How did this happen? My wife and I have raised three children (I know, right? We also currently have three grandchildren - what are the odds?), who are each now much more heavily engaged in what can be termed “suburban farming” activities than I have ever been.
You’re familiar with the “farm-to-table” movement, in which meals are prepared utilizing freakishly fresh fruits and vegetables - ideally, this produce is cooked and served within hours of yanking them from plants. Well, I am a proud adherent of the “supermarket-to-table” faction, which dictates that food is purchased from the supermarket, and is used to prepare meals within days or weeks of purchase, unless the produce in question begins to display some weird discoloration, at which time that food must be thoughtfully discarded, unused.
We did our best with these three children, including teaching them that food is procured from the grocery store, and that it’s pretty much a mystery how it found its way there in the first place. These children were raised in suburban, bedroom communities, in the Chicago, Philadelphia, and Detroit metropolitan areas. Yes, I was justifiably proud of the rose-bushes I cultivated in our yards along the way. But, I never endeavored to grow fruits and vegetables, or raise chickens and goats, because, you know, it’s the suburbs.
Yet, each of our three children has jumped into suburban farming in some way. Our eldest son, Tim, has likely edged the furthest out on this farming high-wire: he currently has eighteen chickens (he started with twelve), and a rooster, from whom he derives one egg each per day (the chickens, I mean, not the rooster), and has recently acquired a couple of goats. It’s not clear what role the goats play in this farm tableau; they’re not producing goat-cheese to be sold to fancy restaurants, but I believe they are urged to munch contentedly on overgrown flora and fauna contained in the several acres of the property, some of which is heavily-wooded. And, they “bleat” nonstop, so there’s that.
Tim built a coop for the chickens, complete with a “Chicken-Cam,” in order that he can keep a remote eye on them. I can’t say for sure, but I don’t believe he’s ever captured footage of them breakdancing, like in the movies, or stealing money from his wife’s purse, which, if I’m not mistaken, is the general aim of “Nanny-Cams.” And, his neighbor owns peacocks, in addition to bunches of chickens (I believe a number of chickens is typically referred to as a “bunch,” but I could be wrong - I know a number of geese is a “gaggle,” but. . .), who apparently serve to ward-off potential predators. In fairness, Tim’s location is a bit more remote than typical suburbia, but it’s not exactly farmland, either.
Our middle-son, Patrick, lives in Vermont, also away from the city-center, and has a bit of excess acreage, including a pond, I believe. Although Patrick does not house farm animals, he does invest time and energy in maintaining an organic garden, and enjoys a cornucopia of various fruits and vegetables each summer. The most recent picture I saw reflected some fine-looking strawberries. Patrick’s lone animal in his household is a labradoodle, which is one of those designer, cross-bred dogs. Patrick once upon a time had a pet monkey, during his time in the remote jungles of Guyana, with the Peace Corps. During his post-college years, Patrick satisfied his wanderlust by traveling to Australia, South America, and southeast Asia. I’m sure he has many interesting stories to tell, including the handful he decided could be shared with me and my wife, such as the time he was splashed with white paint in Thailand, while entering a taxicab, in order that a thief could utilize the distraction to steal his backpack, with his laptop, and other valuables; or renting a motorbike to travel the backroads of Laos, including standing up in a wedding out there somewhere; or landing himself in a hospital in Vietnam, a victim of street food.
Sure, sure, I get it - his stories sound a lot more interesting than the drivel I’m feeding you in this award-winning weekly column. Perhaps I should invite Patrick to act as a guest columnist one week, and share his interesting stories with you - he’s certainly a more talented writer than I am. In fact, allow me to invite any one of you to provide a guest column, which I will publish in this space, if appropriate; feel free to email your piece to me at any time, to: ruleofthreebs@gmail.com. I consider that a win-win scenario: your well-crafted column enjoys exposure to my vast audience of readers; and, I get to take the week off.
Speaking of designer, cross-bred dogs, I intend to experiment with breeding innovative new strains, which will expand the (already fairly extensive) list of current dogs available. Suggestions I plan to road-test include:
Breeding a Bulldog with a Shih Tzu should produce the quite marketable, “Bull-Shih Tzu” (this breed would no doubt appeal to the same crowd which names their intramural sports team, the “Nads,” in order that they can cheer them on by yelling, “Go Nads!”
Connecting a Saint Bernard with a Golden Retriever would yield the quite-useful, “Saint Retriever” (you know, for when you’ve misplaced a saint - that bottle of brandy around its neck should do the trick).
Pairing a Rat Terrier with a Bassett Hound would deliver us a “Rat Bassett,” a new breed, which of course comes with increased risk of being kind of a douchebag.
The offspring of a Doberman Pinscher and an Irish Setter would be a “Pin Setter,” a particularly useful mascot in a bowling alley.
And, of course, mating a Great Dane with a Scottish Terrier would unleash a “Great Scot” on the world - I could go all day. . .I won’t, which I know will make you very happy.
And, finally, our daughter, Emily, who recently purchased a home in Boulder, complete with a Koi pond. Now, I’m pretty sure that she’s not planning to cast a fishing rod into the Koi pond, in the hopes of catching “the big one,” and frying it up for dinner; a Koi pond is more like a goldfish bowl run amok. But, again, Emily is hosting a way-more farm-like setup than we ever did.
We set out to raise three blissfully oblivious suburban consumers, but instead have raised three sustainability-conscious young adults, each apparently aware of, and interested in preserving the wondrous cycle of producing, delivering, and eating healthy, nutritious food.
Where did we go wrong? Perhaps we over-watered. I know that wasn’t a good thing for my roses.