I spent the whole day cleaning the garden, spreading the compost, and planting a few plants we purchased this morning. From 10:00 to 6:00, working our small urban patch of land, with a small break for some iced tea and a peanut buttered matzah.
Every year we recycle our leftovers and organic garbage with soil and leaves from the garden. Every spring we put this composted soil into the garden. For the last 26 years we have completed this ritual, not missing a single year. The garden has been raised at least 5 inches with the detritus from our meals— remnants of the conversations, laughter, arguments, friendships, debates, spills, intimacies, holidays, neglected fruit, celebrations, relationships, negotiations, shabbats, barbecues, forgotten refrigerator leftovers, experimental and tried-and-true recipes. This is the stew of our compost–not just the food, but what we were doing when we ate it.
This is why when JB says maybe in a few years we ought to think of moving into a condo I just can’t abide it. A quarter century of our lives is buried in this backyard.