A wise person advised me to keep a journal about my book tour–writing down the names of people I met, things I saw, and questions that were asked. Of course I didn’t do it. Much to my regret.
Here’s what I remember, very hazily: Flew to Portland and went to KBOO for a radio interview (never heard it). Dinner at Paley’s Place (rabbit raviolis) with my uncle and aunt (delish). Met up with Lana and Bill at my hotel. So good to see her. She brought her grandmother’s tweezers. Which we employed that next morning as I had to go on Northwest AM–a television show–and couldn’t do so with my beard. Lana also cut my hair that morning, to the horror of room service. Met an urban farmer in Portland randomly (we just drove up, she came outside and gave us a tour). Her garden–Kung Fu Farm–put mine to shame. To shame! Lots of chickens. Read at Powell’s to a nice audience and offered people prosciutto (if they bought a book!).
Bombed into Seattle around 1:20am after my reading in Portland. Billy was demanding Dick’s burgers, so we stopped in and had a deluxe and milkshake. Stayed on my friend’s floor for the next three days. Read at the beautiful Town Hall. Met people from Grist. Rode my friend’s bike to Third Place Books. Interview with KUOW. Ate Thai food. Did a conversation/dinner/chocolate reading with Warren Etheridge. We mostly talked about growing pot. He’s great.
Went to my hometown of Shelton where I recuperated and my mom fed me in between naps. Her rural town garden is really going great guns, and she’s thinking about bees. Flew home the next day. Arrived home to see that our landlord painted the house pink and red, the goats were thirsty, and the garden just looked okay compared to what I had seen in the great Northwest.
Also: took zero photos. I’m an ass.
Tomorrow, July 1 (rabbit, rabbit) I’ll be on It’s Your Call with Rose Aguilar at 10am on KALW (call in with some love, ok?), then reading at Green Arcade books on Market, a new awesome bookstore filled with green living and nature titles. It’s right by Zuni. 7pm.
July 2, I’ll be at Copperfields in Sebastopol. Might bring my extractor and do a demo.
Finally, Michael Jackson: RIP. I really loved you. And I’m so sorry.
Or, in a market we stumbled upon a hand-cranked machine that crushed entire pineapples into the most delicious juice ever (then poured into a plastic bag with straw, cost: 50 cents). Almost every street has a line of taco/torta/quesadilla stands, some made with blue corn. The main market–the Merced–hosted 4 city-sized blocks worth of produce, botanicas, and housewares. The mole area alone was awe-inspiring.
It was interesting because I noticed that most people (on the street at least) did not eat vegetables besides potatoes, cilantro, onions and tomatoes. I guess if you were an urban farmer, you could grow those things. However, urban farming in DF is much more difficult than in Oakland, I found. One problem is soil. There are horse stables (the police ride horses in some parts of the city) but you need a car to schlep it. Lily said the taxi drivers don’t enjoy a bag of manure in their car either. Also, there is very little open space. The mayor of DF is supposed to be encouraging more urban farming but most of the abadoned lots and buildings are off limits for farming. Stupid rules.
Also, even building supplies are in short supply. A crate like this one is a rare find. People don’t throw stuff away like in the US, so there’s little scrap wood either. It made me realize how lucky–and rich–our people are in the States.
The Urban Orchardist 