I mean, on-purpose, stick-your (gardening-gloves-covered) hands-right-in-the-dirt-and-crumble-it-up dirty.
It felt so good.
When we bought our first house, I discovered that I actually enjoy playing in the dirt just as much as I did when I was a kid.
I remember going to my dad's baseball games as a child, and there was always a fresh mound of dirt there, left over from around the bases. The kids were like moths to a flame with that dirt. Even me, the one who was deathly afraid of worms, bugs, and all things dirty, loved playing in it. I'm not sure what we actually did with it...I just know we all had fun with it.
These days, it's in the form of gardening. There's something amazing about digging in the earth, burying something, waiting, and having something beautiful or fruitful come of it.
We bought our current house three years ago. Compared to our little yard in WNY, our half-acre seems like a massive, blank canvas to work with. It's been somewhat overwhelming. I've spent the past couple of springs anxious to begin, but unmotivated due to my massive pregnant belly.
But FINALLY, we have a spring and summer NOT pregnant. And it's ON! I'm ready.
I have bulbs to start my garden: onions, potatoes, strawberries and asparagus. And I'm going to get some tomatoes. We'll start there and see how that goes. I have my composter picked out.
I have seven areas of my yard that I want to landscape this year. Today, I planted bulbs in the first of the seven. It was in the smelly, but very rich, dirt around our pond.
It was therapeutic. I love it. It feels so good to get my hands dirty again.