Marian's Garden 01: Beautiful Dirt

Jack and I are working in the garden today. It's so beautiful and such a relief to finally have our own place. Our own real place with land. It's just a couple of acres, but between the trees and underbrush we can't even see our neighbors. They're there, but if it wasn't for the mailboxes and driveways on our way in we wouldn't even know. Jack has on long tough tan Carhartts, a long-sleeved white shirt, and thick working gloves. It's a tough outfit for the heat, and I keep reminding him to hydrate. Between blackberries, stinging nettles, and devil's club he needs each layer of protection. We're both fighting over the wheelbarrow. He wants it to pile up future bonfire material. I am repositioning the massive mound of beautiful dirt we had delivered into the four raised beds, our future orchard. I am sporting jean shorts and a tight white t-shirt that proclaims the time as 5 O'clock somewhere in the world. I win the wheelbarrow, partially because I'm cute. Mostly, I win because ramming the barrow against the massive soil pile and letting it cascade down into the bucket takes far less time than using a shovel.

I quickly discard my own gloves risking blisters, splinters, dirt under my fingertips. I find the heavy wheelbarrow harder to pilot with slippery leather material between my hands and the rough grain of old oak handles. We started early. I work steadily filling the raised beds that Jack and I made the other day with beautiful brown soil. One load, two loads. This is where the pear trees will go. Three loads. I have to start actually using the shovel to encourage the large pile to flow down into the metal wheelbarrow. A clump sticks to the shovel; I use my hand to push it off the old but unrusted metal into one of the raised beds. The soft dark soil feels pleasant against my fingertips. It is cool and moist against my reddening irritated hands. I take another handful and squeeze it as I would pack a snowball.

"The peach tree goes here." I tell Jack. The sweat has created a wide round wet spot on his chest. He sits down in the shade, tears off his gloves, and reaches into my cooler for a glass bottle of water. "I told you it would be helpful."

"I didn't say it wouldn't be helpful. I was just saying it was a waste of time filling old Snapples when we could just buy bottled water."

"We have filtered water, and that crinkly plastic annoys the earth." I step into the shade myself and grab my own. My own t-shirt is damp with sweat and splattered with dirt. "Plus, money."

"Money?" Jack says incredulously, "From the woman who told me we have to purchase a mound of dirt?"

I smirk at him. "You will thank me when we have fresh pears, and apples, and blueberries."

"You're a blueberry," He mutters under his breath.

I set myself down on his lap and kiss his sweaty brow. "I'm a what?"

"Okay, you're not a blueberry. You're a cherry." He tells me, while he uses feet to make his lap, with me on it, jump up and down. "Right color and everything."

I reach to touch my cheek with the back of my hand. Even in the shade, the sun's heat is radiating off my burned skin. "I should probably reapply sunblock."

"Nah" Jack says with a wicked smile. "Just cover your face with dirt. It's already all down your arms and legs. His sweat and water wet fingers drag along my dust covered thigh drawing a little pattern. I watch him and giggle. I lean over to nibble his earlobe gently. "Marian?" he says my name.

"Mmm?"

He whispers softly as if it's some lovers secret, "I'm going to spray myself off with a hose the second I'm done."

"That sounds fun. We should probably turn a sprinkler on anyway to help the soil settle in to the too.

"Mair—" He whispers the first syllable of my name. "I'm going to do it naked."

I look at his wicked smile expecting me to contradict. "Didn't I say you'd like some of the perks of country living?" I hop off of his lap and turn 180 degrees just to inspect his grin.

"You know I love you, right?"

"As much as yeast loves sugar," I reply. I bend down to reach into the ice chest, which makes him ruin the sweetness of it by smacking me on the ass. I flash a bemused smile as I stand back up with a melting ice cube in my hand.

"Uh oh?" Jack says. I lunge forward sneaking the frozen H2O between his collar and neck. He dances around briefly at the cold then stands up. "Actually, it feels kind of good."

I reach down again, this time squatting and get another ice cube. This one I slip down my own collar leaning back to ensure it slides into the crevice on my sports bra. "Ahh-ahh cold. So cold." I swallow. Jack raises his eyebrow at me. "It's closer to my core temperature body regulation that way. Near the heart, near the armpits, back of the neck. Those are the places to—I'm doing it again, aren't I?"

Jack shrugs. "You told me not to tell you every time you're being a know-it-all."

"I kept up my end of the bargain when you were being a braggart and a liar."

"Hey those people at the bar enjoyed the story even if they didn't believe a word of it." He reaches down for another ice cube and closes the cooler. He presses it against the back of his neck and holds it there letting the melting droplets slide down his back. "I'm back to work," he said.

"Thank you and I love you."

"Yeah yeah, like yeast and sugar."