I can't exactly put my finger on it, but I've this itch to write lately. I've had an itch to do many things, but so far March has been devoid of any excitement, work, driving, money, etc. And unfortunately, it's hard to scratch most itches without the $$$. Sleeping late, sitting around watching Netflix, and drinking coffee until my stomach rots outs are activities that I want nothing to do with for at least, well, a couple weeks anyway. Today marks a revolution in the world of Kristen though. Or perhaps it's an evolution? Today I go from having zero jobs to speak of, to having THREE. Landscaping full-time, Sunday brunch at Red Dot, and doing freelance photo for the Columbia Paper. I suggest you check it out. After the corporation that published the Independent went bankrupt in 2009 (upon my entrance to a year of hard work and harder drinking that was AmeriCorps) my ex-coworkers decided to fight the good fight and start up their own local paper. They've worked their way up from the bottom, and now have an office in Chatham, where I'm sure my editor consumes many gummi treats. Who can blame her? I recently read a quote on someone's FaceBook profile (I forget who exactly it was I was stalking) which said "If I could marry a Sour Patch Kid, I would". I couldn't agree more.
So anyway, my gummi-loving editor sent me out to take pictures of people doing "Spring-like activities" this weekend. Yesterday I opted to watch back-to-back-to-back-to-back episodes of Californication rather than go outside and enjoy the unusual 65 degree weather with everyone else in NY State. I decided I would go out today instead. Well, as it turns out I should have checked weather.com because it's currently 45 and there are no people outside doing ANYTHING. I did see this, however:
On my way to Palatine Park in Germantown (where I again, found no one besides one kid in what appeared to be Jnco jeans playing basketball and two hooded figures watching him fail at life) I put my social anxiety on the back burner and decided to stop at Fog and Thistle Farm, a CSA on 9G. Can I tell you how much respect I have for farmers? Granted, I'm not sure how "local" these farmers are considering a saw a couple out-of-state plates in their driveway, but they're out there doing their thing. It's a blustery 45 degrees on a Saturday and they're the only ones, out of an hour-long round trip, who are out there getting their hands dirty. I worked on a CSA farm outside of Baltimore for a month and a half while I was in AmeriCorps and I can honestly say it was my least favorite month and a half out of my entire life. Yes, there were some good things that happened. Some great, unspeakable things, even... but living in the sweltering Anne Frank attic with four other females and waking up at 5 a.m. every day to dig up potatoes and squish bugs between my fingers is not my idea of fun. Also, we only had access to our kitchen (which was in a separate building) certain hours out of the day (hello starvation) and sometimes had to shower in that building as well because our tub never drained quite right. I think it was overwhelmed with potato dirt.
Did I mention I brought Lucy along with me today? I love her about just as much as I respect farmers... which is to say, as much as Charlie Sheen loves being a raving lunatic. Anyway, I would love to ramble on some more, but I must be getting to a very important spaghetti dinner. Actually, it's not important at all, but Ms. Gummi thinks it will make for great photos. This will certainly be interesting since it's in a church and #1 I hate being in churches in general and #2 I hate taking photographs in churches because of the extremely poor lighting and #3 I hate taking pictures of people eating, especially when I have to talk to them while they are eating too. At least it's spaghetti and not sloppy joes? After the spaghetti mess I plan on meeting up with my friend in need and consuming much alcohol at a house party with blinding lasers so that I can carry on the tradition of serving the fine people of Hudson Sunday brunch while I am still slightly impaired... or at least hungover to the point where the smell of coffee makes me want to vomit.
