This is what I have to say about dirt. I have been in or near a garden all my life, even if we were living in an apartment, there were herbs growing and often, neighbors with gardens. I have pulled weeds and played in those gardens since I could crawl. My biological self, even with all it's cross-wired synapses, knows it is re-arranged dirt. I can't take that for granted the way some around me do.
I have had my current garden for the last 10 years. It started as rocks. When we bought the house and store, there was a 20 X 40 plot behind the garage that had been cleared for the construction of a large retaining wall a few years earlier. I had it graded flat so my daughter (circus performer at the time) could put her monstrous trampoline there. She got married and left (happily). A weed grew. I let it grow and then pulled it and set it down. I threw all my vegetable trimmings and over-ripe produce from the store back there. I built a compost bin and some cold frames. My “up the retaining wall” neighbors tossed their garden trimmings down into my compost bin. In a few years I had enough soil to grow a few things. Each year something becomes really successful and I manage to harvest enough of it to sell in the store. Even if it's just a few pounds, it reminds me of where my life comes from and what an ever churning vibrant process that is.
I went out there tonight to feed my compost and my flashlight shone on some larkspur. It was just too pretty not to take a picture.