A Grand Celebration (Or What Really Happened When The Worms Arrived)

As I swung around the corner of the farmhouse/art gallery, I saw this painting, yet again, on the side of the barn. I smiled, as usual, because that's exactly how I feel every time I go to this particular parking lot to meet the farmers. And now, in the dead of winter, when our farmers market is closed and I didn't expect to be here, I smile especially wide.

I had gotten an email from Corinna, from Garmon Family Farm, saying the "girls were laying." If you have gotten used to farm-fresh eggs and then suddenly don't have them anymore, you hurt. You buy the organic ones from Whole Foods but they are nowhere near the same. The shells aren't thick enough. The yolks aren't orange enough. And you know, just know, that those birds probably never saw the light of day nor felt the scratch of soil beneath their feet. And you know your muffins and your cookies and your soft-boiled breakfasts simply won't be as good as you know they could be.

And so, there was Corinna and Chad, the milkman, who had an extra gallon of raw milk for me, which practically made me squeal. I haven't had milk to drink in about a month, ever since I discovered that the organic milk I buy in the store has Vitamin D3 added to it, which is from fish. And I am 10 months into my nothing-with-a-face year as a vegetarian. And so the container of rich, creamy, pure, unheated milk from grass-fed Jersey cows felt like gold in my cold hands.

I told Corinna the worms were coming in about three weeks.

"Coming?!" she exclaimed. "Where are they coming from?"

"I ordered them."

"Why didn't you just go to a bait shop and get red wrigglers for like three bucks?" she asked, incredulously, in that no-nonsense way I love about her.

I stood there silently, looking like the suburban sucker that I suppose I am, thinking about those 500 Eisenia Fetidas (yes, red wrigglers) for $32 I had ordered from Seeds of Change to split with Richard.

Both Chad and Corinna smirked. I stood. The wind blew. And then I said, "I had to order them so that I could plan the Grand Celebration for their arrival!"

Yes! A logical answer! There would be vegan cupcakes topped with organic gummy worms and the worm bin would be hoist up on shoulders and all the children of the land would sing and dance alongside the procession!

They both laughed, God bless them. And I took my milk, and duck and chicken eggs ("there's a blue one in there from Cutie!" Corinna called as I was leaving) and went on my way.

Fast forward.

My kids and I went swimming at an indoor pool right before dinner last night. As we stepped out of the car, snow flurries had just started to fall. Snow flurries. Now, here in Atlanta, we get snow flurries once a year. Once a year. And last year, they didn't come at all. So if you're a child, you have seen snow hardly ever in your life, and each time you see it, it is a major event. Therefore, as we were walking into the building, children (and grown-ups alike) were smiling broadly and bending their heads back to catch flakes on their tongues. The excitement was palpable.

As we left the building about two hours later, there was actual accumulation on the roads and cars and lawn, another very rare event here. You would have thought it was the night before Christmas the way folks were buzzing with joy. I really don't remember the last time I saw people so happy!

And so, as I came home to my winter wonderland of a neighborhood, and my children were making snowballs and snow angels, I got busy taking photos that I thought might look nice on this blog.

But then I saw it. A little square box, delivered by the post office, in front of my garage door, covered with snow.

I walked up to it cautiously. "It couldn't be," I thought. It was supposed to take three weeks. The worm bin isn't prepared. It's a freezing cold night. I haven't baked the cupcakes yet. And, um, my husband doesn't quite know about them yet.

Yet there they were. In a burlap bag that simply said "500" on it. A note tucked in the box said, "Information about the release of your red wriggler worms." The release! As if they are being sprung from jail.

I called Kelly first, because, my goodness, mom-to-mom, I'd knew she'd appreciate the misfortune of this timing on a rare, snowy Atlanta night. And then, of course, the next call was to Richard, since I couldn't dump the whole bag into my bin because he gets half of them. Please keep in mind that the streets were now freezing over, and the snow was falling in the biggest flakes I think I've ever seen (and I'm from New York). Between the hills, the lack of snow equipment and the drivers who aren't used to snowy conditions, Atlanta pretty much shuts down when it snows even a slight bit.

"Richard? Can you come over?" I asked. "The worms have arrived."

"The worms have arrived? I'll be right there," he said, no hesitation, as if a baby had just been born.

He came immediately, his wife back home shredding newspaper and my older daughter shredding as well at my kitchen table. We put too-cold soil in the bins and added the newspaper wetted with warm water, and then Richard dug in to the bag to see if the worms were even still alive.

"If these babies make it through this, we're breeding them," he said. "Because these will be the toughest worms around."

I kept the worms inside last night. Somewhere warm. I don't yet know how they are doing today because they are upstairs, tucked in, and other family members are still sleeping. But I'm already scanning that Vegan with a Vengeance cookbook that I love so much for a good cupcake recipe.

Oh, and hon? We now have worms. :)

A Grand Celebration (Or What Really Happened When The Worms Arrived)