Micro Entrepreneurism, Simple Living & Art
I have this thing about naming cars. I like to do it. My Mazda3 was Trigger, which I think my brother came up with. Our 1988 Toyota Landcruiser is Alice (remember Alice?). Before Christmas we acquired a Dodge Sprinter Van which we’ve dubbed Genie the Adventure Van because there is nothing quite like having your bed, bathroom, and food with you at all times. If you haven’t tried it, imagine the glory of peeing while driving down the road. Or better yet pooping, in your very own clean tooty! I told we talk a lot about poop.
Anyways, the most recent addition to our lineup is a 1988 diesel converted Suzuki Samurai. This is our way of getting from 3 cars down to 2 while maintaing 4WD functionality and decent gas mileage. So we sold Trigger and we’re selling our dear Alice. We’ve had the Samurai for about a month, and we’ve tried calling her all sorts of names, including Betsy, Amelia, The Mighty Santa Maria, Tiny, and Ruffio. But none of them stuck. Until Tinkerbell, Tink for short, Tink the Tank. Now that’s a winner.
You see, we keep having a need for a utility trailer, and we keep being unwilling to buy one. If you think towing a chicken coop around the yard isn’t so bad (because its really not), think about loading roughly one cubic yard of wood chips into the back of Alice, three times and counting. I’m dedicated to free wood chip acquisition, and someone left a nice pile at the garbage dump. So we either haul them manual style (pitchfork, snow shovel, and a tarp) in Alice, or we leave them there for want of a utility trailer and less mess.
The garden is calling way to loud for me to just ignore a pile of wood chips on the side of the road like that. I see permaculture ingredients everywhere I go. I call it Hugelkulturitis. Its diagnosed as the constant noticing of beautiful dead rotting wood, leaves, and other compost-able materials. I have it bad.
On our bike ride last weekend at Pandapas, I would call out when I passed an especially nice piece of rotting wood, “Did you see that one, Hank?” What’s scary, is that he knew I was serious.