There’s a war on

Dug up half the backyard a month after we bought the place. Planted corn and beets and peppers and tomatoes, green beans, lettuces and herbs. Cait calls it our Victory Garden. I guess you could say that we’re World War II enthusiasts, the era more than the war. Elanor, Franklin D and the CCC. I could tell you all I’ve been told on the matter.

Cait says it makes her nostalgic. It isn’t nostalgia if you didn’t live through it, I think, though I haven’t said. I might be wrong.

She bought this repro laminated plaque and slapped it on the prefab shed. I wrote underneath, right on the wall, “Food will win the war.”

Call it what you will. DIY. Green. Frugal. Eco-friendly. Some things are bigger than me, bigger than you. We cultivate an earnest solemnity in our neighborhood. Lines of pre-war brick row homes, more shabby than chic, once called working class, then called transitional, now called burgeoning, split down the middle by a bona fide Main Street. For those of us who can’t afford to live in Old Town. For those of us who work for a living, who ride the train to and from the District day in, day out. Modest housing, modest lives, for want of modest times.

Walked up Dewitt to the Cashner’s place this week. Zach and Allison gave all comers a rundown of their solar setup. Cait’s hosting a meet next month on the desiccation of Acephala cultivars. Healthy, sensible snacks for both kids and adults. I do door-to-door for the Assoc. Community awareness outreach. Green space preservation. Invasive culling.

Cait’s birthday is in August. I found a neat little cookbook for her in the secondhand shop. I’ll brown-wrap it, make her a card. Say something like, “You know what goes with a Victory Garden? The Victory Cook Book.” Silly, I know. The recipes sound awful in all honesty. High in calories, bland and colorless. But it’ll be a pretty blue reminder on the kitchen window sill.

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