DialMforMara suggested that I blog about plants, and here I am.
I bury my toes in loam-dark soil;
I walk barefoot through the dirt my ancestors farmed.
That is the part I easily remember of a poem I wrote in high school, when the assignment was roots.
Yeah, but it took me more than 20 more years to really internalize why my ethnic heritage – German on my mother’s side – was something we never really talked about. And on my father’s side I was Good Old Mutt, so my roots were, well. Farming.
My pen name is a tree.
If you look at my twitter, my background image is a vineyard.
When I dream of going home, I dream about my grandparents’ home, the old farmhouse, or gardening with my grandma.
I like things with very deep roots. Old things with their structure going way down. I like things with their feet buried in the soil and their arms lifted up to the sky.