We made our goal today. We got our peas planted and went ahead and planted our carrots, too. After such a cold, cold winter it felt so good to be out in the dirt again. There is something real about being in the dirt. Dirt doesn't care if you're rich or poor, tall or short, male or female, fat or skinny. Dirt just wants to be nurtured and worked over so that it can show you how something beneath us can produce something above us. There is something humbling about dirt. And wholesome. I love the way it feels between my fingers.
I am always fascinated by how the many tendrils of weeds' roots won't let go of their grip on something as loose as dirt and yet the fragile sister-roots of flowers and plants will roll over and release themselves and say, "Uncle" just by looking at me. Go figure.
Dirt, you know, brings us back to ourselves. It brings us home.
That's funny. When I was his age, I never wanted to eat peas and carrots, let alone plant them in a garden. I suppose your son is mature beyond his years.
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