I like dirt. You know, the natural stuff - not the juicy gossipy kind.
It never occurred to me that I like dirt until quite recently. I noticed I had dirt on my toes from having walked barefoot through the yard. I was wearing my sandals at that point so I slipped them off again and reveled in the earthy...earthiness, wiggling my toes in the grass and popping off shriveled dandelion heads.
Then, yesterday I went geocaching with my mom. We were largely unsuccessful (with the exception of one fantastic little cache hidden in a DNA analysis tube! Awesome!) but had a good time. The first cache we tried to find (not counting our own, which is currently impossible to locate!) has coordinates taking one to a natural land bridge out in bufu-land. The bridge is part of a dirt road and it crosses over a pretty little creek. There is a guard rail smeared along the sides of it as if to keep the thing from collapsing. We had a hunch the cache might be in the guard rail but it was too steep to comfortably climb down and investigate. So I got friendly with the dirt! I just plopped myself down and scooted on my badonkadonk right on down the side of the bridge.
It was liberating. At least until I was done with my fruitless search, because coming up was a little trickier. I had been bracing myself against the guard rail with my feet while poking in varied and sundry places with a hiking pole. When I was ready to scoot up the dirt bridge I found myself in a balance-pickle. If I moved the wrong way I'd tumble off the bridge and into the shallow creek (too high up to be fun) or I'd just crash face-first into a metal pole. I decided the pole was a better option so I lined myself up with it and figured I'd aim my torso at it and distribute the pain across a greater surface. [click for photographic evidence]
Fortunately, I worried needlessly. I dug my cowgirl bootheels into the dirt and grabbed onto saplings as I scooted bum-first up the bridge. I was covered in dirt. It was great.
I was inspired to write this because my hands smell like dirt right now. Somehow I managed to get a magic cell phone signal out here so I was startled when my phone rang. My friend, Renee, was calling to work out some Friday night plans so I wandered outside, trying to keep myself latched onto the oft elusive signal. My wandering took me to the field where I eventually plopped down, kicked off my shoes, leaned back and watched the clouds roll in as we chatted. I admit, at one point I was chewing on a dandelion shoot like a hillbilly. For the record, it's kind of bitter.
I think I like dirt because, and forgive me if I sound like I'm a rookie passing the peace pipe, it makes me feel more connected to the earth and, in turn, the One who made it. I had a moment where I just rubbed some dirt between my fingers and thought, "You know, this is gonna be me someday," and I'm totally okay with that.
I hung up with Renee and made a 'quick' call to Laura, which was when the signal started getting spotty. I wandered further out until I was standing in the middle of the field. I found a beaten down patch of grass and weeds where I slipped off my shoes again and stood, toes digging into the grass and dirt, face turned to the wind, one arm outstretched while the other was keeping the phone in place, and breathed deeply. Lightning flashed in the distance and the fresh scent of rain was in the air. I felt connected to life!
I was feeling a bit disconnected from AT&T, though!
When I finished talking (for now) with Laura, I wandered around the field a bit more, trying to surf the phone signal long enough to send a few texts. That's when the lightning started getting a little brighter and it occurred to me that as much as I'm okay with turning into dirt someday, I'd prefer not to be fried out of stupidity (standing in an open field during a thunderstorm).
So there we have it. Something about the smell and feel of dirt makes me feel alive. I already knew wind did that, hence my screen name. Perhaps I ought to change it to joyousdirt...or not! Haha! I suppose I should go wash my feet before hitting the hay. Toodles!
It never occurred to me that I like dirt until quite recently. I noticed I had dirt on my toes from having walked barefoot through the yard. I was wearing my sandals at that point so I slipped them off again and reveled in the earthy...earthiness, wiggling my toes in the grass and popping off shriveled dandelion heads.
Then, yesterday I went geocaching with my mom. We were largely unsuccessful (with the exception of one fantastic little cache hidden in a DNA analysis tube! Awesome!) but had a good time. The first cache we tried to find (not counting our own, which is currently impossible to locate!) has coordinates taking one to a natural land bridge out in bufu-land. The bridge is part of a dirt road and it crosses over a pretty little creek. There is a guard rail smeared along the sides of it as if to keep the thing from collapsing. We had a hunch the cache might be in the guard rail but it was too steep to comfortably climb down and investigate. So I got friendly with the dirt! I just plopped myself down and scooted on my badonkadonk right on down the side of the bridge.
It was liberating. At least until I was done with my fruitless search, because coming up was a little trickier. I had been bracing myself against the guard rail with my feet while poking in varied and sundry places with a hiking pole. When I was ready to scoot up the dirt bridge I found myself in a balance-pickle. If I moved the wrong way I'd tumble off the bridge and into the shallow creek (too high up to be fun) or I'd just crash face-first into a metal pole. I decided the pole was a better option so I lined myself up with it and figured I'd aim my torso at it and distribute the pain across a greater surface. [click for photographic evidence]
Fortunately, I worried needlessly. I dug my cowgirl bootheels into the dirt and grabbed onto saplings as I scooted bum-first up the bridge. I was covered in dirt. It was great.
I was inspired to write this because my hands smell like dirt right now. Somehow I managed to get a magic cell phone signal out here so I was startled when my phone rang. My friend, Renee, was calling to work out some Friday night plans so I wandered outside, trying to keep myself latched onto the oft elusive signal. My wandering took me to the field where I eventually plopped down, kicked off my shoes, leaned back and watched the clouds roll in as we chatted. I admit, at one point I was chewing on a dandelion shoot like a hillbilly. For the record, it's kind of bitter.
I think I like dirt because, and forgive me if I sound like I'm a rookie passing the peace pipe, it makes me feel more connected to the earth and, in turn, the One who made it. I had a moment where I just rubbed some dirt between my fingers and thought, "You know, this is gonna be me someday," and I'm totally okay with that.
I hung up with Renee and made a 'quick' call to Laura, which was when the signal started getting spotty. I wandered further out until I was standing in the middle of the field. I found a beaten down patch of grass and weeds where I slipped off my shoes again and stood, toes digging into the grass and dirt, face turned to the wind, one arm outstretched while the other was keeping the phone in place, and breathed deeply. Lightning flashed in the distance and the fresh scent of rain was in the air. I felt connected to life!
I was feeling a bit disconnected from AT&T, though!
When I finished talking (for now) with Laura, I wandered around the field a bit more, trying to surf the phone signal long enough to send a few texts. That's when the lightning started getting a little brighter and it occurred to me that as much as I'm okay with turning into dirt someday, I'd prefer not to be fried out of stupidity (standing in an open field during a thunderstorm).
So there we have it. Something about the smell and feel of dirt makes me feel alive. I already knew wind did that, hence my screen name. Perhaps I ought to change it to joyousdirt...or not! Haha! I suppose I should go wash my feet before hitting the hay. Toodles!