IDYLLOPUS PRESS IS A VALIANT LITTLE ROWBOAT

Nobody took me up on the offer to view a photo of Marty’s kombucha, which he never could get to taste quite right, and now it is gone, pfffbbbt, over and done with and not a single photo to memorialize it.

All week long going on about how he thought this would be THE batch where he finally gets it right, Marty hands me a small taste test of his kombucha yesterday, saying that this is it, after months of trial and experimentation the kombucha is, for the first time, good. I don’t drink the stuff but I took a taste and agreed that yes, this was really good, very light, rather like a cider, not too sour, nicely sweet but not too sweet.

The kombucha jug, this massive glass thing, was set on the top of the refrigerator. I later went in and opened the freezer door, the freezer door being a horizontal door at the refrigerator’s top. As I opened it I realized something had begun coming down and without glancing up I knew immediately it was the kombucha jug. Marty had apparently left it sitting on the very edge of the refrigerator so it was resting on the freezer door, and when I opened the freezer door down it came.

It occurred to me only briefly that I might try to catch it. This occurred to me as I was, in our small kitchen, reflexively leaping into the corner by the sink, just a couple feet away, trying to steer clear of it.

The kombucha jug hit the ground and exploded. Kombucha tea and glass spread out for yards into the next room and leaped 4 feet high up the walls and onto the surrounding shelves. I was soaked in kombucha and surrounded by broad panes and minuscule splinters of glass.

Marty came in yelling at me not to move, he didn’t want me to get cut. I told him to get my flip flops. For some reason he kept yelling at me not to move. By now I’m yelling at him to get me my flip flops so I can put those on and get out of the kitchen and he is still yelling at me no, no, don’t move, don’t move. He had been woken up from a nap, was woozy with sleep and didn’t comprehend the why of the flip flops.

It took us an hour to clean up the mess.

I felt so bad about it, Marty having just produced, that day, after many long months, his first good tasting batch of kombucha.

“Why do you feel bad about it?” Marty said. “You didn’t leave the jug on the edge of the refrigerator.”

“But I do feel bad about it. This was your first good tasting batch.”

“Never mind,” he said. “I don’t like the stuff and I’m sick of working with it.”

I sometimes wonder how many times we pursue a thing just because, having invested time and perhaps a little money, we are reluctant to drop it.

I had sometimes wondered if this was the case with the kombucha. But also felt Marty enjoyed it as a hobby.

I wondered if Marty was making excuses so I wouldn’t feel bad about what had happened.

Today Marty was talking kombucha again, what he might do differently this time.

“But I thought you didn’t like it,” I said.

He made a noncommittal, maybe-maybe-not, shrug of his shoulders.

There is a Worldwide Kombucha Exchange. The majority of people who post there don’t charge for sharing their cultures, that is how passionate they are about kombucha, they will give you their cultures for free just because they enjoy sharing the wonders of kombucha.

They call their cultures “babies”.

If I tell Marty this, he may very well give the project up.

George has the honor of being my very first interviewee. I saw him outside the window and decided I might as well start now and we could use H.o.p.’s little digital camera to record a movie from which I could make a transcription. Knowing the battery in H.o.p.’s camera was running low but hoping it would last long enough, we ran out and caught George. We talked in the shade of the trees on this humid, sunny day, the mosquitoes snacking on us.

IDYLLOPUS PRESS: And I’m going to take a photo…

GEORGE (laughing, expecting me to take a photo right then): Wait, wait…

IDYLLOPUS PRESS: But, but, no, no, but you can be, I’m going to get my camera, you can be anonymous if you want to or…

H.O.P.: Look, I’m filming.

IDYLLOPUS PRESS: Have you ever seen a UFO?

GEORGE: No, no.

IDYLLOPUS PRESS: Ok. What’s the most interesting coincidence you’ve ever had?

H.O.P.: About alien sightings.

IDYLLOPUS PRESS: No, not about alien sightings. About anything. An interesting coincidence, synchronicity.

GEORGE (reflects long): If you could see my brain now you’d probably bust out, go to laughing. Hmmm.

IDYLLOPUS PRESS: You can’t think of one or there are too many.

GEORGE: I can’t think of one, y’know. I draw a blank on that one.

IDYLLOPUS PRESS: A total blank? OK. Well, what if you had a story you wanted to tell. One of your more interesting stories.

GEORGE (laughing, smacks mosquito): That I would want to tell?

IDYLLOPUS PRESS (laughing): That you would want to tell. A little piece of history.

GEORGE: You asked the wrong person.

IDYLLOPUS PRESS: I’ve asked the wrong person? You? I know you’ve got tons of stories. You’ve probably got, you’ve got…

GEORGE: I know…

IDYLLOPUS PRESS: You’ve got a country of stories.

H.O.P.: Yup, mom, a country of them.

GEORGE: Just any type of story?

IDYLLOPUS PRESS: Yes.

GEORGE: Unusual?

IDYLLOPUS PRESS: It could be an unusual story. You’ve been a lot of places. You’ve done a lot of things. You’ve met a lot of people.

GEORGE: But I don’t know any stuff that’s unusual. The way I look at it it’s not unusual.

IDYLLOPUS PRESS: Well, you know what I mean….a little bit of history.

GEORGE: I remember I was in uhm Vietnam and, uh, being that far away from home, young, y’know, and I never thought that I would meet somebody in Vietnam that was from my hometown that I knew, y’know, because I grew up in a small place, y’know, in Georgia. But, I was off that night and I went to the rec center. And I went in there to shoot some pool. So I said, “Who’s up next?” and they said, “You’ve got to put your name on the list.” So I put my name on the list. And the guy said, “George Gamble!” And I said, “Ol’ Johnny Bussey!” Y’know we were like two kids inside of this with all these guys standing there. And they said, “You all know each other?” And we said, “Yeah, man! We grew up together in Manchester, Georgia!” They said, “Where is that?”

IDYLLOPUS PRESS: I don’t even know where Manchester is.

GEORGE: It’s southwest of here about seventy miles. You got a Georgia map? Find Meriwether County. It’s spelled M-e-r-i-w-e-t-h-e-r. Find Meriwether County and look down in the right hand corner. It’s right at Meriwether County, Harris County and Talbot County, right where those three come together you’ll see the little town of Manchester. It’s about 4000 people, maybe 5000 now. But when I left home it was about 3000 people down there, y’know. And uhm, this guy, as a matter of fact we used to go to his house on Sundays….

H.O.P.: Uh, oh, the battery is dying.

GEORGE: And, uh, he was living with his grandfather. His mother lived in New Jersey. And the two boys went to school down here. And when he graduated from high school, he moved to New Jersey where his mother lived. And next time I saw him was Vietnam.

IDYLLOPUS PRESS: Now, that’s a coincidence.

GEORGE: It’s a good feeling to see somebody that you know, that you grew up with, that far away from home. It’s amazing.

H.o.p.’s camera then shut down, the battery going dead. A couple came up from the next apartment building who were out walking their three dogs. I went inside for my camera and took several photos of George.