Overheard conversations in the garden, on Dirt Day today, steered clear of politics but touched on all else in life. Laughter, discord, revelations of the power of weeds, admiration of the Hori-Hori, howls of pain at the piercing thorns of blackberries clattered in through the windows of my house filling it with the joyous noise of people who love to garden. The sad spell of doom, the stuffy smell of closed doors thinned like a vanishing fog, and sunlight entered the rose cottage again. It was dirt day and lunch awaited us, our reward for the caring of the roses. An ominous threat of the loss of all this fizzled in a heap of weeds thrust on the pathway. The garden is saved, and we must all now do our parts.
The grand thing about Dirt Days---you are never sure if the great reward is smoked salmon and fried polenta, or the rush of serotonin in your brain caused by the microbes you inhale in three hours of weeding. Probably both. The grand thing about Dirt Days is the people and how happy it makes them to know they are saving these roses. If you haven't tried it, you really must.
Next Dirt Day: February 25th, 10 am to 3 pm.