” said Noah as I deposited the beetle in the backyard. This bug-eaten chard, though now thoroughly washed, is even more unappetizing than it was before. On the plus side, Noah enjoyed the yellow cucumbers (after I removed the seeds). Now all that’s left are some white radishes and a few salvaged lettuce leaves. Too bad my bunnies aren’t here to enjoy this feast of greenery. They wouldn’t mind the occasional bug, or even the crunch of fresh dirt between their teeth.

Thursday, May 3

8:00 a.m. Before leaving for work, David tossed The Woodlands Villager, our weekly freebie paper on the breakfast table. The front page featured the following headline: “Fun Run builds rivalries...” What is fun about that? I would think a kids’ fun run would be one that builds collaborators, or perhaps “friendly competition,” but “rivals”? "Fun" and "rival" just don't seem to go hand-in-hand. Then again, we're in Texas, where competition is the name of the game.

In the Entertainment section, there was an article entitled “Transplant patient recovered, now cast as CYT’s Wicked Witch.” One would think this teen might be cast perhaps as Dorothy (as in “I want to go home [from the hospital]...I want to go home...”). But instead, after a liver transplant, she recovers only to be cast as a witch. While liver failure does, in fact, give the skin a jaundiced hue, this could have caused offense. Seems the girl didn’t mind one bit. “The role fits me so well," she said. "The evil part just comes off so naturally."

10:00 a.m. This morning’s walk at George Mitchell was very peaceful and almost Snow White-like at first, with Black Swallowtail butterflies flitting overhead. About a mile in, however, two women with a pack of dogs came up to me, saying, “About 30 feet ahead on your right is a copperhead.” The woman walking with her added, “It’s GIANT!” I saw the snake, and while it really wasn't that big, it was obviously upset by the five dogs that had just disturbed it. Its head was lifted and its mouth was open in a threatening pose—not a good sign. I was thankful I had Izzie on a leash. We leapt past it and to our relief, it didn’t move, just stayed there staring, mouth wide open.

In an article entitled, “How dangerous are copperhead snakes?” Whit Gibbons writes, “A Copperhead snake bite needs medical attention, is extremely painful, and may cause extensive scarring and loss of use.” Loss of use? This part scares me even more than the extreme pain.

2:00 p.m. I got a call from the woman who runs HomeSweetFarm after asking for a refund on my less-than-palatable veggies this week. The word “sweet” didn’t come to mind at any point during our conversation. In fact, I felt reprimanded. Not only did she say they wouldn’t give me a refund, she had the audacity to say, "You're obviously not the right type of customer for us," adding, “We actually received quite a lot of compliments about this week's delivery.” In other words, I have no idea what I am talking about and hence, am undeserving of any compensation whatsoever.

Truth is, I rarely complain about food-related stuff, except perhaps if I’m at a restaurant and my soup is luke warm. I admit I like my soup really hot. Other than that, I’m not a big “send-back” kind of gal. However, if I’m spending $32 for six items of produce, I’d like to be able to enjoy it as much as the beetle in my chard apparently did.

In an attempt to say something positive, I complimented her on their ($5/dozen) eggs and asked if I could still receive them. “No,” she said flatly. “We only provide those for our regular customers.” Ouch. 

 At the end of the conversation, the woman said, “Well, now at least I understand that your vegetables weren’t good because you got them the next day.” Yes, that would explain the filth and bugs and poisonous flavor of the oddly shaped beets. “We can’t give you a refund until we find someone to fill your place, but that shouldn’t be a problem. Give us a call in a couple weeks.”

I would say this was a new low in customer service. Upon sharing this conversation with David, he said, "Seems you've been fired as a customer." Guess I'll just have to take my reusable bags elsewhere. 

I won't miss the bugs or dirt, but I will miss the anticipation of my weekly delivery—there was something fun in anticipating the arrival of farm-to-home produce each week. Mostly I'll miss those eggs—each one unique, slightly different in shape, speckled hue...with vivid tangerine-colored yolks. They were as real as anything I've seen here, and one step closer to nature. I know hens lay eggs all the time, but it still seems magical to me.