The core values of Yummy Tummy Farms are to promote suburban farming, be more self sustainable, and to reclaim domesticity. This series of blog posts is about how our first core value manifested “like a dream, like a joke” and chronicles how sometimes as Winston Churchill, famously, once said, ” a joke is a very serious thing.”
On or about the first week of May, coincidentally (tongue-in-cheek) under the heavy influence of Beltane, I was awoken to the unpleasant sound of a motor clearly working hard at a high rpm (revolutions per minute) rate which made a very loud almost shrill noise. As I rubbed my eyes and tried to come from a nice slumber and into consciousness, the sound pattern continued with a low-toned thud followed by a motor sputtering and fighting to keep running. The motor sound pattern was then superseded by a booming voice clearly instructing this belching, sputtering beast of a machine, in an even louder adult-oriented blue streak of words what was expected from this machine and who was in charge; moreover, it was if this machine had been given its performance orders.
I tried very hard, from inside my house, to identify where this sound was coming from and why I was being woken up so early on a Saturday morning. As I poured my first mug of coffee, I looked out my kitchen window and could not see anyone using any equipment, but the sound pattern was consistent, reeeeevvvv!-thud!-boom! followed by various threats towards the well-being of this beastly equipment. There was clearly a pitched battle for control going on and the booming voice was winning. I saw my opportunity to investigate where this pitched battle was occurring because my morning newspaper was just then delivered to the end of my driveway. I threw on my super comfy Lands End slippers on and shuffled on down my driveway searching for the source of this pitched battle. As I catwalked down my driveway, it’s difficult to make a t-shirt, sweats, and slippers look fabulous, but I can do it; furthermore, I realized that this pitched battle for dominance was coming from my neighbor’s house, it was Farmer C wrestling with a rototiller and apparently winning!
In a combination of shock, surprise, and happiness I stood at the end of my driveway and starred, almost hypnotized at what I saw as I gawked towards my neighbor, Farmer C’s front yard. The formerly brown lawn was slowly giving way to beautiful, abundant, and nutrient-rich soil hidden beneath the deceptively brown fallow-looking suburban dead-front-lawn-grass look to fecundity only limited by my imagination. My mind began to race at was happening and I quickly returned back to my refuge and began to speculate on what exactly was going on? I remember my contrarian joke-bet with Farmer C, but I also know that we both understood that the “as-if” bet was a joke. As I began to slurp my hot mug of reality check; otherwise known as coffee, I concluded that Farmer C was really just rototilling in anticipation of planting a new green suburban front lawn because our contrarian banter from “There Goes The Neighborhood” Part 1 was a joke, right?