$150 for dirt.

[Skidmore]

My husband and I left behind the clanging bell of the stock market and the natterings of the man who destroyed the nation this morning and stepped into the crisp fall air to put the garden to sleep for the year. This autumn ritual marks the passing of a fruitful summer and welcomes the cool sleepy winter. Shouldering our tools, we crossed the windy expanse of lawn and headed down to the end of our backyard to where the garden plot lies. This is not a golden autumn in which the sunbeams filter through bright yellow leaves. No, the tree world flames skyward in crimson and orange as if somehow aware of the great conflagrations of the globe.

Heaving a sigh, I looked at the sad plot before me. Sadder this year than usual since it was filled with weeds and grass. No corn stalks or bushy tomato plants. Not stringy bean vines or silent brown pepper plants. No withering cucumber vines or pumpkins sitting startled by the field wondering where their foliage had gone. There was no garden this year. The record snows and ice storms of the long winter gave way to lingering cold and an historical flood. That little square of land looked like a pond until well into the growing season. We gave up after watching the three tomato plants we put on the high end drowned in the first rains that followed. This fall there are no gleaming rows of Ball jars filled with the harvest, no freezer bags bursting with beans and peas, and no jars of strawberry jam.

Normally, we enjoy this immensely satisfying hard work. At the end of a long day deeply aching muscles, fingernails made grimy through work gloves, and feet begging for the pumice stones appreciate the soothing heat of the shower. The eddies of dirt and soap swirling down the drain recall the deep dark smell of the earth set free by the tiller blade. This day will bring the exhaustion and aches but not much satisfaction.

We bent to our labors in silence, forsaking playful banter. I don't know what was on his mind, but my mind was riffing on the early morning news and the great unknown spreading before us. An ealier time in history might have found us living closer to our children, or anticipating hunger in the winter ahead in the absence of a crop. I suppose we are lucky to be born in these times.

That little plot of land has been so ravaged this year by water and wind, I know we must replenish the soil. 15 tons of dirt at $10 a ton. $150 for dirt. $150. It seems extravagant at this time. I'd feel better if the $150 were tucked away safely or used for stocking the cupboards. $150. It's a lot of money right now in this time of teetering markets and leaderless government. $150 for dirt. I turned the thought over in my mind. I split open a clod and released a weed. And sighed with the wind. It must be an investment in next year's garden. I'll invest in dirt. Rich black prairie loam in which to secret the seeds that gives rise to life and hope. The promise of future crops beyond an uncertain winter.

Long hours later, we struggled back toward the house with our tools in hand. As I sat on a stairstep on the porch, I heard the local newscaster on neighbor's radio in the distance telling of the layoff of 500 people from the factory in the next village. The brief news report gave way to the bellowings of Rush Limbaugh. The world sits on us again, a heavy burden marred by the ugliness and filth created by mankind. I choke back tears and remember the dirt of the garden and $150. $150 for dirt and the promise of spring, a renewal of the land and the soul.

[me b zola]

1. Cycles

Just as the seasons take their turns, so do the larger cycles of despair<-->hope, death<-->life, repeat. For everything there is a season, turn, turn, turn...

A beautifully written essay. Thank you.

[NoSheep]

2. I'm reminded of Being There. (nice post btw)

I like to watch.
Do you know Raphael?

[Liberalboy]

3. May this years harvest clear us out

so that the spring is fruitful :-)

Wonderful post

[Stinky The Clown]

4. Thank you for that.

[dgibby]

5. OMG!

Beautiful! Did anyone ever tell you that you can write?!!! Get this published. It'll more than pay for the dirt. Thank you.

[me b zola]

6. A tale of the times

...this should be published & recorded. Extraordinary writing.