Tire Man works harder than any man I know. Just yesterday, he dug a four-foot deep, grave sized hole in his yard. All by himself. He started with the sun. Bear in mind the sun clocks in at four A.M. in July in Utah. I was sawing logs and Tire Man had a shovel in his hand playing in his compost.
When it comes to compost, Tire Man is a Master. King of a “this dirt used to be banana peels and grass clippings” art that was almost lost somewhere between big box stores and one hundred and eighty two channels of nothing to watch. He perfected the do-it-yourself compost bin from four free tires and has a railroad tie lined compost pit as big as dumpster. That was where I discovered him yesterday on the way back from my morning walk just after eight o’clock, mid day for my neighborhood super human hero.
He looked like a happy gravedigger. The contentment in his smile earned by the shovel full and filled with pride. Rightfully so. As far as holes in the ground go, his coffin shaped excavation was a gem. Neat. Clean. Symmetrical. It was the Empire State building of compost pit holes. I gushed. He beamed. We both understood. A lesson Tire Man lived for decades that was mine in a wheelbarrow of virgin dirt less than one sun earlier. Knowing compost is harnessing fire.
Compost is garden fuel and turns yesterday into tomorrow. This hole in the ground was Tire Man’s passion pit where dirt was born. Dirt that will womb seeds that warm to plants and balance our need for life. I popped my composting cherry this summer and birthed a virginal lust for the cycle of all things. My first-born was in a wheelbarrow in my back yard and I was already hungry for more. More dirt.
Dirt of my own making from things I used to send away unclaimed and unwanted. By products of my choices and actions once foisted onto society to handle that will now be given a home. Right in my own back yard. Banana peels from breakfast that will surface as dirt and then as early Girl tomatoes. Tomatoes transported from plant to mouth by the very hand that tended them and quench hunger with deserved joy. Composting is part of that cycle.
The cycle of understanding. Understanding where what we eat comes from and how it gets to us. Understanding that what we throw away might actually be a treasure. A treasure we would have to hunt for in shops tomorrow if we don’t take the time to bury it in our own backyard today.
Tire Man was on a treasure hunt yesterday morning while most of us were asleep. Treasure hunting is dirty work when you do it right. He does it right and I am beginning to do it right. Sure beats digging our graves with our choices and trashing the world as we do. I guess I am becoming a dirty old man. Better late than never, boys and girls.
(If you are a doer, get to Tirecrafting.com for the book, DVD, and sawblade....then do.)
No comments:
Post a Comment