plans

Marc wants to build a house with a garden on top. One of those earth-house-whatever-jobs, where half your house is underground and the other half has grass on top. I think there won't be enough light to make me happy, so last night we broke out the sketchbook and doodled some crazy two-story cave-houses, eventually coming up with a craftsman-style bungalow, half-buried in a hillside, atop a grass-roofed garage. Oh, and the bungalow on top has a skylight/koi pond amidst the grassy bits. BECAUSE WE'RE AWESOME.

This morning I said, why don't you apply your awesome productive brainpower to making some money so you can buy this fifty acres and a hill and we can have goats and tomatoes, yeahboy? Twenty minutes later he comes back with a plan to buy a few foreclosed-upon properties, open gas stations or waffle houses, own a company employing other people, and make millions of dollars. While in school. I said dude, yer evil, LETS HAVE A BIODIESEL CO-OP.

(When I say to him, "I don't think you can make all this money off your companies and not do any work," and he says "Wanna bet?" And I say "Well since your grandpa did that why don't you talk to him," and he says "Yeah, but I don't want to just do what he says, I want to do it my own way" and I say "K, then when your little plan explodes and all my money is in my own bank account, I ain't buyin' yer groceries," I don't know what to do with myself. "OK, you screw yourself up then" only goes so far...and this is why he's renting an upstairs apartment, damned if I'm gonna get entangled in someone else's finances again, be none of this movin' in with me boy...)

Meanwhile, I'm sketching plans for a coldframe/greenhouse thing on the side of the upstairs apartment, & sent him an e-mail consisting of the following: K, so we've got thirtyleven old windows in the crap-pile at my parent's house, let's build this and grow lots of turnips and spinach and herbs and HOW BOUT TOMATOES? Also, there's one of those big power-line spool things, have ye a table. I think we could manage a chicken tractor on the church soccerfield by the apartments, not that they'd like it but maybe, and how about trappin' them rabbits in the blackberries as the season is soon upon us, AND WHERE WILL WE PUT THE GOATS?

I want to be one of those young farmers, dirtyfooted damn hippy, and I've just about figured out how to swing it, just gotta start slow and give it all some time to settle. Oh, and finish college, and get child in Montessori, and finance land up here which is damn expensive, maybe out one of the backwood corners except there aren't really any in this county...give me some poor, tired, hungry cheap land...(Ok, I'll pay for it, someday)