getting dirty

I've mentioned before Jess' love for plants. As this is our first spring with a back yard (we have yet to even touch our weed riddled front yard and have instead deemed it NATURAL-SCAPE, WHAT?), the gardener and his little assistants have been having a hey day. We've planted new perennials, some edible varieties as chosen by our eldest, and sifted about three tons of dirt. By hand. Because who doesn't love to shovel out our bedrock and hand sift it? I know I do.

When it's too cold at night, our tomatoes and strawberries and such come inside (Jess and I {mostly Jess} made some handy dandy {read: ghetto and totally jimmy-rigged} self watering planters, as pictured above) and our little babies are safe and warm. We've also done most of our planting in the kitchen to avoid rain or cold. In other words, my kitchen now doubles as a greenhouse. I wish I could be more mad about it, but seeing how happy it makes Jess and his babies just makes me happy. 

In truth, there is something terribly therapeutic about sifting through dirt, putting down roots, babying plants in the hopes of success. I think it's something about the simple beauty of it. It doesn't involve an on switch. There's not a touch screen in sight. No beeps or buzzes. Just water, and sun, and soil, and a little bit of luck. Maybe some intuition. And you've got something just lovely. Without ever once swiping a screen.

I wrote this last week (and just loaded the photos). But I was sent this link (twice) today. It's completely relevant and absolutely worth five minutes of your time. Look up. :)