I didn’t make it into the Bed-Stuy CSA. This is good and bad. Bad for me, because I was looking forward to having fresh vegetables and being challenged to cook things I wouldn’t normally have on hand. I’m also very much sold on the idea of Community Supported Agriculture. The good part of me not getting in means that people are catching on to the idea. This year, shares sold out well before the deadline, in early May.
This is how it works, essentially:
Individuals each buy a “share” of a farm’s crops before the farming season has begun. That money is pooled together to insure that a local farmer (Hector Tejada of Conuco Farm, in the case of the Bed-Stuy CSA) has seeds and can hire help to get started without having to take out a loan. Members then get fresh (also organic in this case) vegetables on a weekly or bi-weekly basis, depending on how much they invested in the beginning, at a fraction of what it would be at the supermarket. Shares are distributed through members’ volunteer efforts, cutting costs for everyone, as well as bringing members of the community together.
So there’s always next year. Until then, I’ll be pitching in a few days of volunteer work at some point during the summer.
That means I’ll be relying on my own farming efforts for produce and herbs this growing season. That means I’ve been spending even more time out in the backyard recently, coercing rocks into rectangular and semi-circular shapes to house my produce producing plants.
A couple Sundays ago was one such day. It was blistering—day two of New York’s upper-90 heat wave. The sun sucked at the dusty surface of the ground and licked the bits of glass and baby blue tile strewn about the yard that still surface after every rain. I stacked stones, bricks, and cement as sweat streamed across the insides of my sunglasses.
As with most things, music made the work move along. I had chosen a delightful medley of Devotchka, Beirut, and Fort Natesleep’s newest single, “Queen of Awesome.” Violins and accordions accompanied the clinking of rocks as I imagined myself in the Old Country. I wasn’t really sure where that would be due to my scattered roots, but it was in some rocky, European countryside. The hymn-like strings lifted and sank, spinning stones into place, removing the burden of thought from the process. My hands just followed along, like the orchestra leading the conductor.
Then came the bass. It wasn’t subtle. It wasn’t like the distant rumble of thunder threatening a storm. It wasn’t like cavalry coming from afar. It was right next door. It was loud. To my ears, it was the equivalent of someone getting on stage, putting a microphone to his ass, and farting in the middle of the opera.
So I turned my music up.
So did my neighbor.
I pretended like I could still hear mine for a while, but my Altec Lansing’s were clearly no match for the subsonic speakers my neighbor had in play. For a time, I continued working, but just as good music can help one along, bad music can quickly put a stop to one’s productivity.
Here’s more or less what each song sounded like: (since I couldn’t understand what was being said, I’ve substituted my own words. Coincidentally, this may also serve as a template for any aspiring urban songsmiths).
[heavy beat in 4/4 with a tinny but catchy synth hook and/or hook sampled from an existing song]
Yeah, yeah…
Ima start the song in DEEP VOICE (deep voice)
Here come the song in a DEEP VOICE (deep voice)
Ima say the name of places in a DEEP VOICE (deep voice)
Here come the song in a DEEP VOICE (deep voice)
Yeah, yeah… you know it.
Now here the chorus in a ROBOT VOICE (robot voice)
Some pitch correction in a ROBOT VOICE (robot voice)
Now here come the verse in a DEEP VOICE (deep voice)
The same damn thing in a DEEP VOICE (deep voice)
Chorus again in a ROBOT VOICE (robot voice)
Pitch correction in a ROBOT VOICE (robot voice)
Yeah…
Now I’m the guest rapper—what!?
I’m the guest rapper—who?!
Who the guest rapper—you?!
I’m the guest rapper—word!
I’m the rappinenest rapper in the whole town—where?
Got the happenenist rapping in the whole town—who?! Why!?
Now say the names of places in a SCRATCHY VOICE (scratchy voice)
Bed-Stuy, Albuquerque, Ulaanbaatar, Almaty, Paramaribo
Smoke weed with a SCRATCHY VOICE (scratchy voice)
The bitches love me for my SCRATCHY VOICE (scratchy voice)
Chorus again in a ROBOT VOICE (robot voice)
I bet you’re tired of the ROBOT VOICE (robot voice)
Voice modulation in a ROBOT VOICE (robot voice)
Beep bop bo boop bop in my ROBOT VOICE (robot voice)
And now the vowels in a DEEP VOICE (deep voice)
A, E, I, O, U, and SOMETIMES Y (sometimes Y)
Fading out with the DEEP VOICE (deep voice)
Song’s almost over with my DEEP VOICE (deep voice)
Yeah, yeah… you know it, girl.
(repeat ad infinitum)
So, while I’m not yet part of the CSA, I’m getting to know my community in other ways. My neighbor is actually doing a hell of job with the yard (under his grandma’s instruction). After seeing me lugging dirt, plants, and tools to my place, she (the grandma) stopped me one day and invited me to her backyard where I discovered an array of blooms and trellises. Maybe mindless music helps one focus. Maybe it helps the plants grow. The sunflowers are up higher on the side closest to my neighbor’s yard, and the trumpet vine is creeping that way. So, for now I’ll have to assume they like it. At least until I get a new set of speakers.