Slouching Toward Eden

That's what the Baron has always called our wooded retreat: Eden. He named it before I got here or I might have named it "Forty Leagues From the Nearest Latte" except they didn't have latte then. Or "F.L.F. the Nearest Washington Post" because they did have that back then and back then I actually read it. That was when I was a blue-blood. A long time ago in anyone's book. If they're writing one...

So today comes the Baron's Boy, bringing his True Love for a mutual inspection. Actually, he wants her to see all the things he loves: the creek that the beavers work assiduously to destroy; the '47 Chevy going slowly to ruin near the compost heap; the various and sundry "digs" where old houses used to be and where he likes to find treasure. Well, she's an anthropology major so that ought to be interesting.

She's also a vegetarian. Gazpacho. Grilled veggies. Ummm. Mushrooms. A tofu loaf? Nahh...everyone else has to eat this feast, too.

Like many others before me, I went through a veggie stage. In this case, probably the influence of the ashram down the road. In my fervor, I made something called a tofu loaf. Kind of like meatloaf, you see. Except it was so bland I had to cover the top of it with bacon strips. Helped some, but not enough to actually make the loose lump sitting in the pan anywhere near to edible.

So. Today we have True Love and eggplant. I can do that.