Weevils and Winnowing

Jess and I spent two hours this afternoon shelling pinto beans, and then moved on to fava beans.

After shelling a good amount of the beans, we looked in the shelled bean bucket between us, and saw it was crawling with insects. They were all climbing out of the fava beans— there was practically one bug in each bean.

We just kept going, because this is what our lives are right now.

Talking about shit and flicking bugs off of ourselves.

We talked to our sponsor, and found out the lovely insects were weevels.

I asked to leave and go pick kiwis and lemons in the greenhouse, as I was tired of breathing in dust from all the grain particles we were winnowing. It was a cool contraption– it’s a stationary bicycle that powers a fan that blows all the small shelling off of grain.

There are 10 different types of quinoa grown here. They put it in everything.

Had spaghetti tonight. The vegetarian pasta sauce had quinoa and squash in it. Such a good idea. Protein!

Anyway. The kiwis were really fun, actually. They were all over the green house– like a magical world of brown kiwis above your head. Once you pull on one branch– five others from another branch come down with it. And they all hit the ground with a THUD.

Rain coming. We’re in a flood warning, and it’s supposed to be 6-12 inches of rain. It looked terrifying out all day.

Jess and I are silent in our room, but every two minutes or so one of us starts cracking up at the events of the day. And our lives in general.

Tony is calling my name from the kitchen to try the bread he just baked. And Jess and I get up out of bed at the exact same time, trail one another to the kitchen, slice a piece of bread, marvel at its quality, and then slink back to to our bedroom one by one without any further dialogue with the buzzing people packed into the kitchen.

We get back to our room. And sit down on our respective beds, and crack up. Then Jess falls asleep. And I type this up.

Jess is going to video tape me tomorrow morning, because it cracks her shit up every morning when my alarm goes off. I jump off my cot, hit the ground with a thud and scramble in the dark, cursing and spitting and apologizing and tripping until I find my alarm and I turn it off. And every morning say, “I’m never setting that again,” and then fall back asleep.

Last night in the middle of the night Jess got up, and was rummaging through the closet for something. And I stood straight up in bed, alarmed and on red alert.

“What is it? What’s happening? Who’s here? What the fuck?”

Like a ground hog popping up out of my bed and scanning the prairie for danger.

Everyone is going out to the pub in town tonight. Would be fun, and this is the first time I feel like I might be missing out on a little bit.


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