Farm Fresh.animalz

Let me tell you: I LOVE ANIMALS.  More specifically, I love farm animals.  There’s something about semi-domesticated creatures that really gets me excited to be alive.  Don’t ask me why I find them so appealing, I couldn’t tell you.  Maybe as this post continues I’ll figure it out.  Until that time comes, I guess we’ll just have to deal with the fact that farm animals kick ass: no questions asked.  Cool?  Cool.

But Josh, aren’t you in London?  Isn’t that one of the world’s largest cities?  Why on earth are you talking about farm stock when you should be retelling your adventures about falling into the Thames or playing with Beefeaters?  Well, dear beautiful reader, there just happens to be city farms—25 of them no less—all over the place. On Friday, I visited one such farm with Steve and Izzy.  The following chronicles our adventures with pigs, goats, medieval playground equipment, a little boy who is better at playing than all of us, a girl who may or may not have been possessed by the devil, and a holiday treat. 

A Conversation

Izzy: You guys.  I really just want to go to Greenwich.   

Josh: Let’s go to Greenwich then.

Izzy: Do we have time?

(Steve: Goddamit!)

Josh: I think so, it’s only 12:30, we’ll be back by 5.

Izzy: So are we going?

(Steve: I love politics!)

Josh: Yeah.  It’s free, right?

(Steve: I hate peas!)

Izzy:  Yea, it just takes a while to get out there.

Josh: Cool, let’s go

(Steve: Katie Blinn!)

And that’s how we decided to hop on the District Line and head towards Tower Hill.  From there, it was 5 stops on the DLR to Island Gardens where we would walk under the Thames and over to Greenwich.  Our day was set. 

Of course, what is life without a little intrigue?   A little spice, a little curveball? 

When we arrived at Island Gardens, just one stop after Mudchute—yes, this a real place, not some inane attempt at potty humor—we were greeted by a little park.  Steve, who had already been to Greenwich, asked if we wanted to see the park before we went onward.  As a sucker for parks, I had already walked through the winding little gate system.  It was then that we discovered that the little park was actually an enormous playfield!  Off in the distance, I could see some great colored structures towering over the small children frolicking about.  I was mesmerized.  Shiny things?  Laughter?  SIGN ME UP.

We took a paved path around the perimeter of the park.  The trees were so green and full of life that it was easy to forget that it was 50^o and autumn.  Among the towering trees and billowing branches, there were well placed trunks that had been over turned and dried: perfect for sitting, standing, posing, etc.  Most of the bark was oddly chipped and it appeared as though someone had attacked a majority of the surrounding foliage with a potato peeler.  It then brought to mind a very strange image of a man dashing through the trees, wearing nothing but a potato sack and war paint, wielding a colossal vegetable peeler.  I want to be that man’s friend.

Just past the fallen tree trunks, we happened upon the most brilliant playground equipment I have seen in a very long time.  The structure was the perfect cross between pirate ship crow’s nest and bible camp ropes course; simply: genius.  Red, blue, and yellow ropes dangled from a giant metallic structure in the middle and connected to variously placed baskets capable of holding a human or two.  What was most entertaining was the way the whole thing rattled with every step or shook with every touch; this was not your run-of-the-mill-don’t-sue-me-if-your-kid-breaks-an-arm playground equipment.  That shit was heavy duty.  Obviously: we played until Steve slipped through one of the squares in the rope ladder and fluttered gently to the ground on the breeze.  He’s just a little guy.

While we played, we noticed a girl on the swing set next to us.  As she swung back and forth—and let me tell you, this girl could swing—she decided to stand up just in time for her body to be parallel to the earth below her.  At the time I was nothing but impressed.  Thinking about it now, there’s no way she was human.  NO ONE can swing like that, you guys!  No one!  The only answer: demonic possession.  It had to be.

Nearby, on a wire cable, there was what appeared to be a great zipline.  Unfortunately, Izzy, Steve, and I were at a loss to figure it out and had to rely on the awesome kid next to us to show how it was done.  He ran the swing to the very end of the cable and then hopped on with such great effort that you could tell he was an old pro.  We were impressed as he zoomed by.  He asked if I wanted a turn.  Of course I did(!), but I had to let him go again so that he wouldn’t watch my embarrassing attempt at doing it correctly.  After all, there is nothing more embarrassing than being shown up by a 7 year old.

We found a makeshift Merry-Go-Round next.  Actually, it was more of a spinning disc.  It reminded of a circular treadmill than anything.  It was exciting to watch Steve and I attempt to stop running once it started, but it ended in me aggressively tumbling to the ground after “jumping” from the platform. 

Clearly a pigeon

We realized then that we had spent a lot of time at this place and that we might want to get scooting on our adventure.  Steve mentioned that there was a farm just up the road if we wanted to visit, or we could just get going to Greenwich.  I have been trained to be opinionless: you never know if someone just doesn’t want to do what you want to.  So, I kept my mouth shut.  I really, really wanted to go to the farm though.  Luckily, everyone I hang out with refuses to make decisions so I blurt out: LET’S GO TO THE FARM!  I think Izzy and Steve were thinking the same thing.

Up from the paved path, there was a fork into the woods that looked like a pretty sweet spot for some off-the-beaten-path walking.  We hopped into the forest and walked along the dirt trail up a hill and through some groves of trees.  Atop the hill, we noticed someone was riding a horse around a pen.  We watched as she galloped around, a small dog tailing closely behind.  The farm, as it turns out, appears to double as a 4-Hesque club for the public; pretty neat, yeah?

We walked over the farm grounds, taking notice of the bunnies, some “guinea pigs,” domesticated chipmunks, shimmering ducks, and even a mouse in a small, caged window.  Oh, there were birds too.  They were pretty…for birds. 

The main attractions, though, were just up the road from the smaller animals.  We happened upon some goats (no dyk-dyk’s though), a pair of pretty alpaca, a gaggle of terrifying turkeys, some soft looking sheep, and, most importantly, a GIANT pig.  Seriously.  I don’t know how else to describe the beast.  Just enormous.  I was very enthused.  I had a thought, as I knelt down to the pig’s level, that Wiggums must be very lonely in that big ol’ house on the lake in Walker, MN.  Then, another thought: “Josh, Wiggums is an inanimate piggy bank.  He doesn’t care if he’s alone.”  Oh, Mind, how right you are!

We walked around for a great deal of time, weaving through the surrounding forests, until we stumbled upon an enormous open space with a pair of trebuchets at the end of the lot.  Too frightened to hang out with the medieval weaponry, we instead turned our heads to the second set of zipline equipment we’d seen that day.  This set up was even better.  There was a central platform with two lines streaming in opposite directions.  At the end of each run, there as a pyramid structure for you to push off of.  Naturally, we spent most of our time crashing into the structures.

 

Bam

 

An Aside:

I’ve developed this habit where, upon seeing odd pictorials or interesting situations, I say: “I call it_______________” like I am some pretentious, starving artist.  For example, I once put a phone in a cardbox and balanced it on the handle of chili pot and said, “I call it…Memory.”  On one of the poles holding up the center platform, a little heart had been drawn on the wood and had smeared in black and red with the rain.  This was one of those artsy situations that needed to be named.  “I call it…Distance.”

Distance

When we exhausted the fun to be had on the great play things, we returned to Mudchute for an hour long tube ride home.  Before returning to the Residence Hall, we stopped for coffee at the café across from South Kensington.  I had a soy mint mocha with no whip and an extra shot, the first specialty coffee of the season.  And, it was a fair trade product.  WIN.

 

When you read this, I hope you miss me.  Regardless if you’re in a library, in the IES Residence Hall, at an outside classroom, in your own living room, in your poorly paneled bedroom, in a comfortable coffee shop, on a boat, at an airport, or wherever, know that I miss you too.  I am feeling love everywhere tonight, even in this shabby little kitchen on the 8^th floor of a building in Chelsea, London. 



Greenwich: We Almost Made It



I hope you are too.

Espresso beans,

Josh