The Catalyst

This is the beginning of the Black Dirt Chronicles. The catalyst has arrived. It's Black Dirt.

Not just any chipped wood mind you. This is the stuff.

When you live in a place that does not have black dirt, you secretly pine for it, accepting it as part of your roots, the place you must return to.

I grew up in Missouri, a member of that black dirt clan and I remember telling Michael before we got married that I needed to move back to a place where I could put dirt in a coffee can and leave it at the edge of my big covered patio and it would look like dark roast, and I would smile and know that I was home. He said ok, but we have to live here for at least 10 years. Yes, he really said that, and yes, he really is that awesome, so I agreed. (He also countered with a few demands of his own like lakes everywhere and fishing, and all was good.)

So I am plugging along, literally, amending the soil with every bag of compost, every potted thing, adding more mulch and using the small compost I generate... all in a suspended garden mediocrity kind of way. Oh look! The dirt has changed from pale tan to the lightest brown. How somewhat eventful. But let's also remember patience! (do we use her to amend the soil?)

When you find your black dirt, it is time for the dance of joy, albeit even if it requires trucks and wheel barrows. Ah, this is the beginning...

Thanks for visiting! To all of my gardening friends, Carry On!