Dirt reminds me of who I am and where I come from. I grew up on a farm and my grandfather was famous for his garden. Out of the earth he could grow the most delectable things. I much preferred an evening spent plucking the treats from his apple trees to any dessert in a restaurant. He would grow a special spot of watermelons every summer just for me and I would turn up my nose at any corn other than his. His hands were stained with the red clay of North Carolina and his fingernails were always short and dark around the edges from the soil. He would till his plot for gardening and I can remember the smells and feeling of the fertile ground that would produce treasures to share with our neighbors and friends. It was a dirty job but it was magic to me. He welcomed me to learn from him and help him plant, weed, harvest and water. No job was a clean job and I knew that I would need a bath after helping my granddaddy but it was worth it.
Dirt reminds me that we're all the same. My grandfather showed me that being dirty is a part of life and I shouldn't be afraid of a job that I have to roll up my sleeves to do. Dirt is not a mark of shame. It is a sign of a hard day's work and not something to be looked down on. I believe that dirt unites us because there is no escaping it. It is in every city and town in some form and no matter how hard you try to rid your house or your body of it there will always be some there. I believe that instead of trying to figure out a way to make my life more sterile and clean I should embrace the messiness and enjoy the process.
