The Smell of the Earth

Today April 20 was my grandfather’s birthday. He would be 96 today. Through my whole childhood, you could nearly always find Papa working in his garden. Papa loved his garden, helping things grow, and then sharing his delicious bounty with his family and friends. I remember learning to dig potatoes, first following behind Papa to pick up the turned over tubers then later when I was older digging with the spud fork myself.
A few days ago I was working in the dirt again. Brian started building a ramp over a huge fallen tree in order to access a cool campsite further up the road. Naturally, I and my nomad friends joined in the project. But before the fallen tree, the soil off-road had been heavily rutted by a thoughtless camper a day before who got very stuck and the wrecker who had to come pull him out.

Although drier now, the deep ruts, if left, would destroy that area of the road and forest with erosion. I began by finding a tool and diving into the restoration project.
Wielding my cave-man hoe, a usefully shaped piece of wood, I thought of Papa’s garden and all of the time I spent there. The rich smell of the earth mingling with sweat and fresh air brought me back to my younger days and Papa’s proud smiles as he surveyed his crops and grandchildren. Reworking the soil turned up rocks instead of potatoes, just like the hills of good ol’ rocky top Tennessee. Filling in the ruts with my friends and protecting the forest road from future erosion filled me with the same satisfaction as digging up a wheelbarrow of potatoes. I think Papa would be smiling proudly.

Let’s all do our part to make the earth a better place.