Though I had not planned to end up at a big box store, after the local hardware store employee sent me hightailing it in search of dirt, I decided a return to Home Depot was the most obvious solution to the problem. The day was getting ever-later, and I still needed to put my new power tools to work.
I found myself in front of towering walls of dirt of various kinds: The kind that goes in beds, the kind the goes in pots, the kind that goes in landscaping projects of the kinds I’m not doing. Finally I located a pallet of something that looked fairly organic, and I swallowed hard and hoped I was right. At least it wasn’t a Miracle Gro product—we all know how I feel about Scott’s.
I recalled my size estimates in the hardware store and loaded 10.5 cubic feet of dirt onto my giant cart. I grabbed a couple of tomato cages, and off I went to load the trunk.
When I arrived home, I parked right by the door at the base of the steps up to the patio level. And this is when I started questioning whether or not I really cared to garden anymore. Bags of dirt? They’re impossible to keep hold of, they’re absolute dead weight, and they are not fun to haul.
But, one at a time, I hauled those bags up the stairs and onto the patio, wreaking havoc as I passed each apartment with a dog each time I came in and out. By the time I was done, I was filthy, but damn it if I didn’t already feel quite the sense of accomplishment. I was that many steps closer to having a garden again.