I've been writing this morning, for the NZ Gardener. My topic has been dirt and my fondness for it. I'm not able to post the story here, as I've a contract that specifies this and that, but should be allowed a 'teaser', I reckon. They'll let me know if I'm not. Here's a snippet. Maybe you'll be prompted to buy the magazine after reading my dirty prose, who knows? The photo is not the one I've sent for publication.
"I've usually got soil in my hair as well; gritty stuff that comes from I know not where; I like to dig but I'm not a mole. I find it on my pillow some mornings, like a gardener's halo. I don't have a particularly expansive cultivation style, so how I come to be covered in dirt puzzles me. It's like twigs. I get lots of twigs; down my collar, in my pockets, occasionally in my ears. How and when do they arrive at their final resting place bemuses me; I don't fling them about like confetti. Or roll about on the forest floor. Much. It could be that I'm magnetic to forest duff. Dirt though, is my real issue. I have it under my nails on most days. Occasionally, I meet well-known people, important people, people who are clean. I shake their laundered hands and notice I have humus under my nails. Or clay. They notice too. I regard dirty nails as a sign that a politician can be trusted. I've only met a handful whose nails matched mine. Some evenings I feel tired from my day's activities in the garden and wonder if that weariness comes from the weight of the soil I've been carrying around all day."
8 comments:
I get a line of dirt that follows my hair line, some days it makes me look like one of the Munsters!
I seem to sweat off the dirt on my forehead, which then gets caught by the eyebrows!
I love dirt too, always have, and my nails are usually filthy, they used to upset the pastor once upon a time!
Proud of you, Shunda!
You're one I can trust.
Oh PLLEEASE
Neither of you have seen dirt 'til you've cohabitated with a man who owns his own Concrete cutting/drilling business...then you might know something about filth and dirt!!!
I'm levelling out some beautiful soil at the moment, though it is also very frustrating.
The amount of broken glass, bottles, and all manner of refuse that I am picking out is really infuriating.
People don't respect the soil as they should, I don't know how many times over the years I've crumbled a clod and gained a nasty laceration from a piece of broken glass.
Unfortunately a good portion of the area I'm levelling will need to be covered by weed mat of some sort (so I can place bagged plants on it), but rather than cover the area in compacted gravel, I've used soil so that the area can be used for veges etc at some stage in the future.
Suz - and the chances of me doing that, despite the up-coming bill, are extremely remote, so we'll take your word for it. Anyway, there's nothing natural about cement filth. I'm talking God's given dirt here.
I'm more than happy to know that I'm ingesting some of that on a regular basis too. It's what keeps me so robust.
You're talking my language with the glass-shards in the soil stuff, Shunda. I've innumerable scars on my hands, most of which can only be seen when I've had a good soak in a hot bath. I regard dealing to broken glass in gardens as penance for the smashing I did as lad, more fool me.
"God's given dirt".."we'll take my word for it"...nice...gosh...what a condescending prick you can be!
Crikey, suz! You may be right, but I'm thinking you've misinterpreted my light-hearted comments. That's the nature of blogging, I guess.
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