Thursday October 18th, 2012

The exercise:

Tell us about: the machine.

After a morning trip to Penticton for an appointment and other baby stuff, I managed to get the rest of our garlic planted this afternoon. Still have to toss some mulch over them to keep them safe and warm over the winter, but the most tedious aspect of the process is done now.

Tomorrow's preparations for the market will mostly involve organizing things and packing the truck, as I'm pretty sure that all that I'm harvesting are a few leeks.

I like that Fridays at this time of year get progressively easier.


It sits in the corner, unknown and unused. Once it was beloved - very nearly worshiped, if there is any interest in the truth. Those days are lost in the mists of memory now.

Dust coats its surface, transforming its glossy black to an aging grey. Strange to think it had so much life once, such strength and magnetism. It commanded respect and attention. Any and all competition was not merely conquered, but utterly destroyed.

Perhaps it will return to power one day, as unexpectedly as it was once usurped. Doesn't seem very likely, I must admit. But who am I to predict the future? Who can say what tomorrow might bring?

A strange twist of fate, a change in the tastes of a fickle but influential few... that's all it could take. Never say never, as they used to say.

We know better than to say such things now.


Greg said...

Leeks seem easy to harvest; I guess you just tug on them and they pop out of the ground? I quite like how versatile they are too; I have a few go-to recipes that involve leeks.
Heh, I think your story provides the fundamental justification that all hoarders have: it might come in useful one day, so put it back in its place and leave it alone. Still, your secret machine does sound like it might just have that capability!

The machine
"George? Why are you calling me? It's nine thirty – I'm at my bridge club!"
"Oh, sorry Mavis. Are you winning?"
"Well,... well, yes actually. Marjorie just bid four spades and I just know she's gone and mixed up spades and clubs again, so that should be a nice swing of a pony."
"...swing a pony?"
"Five hundred pounds, George. Why are you calling me?"
"Why is there a machete in my office, Mavis?"
"Why are you in your office, George? I may be repeating myself here, but it's nine-thirty. PM."
"I didn't want to go home yet, Mavis."
"Sorry George, I was distracted. Kenneth just finessed the six of hearts, which has to be the boldest play I've seen all night."
"The machete, Mavis?"
"You asked for it George. You sent me an email saying you wanted an f-ing machete. I don't much like you using those words in emails to me George."
"Not machete, machine!"
"... that changes the tone of the email somewhat, George."
"It wasn't meant for you Mavis."
"I should hope not George. Now I have to go. I think I can bankrupt Marjorie on the next hand, and I've been wanting to put that woman in the poorhouse for as long as I've know her!"

Marc said...

Greg - depends how firmly the roots are attached to the ground. If they're really in there it's a bit of a pain to do it by hand, especially with so many individual roots.

Ah, Mavis and George. What a fun pair :D