The Volunteer

In late spring we were at Costco and bought some Cana bulbs -- Child One thought they'd be pretty so we went with her selection. Cana are large, tropical looking plants (the plants in the below photo, with orange flowers). We planted the bulbs in the bed at the front of our house, around our light post and an azalea. I used home brewed compost to fertilize them. Within a short time the bulbs had barely sprouted but something else had burst from the ground -- a volunteer seed in the compost.

At first blush the volunteer appeared to be a squash plant -- the leaf shape and size was right and it had a large yellow flower. It started as one sprout but quickly spread, growing larger and larger. We nearly picked it early on but I got curious to see what would come of it. Once the plant was probably 5 feet from tendril-tip to tendril-tip Mrs. Agricola agreed that we had to see what it was.

The plant in mid-summer glory

The plant shot out shoots from the sprout that grew in opposite directions from each other and soon it started to fill in with more shoots, leaves and flowers. I was fairly convinced that it was a squash, or perhaps a pumpkin and many of our neighbors would swing by and ask us about it -- it was big doings in our section of the neighborhood. By mid-July the thing had taken over nearly half of the bed in which it sprouted. It spread probably 6 feet in length and probably 4 feet from the original sprout area to the tips of its cascade -- it overran the sidewalk. One day, I took a good, close look at the thing and it had several smooth, green, ovoid-shaped fruit hiding within its foliage. I had no idea what they were and picked a large one -- I thought it was some sort of strange, hybridized squash.

Who knew cantaloupes start so smooth?

The one that was picked too early

had hints of cantaloupe flavor and some sweetness

As soon as I picked it and held it close I realized that I had a very large, very healthy cantaloupe plant -- the skin at the end of the fruit was just beginning to take on the appearance of a mature cantaloupe. At the time of the first pick there were 6 other fruits on the vine. The early picked fruit didn't ripen but it's brothers and sisters ripened beautifully and we enjoyed a bumper harvest of homegrown cantaloupes -- all in all we probably harvested 10 melons off of this plant.

I didn't expect much from the cantaloupes -- after all they are from commercial seeds that grew in a bed in a suburb of Boston, many of them ripening on asphalt. I have to say however that these are some of the best melons I've ever eaten. They were juicy beyond belief, sweet and as fresh as you can get. Letting them further ripen on the window sill only made them better (though eating a still sun-warmed cantaloupe is pretty amazing). If ever there was a poster-fruit for eat-local this is it -- picked at the peak of ripeness and carried 50 feet to the kitchen there is nothing better!

Can't beat fresh cantaloupe!

This past weekend we pulled up the plant -- it was starting to recede into itself and looking really funky as it died with oncoming fall. The leaves and stems and flowers that never fruited were recycled in the composter. I saved a bunch of seeds from one particularly good melon and am going to plant one intentionally next year, though those fruit will probably not be able to compare to the cool experience of this year's volunteer cantaloupe.

Signs

The tulips and daffodils are sprouting in one of my side beds.

The forsythia and magnolias have really large buds and are ready to burst.

Some mornings I can smell the earth again.

I can smell my composter when I'm near it.

One of the neighborhood crows had a big stick in its mouth for a nest.

The Juncos are less frequent visitors to my feeder.

Red Winged Blackbirds returned to the feeder today.

The sun is actually warm even though the air is not particularly so, right now.

Suburban Demographics

The below is quoted from "The Search for The Next Soccer Mom" in the Wall Street Journal (2/28/08). The article highlights several trends being watched by demographers that may play a role in the 2008 Presidential Election. Given that I'm a suburbanite, this portion of the piece, among others, caught my eye:

The suburbs are the contested terrain. According to Robert Lang of Virginia Tech, Thomas Sanchez of the University of Utah and Alan Berube of Brookings, Republican voters used to dominate the suburbs, but "with these areas becoming larger scale, quasi-urban environments, they are highly contested spaces that contain some of the nation's most important swing districts."

"Density equals Democrats," they argue, because the social environment and housing types in these areas tend to draw more Democratic leaning voters. Conversely, the farther out you get from the urban core, the more voters lean toward the GOP. Hence, strong Mr. Bush and GOP performance in the emerging suburbs and exurbs that lie on the fast-growing metropolitan fringe (52% growth between 1990 and 2005, compared to only 11% in the innermost suburbs).

But in 2006, the Democrats were more competitive in the metropolitan fringe and dominated the rest of suburbia. As Messrs. Lang, Sanchez and Berube put it, "The metropolitan political battle line is not neatly split between city and suburbs, but instead now mostly lies in the transition areas between mature and emerging suburbs." In 2006, the Democrats pushed that battle line fairly far out into the emerging suburbs. In 2008, the battle may turn on whether they can hold that line or whether the GOP can push it back into the mature suburbs.

Sunset Quarter Acre

Taken by Mrs. Agricola.

US-1 & The Modern Lovers

When you are a contractor you follow the money and take the gigs where they are (within reason). Since moving back to Boston I have taken two gigs at agencies north of the city. Since I live just west and a bit south of Boston I've had some decent commutes. The ability to write off the gas makes them profitable, and I've had the opportunity to traverse many of the north/south highways and by ways of The Commonwealth on my way to and from work.

Recently, after a meeting in Boston, I shot over the Tobin Bridge and headed up US-1 North to get to my current gig. Each time I drive this road I feel compelled to blog about it, but have not until now. This road is a throwback to the earliest days of the American interstate highway system. Two lanes in either direction, lined with motels, retail stores and restaurants, and occasional traffic lights it recalls an era when people took their time going somewhere and made a day of the motor-car outing. Today, the road can be a real nightmare of traffic and it is hard to imagine taking it from Boston to Florida, as people once did, when, prior to the opening of I-95, US-1 was the highway for North-South travel on the Eastern Seaboard. As is fitting for a road that is no longer a major route, US-1 has drifted into that netherworld of faded glory that befalls so much Americana.

To say that the road is ugly is an understatement, but it also does not do the route justice. In fact, US-1 is so ugly that it is beautiful. It runs through some scrappy little towns and cities like Everet, Chelsea and Saugus and probably boasts more cell phone stores, Dunkin Donuts and auto body shops per mile than any road in the country. These establishments occupy shoddy mid-60s strip malls and old cinder block buildings along both sides of the highway. There are some classic signs along this road. One of the greatest is the giant cactus, (with fiberglass cows grazing beneath it) of Hill Top Steak House. Another iconographic sign of US 1, complete with rounded, space age design, made from painted tin and recently refurbished in the least sympathetic way possible belongs to the Ferns Motel

There is also some excellent highway architecture along this road:

No doubt The Ship Restaurant in Saugus (now a mall I've read) once served seafood baked beneath a mountain of buttered bread crumbs and garnished with parsley.


The Leaning Tower of Pizza



The mini golf T. Rex.



All of this brings me, finally, to a quintessential Boston-band, Modern Lovers, and their most famous song, Roadrunner:

Roadrunner, roadrunner
Going faster miles an hour
Gonna drive past the Stop 'n' Shop
With the radio on
I'm in love with Massachusetts
And the neon when it's cold outside
And the highway when it's late at night
Got the radio on
I'm like the roadrunner

Originally recorded in 1972, and released in 1976, this song still gets (deservedly so, in my opinion) air play in Boston.Written by a local kid, Jonathan Richman, from Natick, MA. It un-apologetically describes what it was like to grow up in suburban Boston where, once of legal driving age, each weekend was an extended, auto-based peregrination through your hometown and neighboring communities looking for something to do.

So, on this cold, winter day, after a meeting, driving my car up US-1, soaking in its sights Roadrunner came on the radio and transformed the drive into a classic Massachusetts moment. It was not one of those "I'm depressed, and every song on the radio speaks to that angst" moments. Instead, it was a perfect confluence of one of the most local of local songs (far more local than overplayed, tired Dirty Water, which was written by The Standells of California)about a place that you know, by a person who knows that place too, while you are in that place.

I got the modern sounds of modern Massachusetts
I've got the world, got the turnpike, got the
I've got the, got the power of the AM
Got the, late at night, (?), rock & roll late at night
The factories and the auto signs got the power of modern sounds
Alright

Right, bye bye!

Morning of The Coyote

I went out for a run this morning, earlier than normal, and as I began taking my first few strides I noticed a coyote running down my street in front me. It was a cool experience and only heightens my sense that where I live is not as settled as it seems. The below quote comes from my running blog where I wrote about it as part of my training log:

Anyway, it was pretty dark, but the sky was lighting up in the East with the sunrise. A lady was walking a couple of dogs and I said "hello" to her as I started my run. I took a few strides, looked up and saw a coyote running very fast away from me, across the street that our street intersects, and down a hilly driveway into somebody's yard. I crossed the street to see if I could see him but he was gone into the dark woods. It was very cool, and I was surprised to see the coyote at that hour. The last time I'd seen him he was waking the neighborhood after getting into it with a cat that lives down the street -- I think the coyote lost that exchange, it must be a tough cat.

Eerie Yelps

We finally saw the Sopranos finale last night, and I'll write more about it in another post, though I may need to see it again to successfully parse it all out. When it was over, Mrs. Agricola and I headed up to bed. As we did we heard one of the creepiest sounds either of us has ever heard. It sounded slightly human, but for a couple of yelps I thought it might be a turkey. After hearing the eerie, sharp noise a couple more times I knew that it was definitely mammalian.

I looked out the window and saw a small, pale yellow colored animal that looked like a neighbor dog -- but it was too late for that animal to be outside -- or a large cat (but not big enough to be a lynx or something like that and the noise, which was continuing was not feline at all). It was half in the shadows and half in the light of the arc-lamps so it was not entirely clear what I was looking at until it moved and started to walk like a dog.

My wife ran over to look too but the animal had moved into full shadows. We grabbed some binoculars and though the animal was in shadow I could distinctly see its pointy head, skinny waist and a long bushy tail -- it could have been a fox, but it's light color is what makes me think it was a coyote. It had stopped yelping, and was sitting at the end of a neighbor's driveway. Lights were coming on up and down the street because of the commotion but the coyote sat there very calmly before slinking off between two houses, returning to his home, no doubt, in the marshes along the Charles River.

Hen Turkey: Two

Mrs. Agricola reports that the hen turkey was back yesterday, and this time she was kicking around the Quarter Acre. A neighbor reported that she and her family saw it walking down the middle of the street. We're looking forward to seeing if the bird decides to stick around the neighborhood -- perhaps it has decided to make a home amongst us.

This is pretty cool, but also somewhat problematic. We've heard of turkeys ruining cars by sitting on them and doing what turkeys do. They can also be aggressive birds, and with little kids around we will need to keep an eye out for the turkey to make sure she and the kids don't come to blows -- toddlers would not fare well in that encounter.

That said, it's interesting and we look forward to seeing how things develop. As we noted in a previous post nature is all around us, and we are living in ever-closer proximity to wild animals despite the seeming tameness of our surroundings. Were the turkey a coyote we might feel differently, but even if it were it would still be exciting to have the opportunity to watch nature up close, over our morning coffee.

Hen Turkey

Tonight, while cooking dinner, we looked outside the side-kitchen-window towards our neighbor's house and noticed a very large hen turkey scratching away on his lawn. We rustled up the kids and Pater Agricolae (he was dining with us this evening since Mater Agricolae is still in Chicago) and went to the front stoop to watch the turkey in action.

She spooked quickly and headed for more concealed forage across the street. We had neither the time nor the presence of mind to grab a camera until it was too late so we have no photographic evidence to back up our story. All in all though, it was very cool to see a turkey near the Quarter Acre. Increasingly we see more and more of these large birds all around the area, but, until today had never seen one in our neighborhood. She was a handsome bird, and we all got a tremendous kick out of our encounter.

Overridden

The override in our town, on which we voted on 10 April, passed in resounding fashion by a vote of 59% yea to 41% nay. Obviously, we will conform to the wisdom of the electorate but it is disheartening that at a time in Massachusetts politics that many towns are voting down their overrides our town approved a pair of them that may cost us anywhere from $352 to $704 in the first year -- one of the questions concerned a debt exclusion that will supposedly decrease in cost to the taxpayer over the life of the 20 year bond.

The reason for our uncertainty about the actual cost of he override concerns the definition of taxpayer. There are two people on the Quarter Acre Tax Bill -- are we considered one taxpayer, or two? We're not sure, but we'll find out when our bank sends us the notice of increase in our escrow payments because the taxes have now risen, again . . .

When will we, the people, force the government to stop reaching into our pockets? When we have budget shortfalls at home we reduce spending. The government taps the "never-ending" supply of money within the population. The big argument for the overrides was to "keep our schools strong." We live in a town with a very good school system (as far as public school systems go). Had the override not passed, teachers would have been laid off, and class sizes would have increased. No one ever said how many teachers would be fired or by how much classes would have grown. The argument was purely emotional, and couched in fuzziness though the drain on our finances is anything but fuzzy (though it is emotional).

The money that we must now pay to the town equals at least one car payment, and possibly two depending on the actual definition of taxpayer; a nice weekend away; at least a few nice meals, and possibly several in a restaurant; a new dishwasher, Mosquito Magnet or some other type of durable good. Yet, we are happy to support the schools, we don't really need those things.

We moved to our town partly for the schools -- not because we're sure we want to send our kids to them, but for the value it adds to our real estate investment. If things continue to go according to history, there will be another override next year, and our property taxes will rise yet again. Eventually, this will affect our investment by making it harder to sell our house because of high property taxes.

There will be another sob story next year, and more lamentations that our schools will be weakened . . . if you want private-school-education send your kids to private school, don't rely on the public dime to provide it. Taxation is a power issue. By claiming ever more of our money, the government removes our power to decide how we want to live. Some day it may stop -- though we fear that will be the day that we, like so many other Massachusetts refugees, flee the burgeoning Peoples' Republic that is the Commonwealth.

Civic Duty

We did our civic duty today and voted in the town election. We didn't vote for any people -- just the two tax-increase ballot questions. The strange thing about local elections is that despite their proximity we know very little about the candidates. Our lack of knowledge about our neighbors who wish to be in local politics prevents us from voting for anybody (we also never vote for those who run unopposed).

Last fall's elections in Iraq inspired us tremendously to go out and exercise our right to vote. If the Iraqi people can risk life and limb to vote, literally, then we can find 20 minutes in our day to stop by the local elementary school and fill out (some of)the ballot. We are lazy in our exercise of democracy in this country and at this present moment in time we can't afford to be.

The Public Till

We've lived on the Quarter Acre for about 2.5 years. Next week we are facing our third property tax vote since moving in. As a March 31 article in The Boston Globe states this month 50 towns in the Commonwealth are voting on property tax increases to cover shortfalls that will save libraries, teaching and police jobs and lifelong public employee 80% pensions.

At what point, we ask, will the government -- local, state & federal -- realize that they can't keep coming to the citizens for cash? At what point will we, the citizens, begin to demand that they stop? Last year 59 of 89 tax hike proposals were defeated in the Commonwealth. Perhaps the tide is turning, but the bureaucrats don't seem to get it and property tax-hike-proposals continue to flow to the electorate. We appreciate the opportunity to vote on them, but are indignant that the powers-that-be can't get their financial houses in order.

We understand the governmental tropes about rising health care, pension and other costs, but, at some point, things need to be cut in order to service those commitments. Decisions need to be made about what is truly important and what is not -- never an easy for a bureaucrat, but a daily decision for the taxpayer who is compelled by law to pay the taxes or else. No other "career" has such cushy bonuses and perks as does that of the "public servant" -- we're obviously excluding the UAW here.

We work in private industry, and we have no pension beyond what we save ourselves, nor will we have gold plated health care benefits upon retirement. Why should public service of twenty years equal lifetime comfort from the age of 42 until death? We think that the founders never intended for "public service" to be a career, and certainly never intended for it to confer a life-time sinecure financed by the public weal.

On the Quarter Acre we cut back in lean times, and moderate our expenditures based on cash flow -- we freelanced for a long time, so income was not always steady -- would that the government do the same. Alas, that will never happen because once an entitlement is granted, or a program started it must be honored in perpetuity. Hopefully, the voters of this state flock to the polls and defeat the latest encroachment into their pockets. We will be there, on April 10, casting our vote against all overrides in our town (there are two on the ballot) in an effort to keep more of our money where it belongs -- within our family, spent as we see fit, on things that we need, want and desire.

"Public Service"

The Quarter Acre is situated in a town without curb-side pickup of rubbish and recyclables so we take a weekly trip to the town dump to dispose of our household waste. We actually look forward to this trip -- it's not overly difficult as far as tasks go, it has visible and tangible benefits.

During this week's trip an incident with a public servant sparked the question: whatever happened to "pubic service?" Let us remember that service is the operative word. To get into our town dump one must purchase a sticker (valid for the calendar year) that is affixed to the lower left hand corner of the windshield. A public servant sits in a booth and checks to make sure you have it. No problem.

This past weekend there were two men checking stickers. A car in front of us stopped, and the guy impatiently waved him through. Seeing this we rolled slowly into the checkpoint thinking that would help to keep things moving. But, no. The checker scowled, waved a hand for us to stop, which we did, looked exaggeratedly at our windshield and then let us pass, waving us along, impatiently.

This was a small thing, a momentary blip in the weekend, but it annoyed no end. There was no consistency in the approach. No rhyme. No reason. Pure caprice and a petty power play by a guy who, as Steve Miller sang "makes his living off of the people's taxes . . . " was on full display. Other interactions with "public servants" at the town dump have inspired similar feelings. The woman who works in the office and takes your $15 to dispose of computer monitors etc. is sullen, hostile and miserable. The guy who hovers around the dumping zones is equally miserable, and somewhat menacing.

The local town dump -- and ours is a very efficient and good dump from an operational perspective -- is about as grass-roots as one gets in the national governmental spectrum. Yet dealing with its agents is unpleasant at best, disheartening at worst and overall, very frustrating. We believe that it was Kafka that wrote about petty people with petty powers in petty jobs, and we, the citizens of this country, fund a bureaucracy -- at least three levels deep, each with myriad sub-levels -- filled with people that Kafka would most certainly recognize.

The service side of "public service" is dead. Long live the service side.

Snowman

Another reason to be happy about our move.

Distance Training

We've started a new blog that will be a team blog and serve as a training diary. It should be a fun experiment and hopefully serve as motivation in our own training.

We've been a runner for a long time, but the move from NYC to Boston has wreaked havoc on our training. After some stern admonishment from our doctor we began training again in earnest about 4 weeks ago and have been running faithfully for that time. You can see the new blog over here:

http://distancetrainers.blogspot.com/