In spite of my “earthy” upbringing and deep connection with dirty fingernails and eating things I found in the woods, I’m not really a super-enthusiastic gardener. I love it in theory, I just don’t love all that manual labor. I like to pick things, cook, and eat fresh-picked gardenfruit, but digging and sweating in the sun sounds like a fairly fetid thing to do on a perfectly good Saturday. That being said, I’m gearing up to give it a shot this year.

I yearn for sustainability skills, to tell people that compost doesn’t smell (people always say this to me, but I’m fairly certain they’re lying or their sniffers are busted), and to use my children and their tiny raccoon hands to weed beloved beds. I mean, I know how photosynthesis works and that’s like half the battle right there.

In our family, I’m definitely the namby-pamby whimsy machine. Everybody else is logical, rational, and into math. My significant otter took his tape measure out to the gardening beds to determine the volume of the space that needed to be filled with dirt. It came out to like…way too much dirt. Then he wanted to get this fancy dirt from some guy outside of town that apparently makes the foie gras of soil – a fine vintage dirt blend of poo and garbage. The master concoction of stuff to track in on your shoes. $10,000 later, I’m sure we’re going to have the most kickass garden in town.

My parochial unheeded suggestion? Go get dirt in a bag from somewhere (the dirt bags with the Frog on the front) and empty them into the boxes. Make holes in the dirt with your thumb, put seeds in holes, water, wait, and profit. But since I don’t really want to get my hands dirty, I’m sort of aced out of the whole decision. In spite of finding out all we really don’t know about gardening, learning something new is pretty fun. It’s exciting, it’s a total family effort, and together we’re going to be stuffing our faces and munching the fruits of our labor come summertime…or whenever stuff gets ripe, I’m not sure.

This week we have a pretty sweetass issue. We take a peek inside the brainchildren of the Chico bass music scene and find that it’s more than just music. It’s a movement. Also, Jen Cartier previews the upcoming Pauly Shore show, and basically sends us all spiraling into flashbacks of the 90s when all we cared about was nugs, chillin’, and grindage. So get down to the El Rey on Thursday, I hear they’re ridin’ the Vapor in reverse.


Sara makes the words happen.