Dirt

I wrote this piece for a nonfiction writing class I took at UW, taught by Jeanne Sather.
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I can trace the story of my life through the dirt.

From the swampy rich soil of my childhood home in Virginia to the red earth of Kenya to the clay that comprises my backyard now, dirt provides clues to where I’ve been and where I am now.

When I was younger, it was the dirt that clung to my hiking boots that told the stories. Those boots picked up ancient dirt all over Europe and carried me across the United States.

These days my hiking boots collect dust, while the dirt I sweep off the floors of my home that offers a look at what’s going on in my life.

I swept up sawdust and wiped away bicycle grease when my husband was building his bike shop. And there’s no telling how much drywall dust has clogged my vacuum as we’ve remodeled our house over the past 10 years.

When my two little boys were toddlers, I’d find Cheerios and crushed Goldfish crackers scattered across the floor or tucked into couch cushions. Later it was petrified nuggets of Play-Doh and evidence of abandoned art projects.

I can still judge the success of a day at school by how much sandbox sand gets tracked in to the house. When my sons come home clean, I worry.

Until this year I could count on finding little pods of soft white fur strewn around the house. Now my little dog Daisy is shedding up in Dog Heaven, leaving it for someone else to find.

These days I’m more likely to come across pebbles from my 5-year-old’s rock collection or muddy soccer cleat prints embedded with bits of grass. The sheer volume of dirt seems to have increased exponentially now that my kids are old enough to travel as a pack with the rest of the neighborhood boys. I just shake my head as dozens of muddy feet file in at a time.

I can’t even begin to imagine what sort of dirt and detritus will find its way into my house in the coming years. If only reading my dustpan were more like reading tea leaves, providing insight into the future instead of evidence of where we’ve been.