Do you know the Mushroom Man?

We have welcomed a new member to the First Annual Seminole Street Artist's Colony! We found her at the airport, reading a magazine about politics in French:


Radhika brings know-how about marionettes, translates art captions into Russian, and wants to preserve things once she gets ahold of some jars. She also got us into the habit of biking, jogging and stretching in the mornings. In fact, we are currently taking advantage of the "first week free" policy at the fancy Grosse Pointe yoga studio up Jefferson... somehow I doubt that we will come back for those $17 classes after our week is up, though.

Radhika's arrival marks the end of our back-breaking period of WORK, and the beginning of what for some reason got named the "Era of Engagement," which will include lots of art, good food, cheap wine and soaking in the pleasures of people (lots of friends are arriving for the social forum next week!). Here are some projects we completed while we were doing nothing but sanding, painting and cleaning. (Note the stencils inherited from my housepainter-grandfather). This is in the third floor space that will eventually become "The Colony":




The Era of Engagement has had some awesome moments, including homemade, handpicked-cherry pie with our new neighborfriend, Rosie. But it was clear that this period had officially begun when we went to the Detroit Institute of Art last night, dragging along my cousin Travis for the fun. We thought we were getting off to a late start, but accidentally came on the most happening night of the century. There was modern dance next door to the cafeteria....


...and the first Electronica band of Burkina Faso was performing underneath one of the most breathtaking murals of all time in Rivera court.


Art isn't just limited inside buildings, though. We've been seeing some great murals while driving around. This has got to be my favorite:


This one is just plain endearing:


And this one is our favorite to shout out in passing:


Last but not least in a quick catch-up on the week is our Saturday morning trip to Eastern Market. This too is littered with talented musicians,



and amazing produce.


Today I bought a teeeeeeny bag of Morels from the Mushroom man.


Recipe ideas?

Don't tell them you've never done it until you're done...

Wow! What a crazy weekend around here. The bathroom got a face lift. 3 days of tiling, scraping and painting. I could set up camp in there! Aisha and I were able to get my bedroom window unstuck from the outside. Air... Speaking of air, it just happens to be heavenly this evening. 69 degrees, clear, wind from the NE, humidity 76%. Our new friends, Keegan and Molly, who live around the corner, gave us some eggplant, zucchini and cucumber plants for our garden. We planted them as well as some basil and the plants donated by Thomas and his family. This morning the bunnies were out of their hole. I thought they might have wandered off but I noticed them behind the ivy after I planted the garden. Oh well.

"I like it when my kombucha mushrooms talk to me..."

As it turns out, Detroit is living and breathing gardens. There are vegetables everywhere! Around the corner from our house, a man gave us a twenty minute tour of his impeccable backyard farm, bragging about hybrid squash and gourmet carrots in a sassy Caribbean lecture as the evening sun set behind him. On another day, during the Indian Village garden tour, Logan ran into an Up South Foods van selling fresh produce to the neighborhood (music spilling from its windows). Up South is one of many initiatives created to fulfil the needs of this urban "food desert," where grocery stores are sparse enough that the local Walgreens advertises "fresh produce."



So, in a city so eager to support new growth, how do you start a garden? Go to the nearest bakery and order a cup of coffee. That's what we did. At our (of course) favorite morning eatery, Avalon, a beautiful family sat down at the table next to us and started talking about kombucha. Since Logan's ear is always tuned to Kombucha radio, we were soon talking 'shrooms (not psychedelic), and before we knew it, they had invited us over and offered us a bunch of tomato, okra and pepper plants for our garden. One half of this couple, Thomas, is a full time gardener (and daddy to the two adorable, sprout eating babies below), as well as a veteran who hopes to start a gardening organization as a means of recuperation for other vets.



Earlier in the week, Logan had met the folks at the West Village community garden on a bike ride. She was given the job of Neighborhood Compost Person. She subsequently arrived at our yard with a rich batch of black compost from the suburbs.

The dog is, apparently, a fan.


Logan was turning the soil (ooooh the difference from dusty Arizona) in the backyard dog run, mixing the compost in, when WAM! She unearthed a baby bunny nest! (More on that later...)

There is now a nice strip of compost-rich territory, guarded by a rock wall (formerly the porch steps!) just waiting to feed some roots.


We bought a bit of basil from Eastern market today, but should be able to fill a good bit of the garden with plants donated to us by various new friends and community resources. The Retired Horticulturalist of Belle Isle around the corner has offered native ferns for other parts of the yard, and my grandmother's lilies are blooming along the perimeter of the garage. We're off to a good start!

BUT WHAT WILL HAPPEN NEXT?

Will the bunnies grow up over night and eat our Rio Grande tomatoes?

Will Logan's kombucha mushrooms morph into giant lily pads and float away on the river?

Will Chris Farley live in a van down by the river?

Who knows.

This is only the first of many garden episodes, so stay tuned.

Dry Humidity. Logan's journey from Tucson to Detroit as a list.

arizona. the desert was ocean. el paso. gas station coffee. austin. creek life. queer life. life in a trailer. living on the street. after austin. middle america. toll booth operators. road as a wildlife death trap. walmart parking lots. chitown suburbs. shitty roads. draining lake michigan. d-town. d-boy. 313.

Aisha's Favorite Detroit PrideTattoos (and Earring) at Motor City Pride

Time Travel Travelogue #1: Aisha's Journey (as List)

Tucson. Wichita. St. Louis. Detroit

1. I throw away a full container of lukewarm milk at the gas station just before we get on the 10 to leave Tucson. My dad threatens to fish it back out. This cross-country journey is off to a great start.
2. A two hour long car jam in Phoenix is spent listening to Outkast sing "Spottieottiedopalicious." I say, "Dad listen to this lyric. Did you hear it? Let's hear it again. I mean, this is brilliant. Don't you think? Did you hear it?"
3. Hundreds of miles later, dad ejects the Outkast CD from the player while uttering, "Ooooooh kay then." We are floating through the dark down a near-empty highway out of Texas, toward Oklahoma. Headlights appear alone at the top of a hill in the rearview, and the curve of the road is coasting up behind us like we are a dipper in the sky. Dad puts in a CD of his own. Opera plays with windows open while red lights skinny as acupuncture needles flash on and off outside some sort of factory or plant to the left.
4. Lovely late night poolside walk with the dog around a cheeeeeeeeeeeeap motel with caution tape "decorating" the thin metal posts that are, I think, keeping it standing.
   
5. Wichita? We don't talk about that.
   
6. My father speaks of meeting and not meeting the photographers he admires near Parisian parks and in Manhattan high rises when the men were at the end of their lives. The topic of our conversations is often mortality.
   
7. Late lunch at an outdoor restaurant in St. Louis. As the dog splashes around in the koi pond, we see actual groups of real black people for the first time. The meal is a ridiculous extravagance: blue cheese and steak sandwich for me, a savory crepe and beer for dad. Why? Because of the chemical smell of gas station food we were being poisoned by.
   
8. Pushing it, we drive through Chicago after midnight with three hours to go...
9. In the middle of the night we get to Kalamazoo and are rewarded by the first gas station thus far to sell the New York Times.
10. The city is quiet. An empty, yellow tunnel turns into Jefferson and we are blocks away from the first house my father bought, where my mother waits.