Basil, Tendersweet cabbage, Eggplant, Orion fennel, Lettuce, Onion, Parsley, Pears, Purple Viking potatoes, Squash, Tomatoes
Earlier this week a reporter for a Russian language broadcast interviewed me. I have done nothing newsworthy recently here or in Russia—or anywhere else that I am aware of. Apparently, that was sort of the point. The reporter, Vlad (like Count Dracula he said when he called to arrange the interview, which must puzzle a lot of people since I suspect most Americans don’t associate the familiar vampire with the somewhat more obscure15th Century Transylvanian ruler of the same name), has been producing a series of stories about the sorts of Americans that Russians do not usually hear about. They just know about celebrities and President Obama, just know what appears on the first page of the New York Times, Vlad told me. Meaning, in other words, that his audience members are at least as well informed about America as the average American.
But not well enough informed, according to Vlad. I think he worries that the information they do get gives them if not an incorrect then at least a far from complete view of what this country is really like. It is hard to disagree with that. I would certainly like to think that the Russians who listen to his radio reports about obscure American priests and former prostitutes and vegetable farmers begin to get some idea of the range of experiences in this country.
Of course, I have no idea what Vlad says in his stories since I have never heard one—and would not even if I had since I don’t speak any Russian (sadly I have already forgotten the all-purpose rude phrase Vlad taught me at the end of the interview). He might be using us as examples of the depravity of American life or to prove that our culture has used up its core energy and like a star is about to fade away or explode spectacularly. The whole thing could turn out to be a hoax and we will all appear as earnest laughable dupes in his movie. To think that anyone would give a damn about a small-scale vegetable farmer in the boondocks. What a joke.
Well, it would probably be a joke in this country. It is just possible that Russian radio audiences actually take an interest in the lives of random, ordinary Americans (I use the word ordinary here in its broadest sense, particularly as it applies to me). Americans prefer to know about “real” Americans, which is to say shallow personality types pushed towards juvenile hysteria in entirely manufactured situations. I am talking, of course, of Sarah Palin. No, no, to be fair I am really thinking of reality television—and Sarah Palin.
To be fair to American radio, there are a few excellent programs dedicated to covering aspects of our country—ordinary, quirky and downright weird aspects—that generally receive no coverage at all. You can find stories about people who, while interesting, are not in some way elected, whether by voters, money, family, looks or possibly even talent.
By and large, though, we only ever hear about and from people with something to sell—even if what they have to sell is nothing more than their naked desire to sell themselves. No doubt learning about such people can tell one a great deal about this country. But it is far from clear that we derive much benefit from showing ourselves almost exclusively to be like this, especially since we aren’t. The rest of the world seems increasingly unimpressed, and we seem increasingly uninterested in dealing with the nuances—with the fact, for instance, that a town of real Americans such as Wasilla might be home both to can-do hockey moms and fiercely independent moose hunters, and to a lot of chain stores and methamphetamine dealers, plus, presumably, a fair number of people just getting on with their lives.
Given that it is never easy to take a dispassionate look at yourself, it seems to me that Vlad might do at least as much good sharing his stories with us as with Russians. It might help us gain a little perspective. Not that I am suggesting that having people hear about me on the radio will make the world a better place. Vlad and I had a pleasant chat for a couple of hours, but I cannot imagine how he will make an instructive or even coherent story out of it. I would, however, be interested to know what he has to say about the former prostitute.
Perhaps the former prostitute would be interested in what I have to say. Such as that the potatoes came out of the hard, dry ground pretty roughed up so we went ahead and washed them. I recommend you not wait too long to eat them.
Or that you can cut your fennel bulb (the thing that smells like licorice) into thin slices and add it to a salad.
Or that we hope to have a tomato tasting at our next farm day (Saturday, August 14th) to see which variety people like the most—assuming we can find the little wooden tags in the rows and figure which variety is which.
Or that there is nothing better to do with tomatoes than make a simple salad with basil, a little sliced onion, olive oil, a splash of vinegar, pepper and a lot of salt. Well, nothing better than to make the tomato salad and then eat it.
Or that, speaking of loosing track of varieties, I do not remember what kind of pears these are, but they taste good and the tree is remarkably productive (we go enough pears for everyone off of one tree). You could slice them up and add them to the salad with the fennel, and toss in a little blue cheese too.
Or that we continue to hope that you return empty boxes to your pick up site so that we can bring them back to the farm. Half of the boxes from the first week have already been returned, which is good news.
