I spent a portion, a good portion actually, of my weekend dealing with shit in one fashion or another. Literal shit. Feces. Excrement. Number two. Yucky poo-poo, as my toddler calls it. And bless his toddling heart, not all of it was his. Most of it, in fact, was from a horse and was toe-ing the line between shit and dirt. It's a fine line, that one. When does poop that has been sitting around for Lord knows how long actually become dirt? At what point is it ok to touch bare-handed? At what point does it go from being "yucky poo-poo" to being "hell yeah, let me stick some tomatoes in that"?
Well, this weekend I bare-handedly stuck some tomatoes in a big raised bed filled with it, whatever it you call it. I'll try to get some photos this weekend. You can totally see pieces of intact horse poop (I'm refraining from using the word "turd" because I think that word is in poor taste. "Shit" isn't though. Shut up.). It's a cross between hilarious and off-putting. Y'all can be the judge. But the tomatoes I planted look AWESOME so far, so, yeah, horse shit for the win.
And that's the first step. The garden is planted. We're working on our fence and cleaning out the stalls (which are full of the aforementioned horse shit) and making big plans. We've cleared the first hurdle, we bought the farm (literally, not in the metaphor-for-dying way). Well, we bought the property anyway. It's not quite a farm yet, but it has all the potential. It may take a couple years and I'm sure the rest of my hair will turn grey, but it'll be a farm, dammit.
**update on the dishcloth...still not done. Carry on.