We are stardust

We are dirt. At least we we all will be after our time as gardeners is up.

Someone once told me that to be a good gardener, you need to learn how to kill. That makes me very uncomfortable. Crushing snails and earwigs brings pangs - I wonder if they feel pain, have families that will miss them. I imagine a giant foot coming out of the sky and crushing me - fear, horror, agony, and then ... nothing. Is killing ok as long as you feel bad about it? Or is empathy for earwigs misplaced?

I love the soil, I love when it's dark and crumbly and I can dig a hole for planting with my hands. Compost is the best. You can really see how rot and decay are raw ingredients for life.

In the garden today

Twelve tomatoes can finally sink their roots into the earth, six Brandywine and six German Pink. Twelve more are still yearning to break free of their pots.

Cats love my garden. Picture above is the cat from across the street. I learned his name when I heard his person yell, "Buddha, stop fighting."

Time to get myself back to the garden.