Let’s Talk Dirt. Midlife Crisis Gardening — .101

I’ve been doing this gardening thing for a while now.

I’m older, a wee bit wiser and the size of my garden has shrunk like the time my grandmother’s sweater got mixed in with the whites.

I’m also alone now.

Well, with this gardening thing.

You see Lofton used to help me.

We’d go and pick out our squash, tomatoes, okra and seed.

Then we’d plant them.

Lofton would do most of the tillin’  and plantin’ because I am a woman, weak and brain dead about such things.

Here’s the sad part of this tale.

Lofton hasn’t been feeling great lately so I’m on my own.

Honestly it was high time I pulled on my big girl gardening gloves and did this by myself.

* * *

Dirt.

Have you ever thought about dirt? Well, I didn’t give much thought to dirt when Lofton was out there 10-10-10-ing things and bringing a pickup bed full of chicken manure to my house.

But my winter garden underperformed and I pulled out a hoe to sharpen my dull gardening wit and  . . .

Soil.

It came to me just like that. Jamie you need to enhance your dirt.

So what did I do? Go hang out at Farmers and ask all the overall clad old-timers for advice?

Heck no. These days the midlife hormonally-challenged female turns to social media.

Who knew Facebook was a think tank on manure?

Well, I cinched my overalls up another notch and called David Hanes for some of his Rooster Dirt.

Notice black and white photos. It’s like a reversal of the Wizard of Oz. I’m not really sure of the symbolism here, but take a moment — I have faith that you, my readers, can create some.

Yes. In about 3 minutes, David had dropped the load and I was left to do something.

(Other than wash my car.)

I started shoveling in the Rooster Dirt and tilling it into my garden bed. In the interest of journalistic integrity, I must disclose that my son helped a bit. Till he left to go fishing with friends.

Yes. I was alone again.

Or so I thought.

About that time from around the corner of the house comes a man carrying quite a large pitchfork. He was a kindly looking soul so I wasn’t terrified.

“Here. You look like you need this,” my new garden helper said.

“What’s that you are putting in there?” he asked.

I told him.

“That’s all?” he asked again.

“You know, you’re adding too much acid.”

Does this look like someone who knows what to do with acidic dirt?

“Are you telling me my dirt just O.D.ed?”

For pity’s sake.

So I concentrated real hard and took copious mental notes on what Chuck said to do.

I went out and procured Black Cow, Black Velvet (That isn’t a kind of vodka I learned.) and lime.

I tilled in all my manure products best that I could and started planting.

This it-takes-a-Facebook-status to build a garden is great and all. My Garden Dirt I.Q. certainly skyrocketed.

But I sure do miss a face every now and then.

How’s your dirt these days?