Garden Mania

Fifteen cubic yards of topsoil

This is starting to get out of hand.  I've known for some time that I have a tendency towards addictions, so I have to watch what I get excited about.  But this gardening thing is truly beyond my control.  I spend hours and hours planting, amending, fixing, planning... you name it.  When I really get going, Laura laughs and says "oh, you have SUCH a gardening boner right now."

It's really like the first time that I felt that adrenaline rush from climbing.  I still remember the first climb that I ever did, on toprope, inside on a gym wall, and I still remember the first time on real rock.  And the first time leading a trad rock route (all two pitches of it). 

Or mountaineering.  I remember the rush of seeing "15,000'" on my altimeter for the first time.  And "17,000'" and "19,000'" and "20,000'"!  And seeing the conical shadow of the mountain at sunrise for the first time.  And skiing off an insane cornice, hoping that the ton of snow wouldn't follow me down.

Or riding a motorcyle really fast up a mountain road.  By which I mean, really fast.  I remember the first time that I ditched, too, watching the bike spin away from me, motor still running as the asphalt ground through my leather jacket.

But those things are nothing compared to gardening.  Seriously.  I think I go out to check my garlics about four or five times a day, and I'm now looking at greenhouses because I can't stand the thought of not being able to bring my eggplant seedlings to fruit.

All this is not to say that I've stopped mountaineering, or rock climbing, or riding fast motorcycles.  Those things are still fun.  But when you're done climbing a mountain, or leading a rock route, or zooming up a twisty road, it's really, really nice to come home to a quiet garden of herbs and vegetables, to listen to the sound of the wind in the trees and the creek and the frogs, and to know in a really visceral way that setting roots is right and good.