At Paul’s, Steve and I stared at the mountain of palleted dirt. “Do you remember how many bags of dirt we need?” I asked.
“Didn’t you check the blog?” he asked.
Sheesh. At least I knew one thing: we didn’t need 800 pounds of the stuff.
We went with 14 40-pound bags, which turned out to be just right, and hauled them in and dumped them out into the pots. The bags were like carrying jelly, the rain-soaked dirt squeezing around like something very unlike itself.
To carry the bags, I clutched them one at a time to my chest. Because it was a chilly day, I was wearing my favorite, worn-at-least-twice-a-week (OK, maybe more than that) hoodie.
Until I finished dealing with the dirt and realized how much of it had gotten on me. And then I slathered it with stain stick and tried to wash it.
And now it is stained. It has become my first official gardening garment. Because now I can no longer wear it to work (We take business casual to a new level at my job, but I think my boss would draw the line at mud-stained…), and now I can no longer wear it out anywhere where streaky dirt stains are inappropriate.
Photo credit: Steve McNutt