There was a recent news report on a study regarding urban life and its effect on people’s health. One of the finds was the thought/idea/assumption (I didn’t listen that closely!) that we no longer are digging in the dirt and we are suffering for that.
It’s possible our bodies need to get dirty, like our rural ancestors. I’m guessing it’s more for the mental joy that comes from digging in the dirt, getting that soil under your nails and seeing your labor come to fruition, rather than obtaining new defenses against disease? (Once again, I should have paid a tad more attention to detail on this one.) However, I had a blast yesterday for about 20 minutes when my grand and I repotted a plant.
Gardening gloves don’t work for me. I do need to feel that earth. Well, guess what? Mini-me said “I love to get dirty. Can I help?” We both dug in and I even found holes in the parched backyard for her to dig in. She kept showing me how incredibly dirty her hands were. She even eschewed the spade for just playing in that dirt. It was a joy to behold.
It’s at this point I offer an apology to my brother for feeding him mud pies when he was a baby. Apparently I already knew dirt was good for you?