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expired marijuana
Friday, April 20 2012
As part of the third annual Woodstock Writers' Festival, Gretchen had to get up early and teach a poetry workshop in Woodstock. It was a beautiful day, and even after walking the dogs I felt drawn to the outdoors. As I've mentioned, I've been raising the height of the northernmost tomato patch. Today while further improving a path suitable for wheeled carts connecting the farm road with the vicinity of the woodshed (to retrieve firewood I'd cut up on our uphill neighbors' property), I had to move a severely rotten log, which reminded me of all the glorious rotten wood I've used as a soil additive over the years. So I harvested a bunch of it both form that log and from another one nearby. While dumping out a bucket of it into the northernmost tomato patch, I saw that it included a confused and mildly pissed-off White-faced Hornet, the most aggressively belligerent stinging insect found at this latitude. This was the first White-faced Hornet I'd seen this season, so I concluded that it was actually a queen that had chosen the rotten log as a convenient place to hibernate. You see, all those beautiful Death-Star-shaped nests gradually built up every year end up abandoned in late autumn, and the tenuous thread of life connecting that society to the next is a single queen who burrows into the ground to survive the frost.
I took a recreational dose of pseudoephedrine early in the afternoon, though at some point I remembered that it was international smoke a shit load of marijuana day. So I tracked down the sorry dregs of my marijuana supply and smoked some of it while taking a blisteringly hot solar-heated bath. But, unlike WWII-era amphetamines, marijuana has a sadly limited shelf life. It tasted and smelled like pot, but it had almost no neurological effects. I'm realizing that at some point I may need to actually go buy myself a quarter ounce of pot. Then again, I should probably only buy an eighth or maybe just a gram. As pot smokers go, I'm pathetic.
This evening Gretchen called to report that her poetry workshop had gone great. This was good news; it represented just one more thing on her long list of responsibilities that she had brought to a successful conclusion.
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