Going through the Freight House, the smell of pet food, animal supplies, and planting material permeates the air.
I come up an odd basket-container suspended in the air.
"What’s this?" I ask.
"The latest thing," the sales-person answers, "One of those up-side-down tomato baskets, nearly sold one to the Weenerman. But then he wondered if he had to put a pot under neath it so when the tomatoes dropped off they would be right for soup."
I grimace, "Even he should know that you can pick them when they are ripe."
"His reasoning was that in that case, he’d need to install a monkey bar so he could be upside down when he picked the tomato, something about keeping the Vitamin C headed in the right direction."
We walk by where bags of fertilizer sets out, "I hoped he picked up a bag of feritilizer, it’d make his plants grow better
"Oh he wanted a bag of 6-10-6, the sales-person comments, "But I warned him that if he really wanted to have organic vegetables that his fertilizer and everything had to come from organic-sources."
"Oiee," I remark.
"He expressed simalar setiments, though not in lterate terms," the Freight House sales-person replies, "Said something about a barn of petrified pig and cattle flooring and still not being able to put it to good use. I told to get some organic mulch and to start from there."
"Where is he going to get a hold of that?" I wonder.
"Only place I know of on this side of the creek is the old-horse-farmer’s," she suggests.
"Makes sense," I agree, "He feeds them pasture and home-grown feeds."
Since I already had some tomato plants, I buy some tomato cages to grow them in, and have her put the purchase on my tab.