Friday, July 26, 2013

Maybe I'm just cheap, but. . .

The local classifieds have an entire section devoted to Home & Garden. I love browsing this section; the Farmer's Market, in particular, I love. Yesterday, out of curiosity, I decided to browse the ads under the "Fertilizer" heading. There were a few people selling their spreaders, a few bags of commercial fertilizer, and a number of farmers offering composted steer and/horse manure. Most the the farmers were either giving it away, or selling it very cheap - like $10 for an entire pickup load, which they would load for you. Completely reasonable, I thought.

Then there was the rabbit manure.

This lady was offering to sell her rabbits' manure. For $3 a GALLON. I'm tempted to call her. I imagine the conversation would go like this:

Me: Hi, I'm calling about your rabbit manure. I have a few questions.
Lady: Okay.
Me: What do you feed your rabbits?
Lady: Oh, it's completely natural food. Nothing artificial at all!
Me: Oh, great. So, how old is this rabbit manure?
Lady: It's pretty fresh. But the great thing about rabbit manure is that it's a cold manure, no need to compost it.
Me.: Okay, great. You know, it's very important to me that my manure come from happy rabbits. (I would be totally joking about this, but she's trying to sell manure for $3 a gallon. I think she's asking for people to mess with her a little.) I believe all living things are connected and happy rabbits will produce better manure. On a scale of 1 to ten, how happy are your rabbits?
Lady: Um. . .a nine?
Me: Nine. Great. So it's three dollars a gallon?
Lady: Yes.
Me: Okay, one last question. . .  
Lady: Yes?
Me: You get that this is POOP, right?

Maybe I should buy some. For that price, my tomatoes better grow like Jack's beanstalk.

Or maybe I should just get a rabbit. The kids want a pet anyway.

Thursday, July 11, 2013

Good to know

We've been spending a lot of time at the rec center lately. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, the older two girls have swim lessons. We leave the house a little after nine, drive to the rec center, drop the two little ones off at daycare, get the girls showered, and off they go to swim lessons. Then I hurry upstairs to the cardio area and hop on a treadmill for 30 minutes. Then I meet the girls in the locker room, get them dressed, and go pick up the little kids from daycare. We generally go to the indoor play area for a bit (they have a play grocery store that Dylan could spend hours in, and an awesome indoor play structure) and kill some time before lunch.

We frequently see the local firefighters working out at the rec center. They're easy to spot, since they all wear their "uniform" t-shirts while they're working out. I've always found it reassuring that they are there; it's a job you'd have to be in decent shape to do well, right? But I've always wondered what would happen if they got a call while they were mid-workout.

Wednesday, I found out.

I had just picked up Dylan and Mailaya from the daycare, which is just inside the doors of the gym, and we were heading back to the indoor play area. Seven guys in matching t-shirts came BOOKING it down the steps from the cardio loft and head out the door. They weren't at a flat-out run - there were lots of kids and old people around, so it was too crowded - but they sure weren't wasting any time. They looked pretty intently focused, though. One of them did notice Dylan's awe-struck face and managed to smile and say hi.

It's nice to know that if we ever do need to call them, they move fast.