Good clean dirt

Here in Iowa we take pride in our good black soil, rich enough to make this state one of the most fertile areas in the world. But underneath we've got our share of clay. Try digging in the stuff for six hours - especially when it's damp. After one or two tries, there's more sticking to your shovel than you're taking out of the hole, which suddenly renders digging a great alternative to weight lifting.

(Jason and I are getting the necessary holes, pipes and trenches ready in the addition and breezeway basements in order to move the sump-pump from the former into the latter, which will become the Grand Central Pumping Station for the mansion, I guess.)

I handed a couple good clay-ey clods up to Ethan and Nolan because I remembered the happy hours we older ones used to spend making our own pottery. Clay was a precious commodity. We would hunt for 'clay mines' in the piles of dirt dug up from the addition and garage basements. The clay veins would always be lighter - kind of golden. Once found, the clay had to be molded quickly before it dried into crumbly orangey dirt.

But it passed... the age of the dirt mountains and the rock piles covered in glorious forests of weeds... and boring civilization took over.

Of course, some things don't change. Like the dead mouse Jason found and buried.