I went to Trent, the hairdresser, in town today, and he gave me a pretty ‘do’. In my old life as a city girl, my hairdresser would say, ‘I hope your husband is taking you some place special for dinner tonight.’
Instead of a glamorous outing, in my current incarnation as a country girl, I took myself and my new hairdo home to work in the garden. Specifically to muck around in the compost, a job that’s needed doing for some time. Shredding vegetation, raking, shovelling and turning.
Creating your own rich soil for vegetable and decorative gardens is an art and a science, I’ve come to realise. I won’t say I’ve nailed it yet, but the process is engaging. It’s hard to imagine anything more grounding than working with the alive mixture that is wormy compost. I can still smell the shredded vegetation I was working with, even though I finished my outside work hours ago.
I’m just a beginner in learning how to grow things, but I already know the joy of eating fresh fruit and vegetables that I’ve harvested. This connection we have with our own food production and eating produce that’s freshly picked is an infinitely richer experience I think than going out some place special for dinner. (But of course it’s possible to do both!)