The Joy of Dirt

Today was supposed to be quite glum, if the weather reports were to be believed.  Fortunately, I am an optimist and we met up with friends at a local park with the hope that the rain would hold off for at least an hour. Well, three hours later, we left-- satisfied with the sun breaks and the giggles and good conversation.  Being outdoors is good for the soul.  Even better if there is a puddle to splash, rocks to toss into a lake, and dirt to spare.  Later, while it was still not raining, we played outside in the garden beds. 

One of Evelyn's favorite past times is digging.  She digs with a real sense of purpose.  "I'm doing my work right now," she tells me.  Often, the dirt is transferred from the earth into a blue tin pail and then back again.  Sometimes it is scattered about the back deck or the sidewalk.  It always finds its way underneath Evelyn's fingernails and forms a little smear across one of her cheeks or her forehead as she wipes wisps of hair away from her face. 

Today, Henry decided to embrace the goodness of this dirt.  Dressed warmly in a hand-me-down fleece suit, he took about seven steps with an outdoor push toy before dropping to his knees and crawling with a vengeance toward the nearest garden bed.  He squished and smooshed the soil in his chubby little land and looked thoroughly pleased with himself.  He tasted the dirt and protested as I fished it back out of his mouth.  I sat on the grass next to him and we tickled our hands with blades of grass.  I took pine cone after stick after pine cone out of his mouth.  How can we possibly know what something is without tasting it?   Henry's eyes asked.  All the while, Evelyn dug little holes and trenches among the lilacs and roses.  It was quite a lovely way to pass the afternoon really.  By the time we went inside to wash our hands and begin dinner, Henry and Evelyn were both noticeably content, relaxed even.  And, they were covered in dirt.