Hands in dirt

I've been wanting to get to my garden for at least a week, and when I woke up it was an incredibly beautiful day, and I didn't have to leave for work til 4 PM, so I went across the street with my gardening box, and went to town. I pulled the plants that had done their time. I picked, I mulched the garlic, and I did a general Fall clean up. I mean, it's a pretty small garden so none of this took too long, but it yielded big: two bags of kale, a bag of collards, a bag of arugula. October 20, and I was out gardening in shorts and a tank top. (I also passed a milestone in my relationship with my excellent neighbor, who grew up in the warm climes of Jamaica, when I got to make fun of him for wearing long pants, boots, sweater, jacket, and hat in the 70 degree weather. He told me everyone makes fun of him for this.)

So much more I could say about this time with the plants, being alone with hands in dirt, the quality of the enjoyment I get from growing my own food, and more. But I've decided that I shouldn't spend so much time writing up these posts when I am in the middle of a work jag that it compromises how much sleep I get—let alone how much time I get for enjoyment of life. So trust me, it was restorative on many levels. And I had a green lunch.