Carpe dirt
Avid readers might notice that I recently changed the name of this blog. I wanted a catchier name, something that summed it all up in one happy little phrase. After much deliberation and a vote or two, "dirt don't hurt" won, hands down.
It comes from the saying, "God made dirt, and dirt don't hurt," something that I've heard and said over the course of my lifetime, mostly when someone in the crowd is ewwwing about dirt somewhere on their body.
Personally, I love dirt. It's good fun stuff, especially when it's got a little water mixed in with it. I know this because I have many photos of myself, all pretty much looking like this one (taken waaay back in the late 90's)
I also know I love dirt because I refuse to wear gloves when I garden and boots in the creeks. If you've felt the good feeling of dirt under your nails and between your toes, you know what I'm talking about. If you haven't, you should.
My children are learning these life lessons, too, and for that I am quite proud of them. The bathtub water is usually the lovely color of dull chocolate milk and I challenge anyone to find a pair of my son's pants that don't have a hole or a stain on at least one knee.
But beyond the actual love of dirt, there's something else to the "dirt don't hurt" phrase. I'm taking it to the next level, in my own smalltown, backwoods way. Consider it a non-latin Carpe Diem, where instead of walking around the puddle, you jump, as hard as you can, right in the middle of it because tomorrow, that puddle might not be there.
Or as it is in my case, drive through the puddle on a 4wheeler, over and over and over and over and over, until someone snaps yet another muddy photo of you and your dad yells at you like you were 14 to go hose down the vehicle.
That's the good thing about dirt. It washes off (usually), and most of the time, doesn't hurt a single bit.
It comes from the saying, "God made dirt, and dirt don't hurt," something that I've heard and said over the course of my lifetime, mostly when someone in the crowd is ewwwing about dirt somewhere on their body.
Personally, I love dirt. It's good fun stuff, especially when it's got a little water mixed in with it. I know this because I have many photos of myself, all pretty much looking like this one (taken waaay back in the late 90's)
I also know I love dirt because I refuse to wear gloves when I garden and boots in the creeks. If you've felt the good feeling of dirt under your nails and between your toes, you know what I'm talking about. If you haven't, you should.
My children are learning these life lessons, too, and for that I am quite proud of them. The bathtub water is usually the lovely color of dull chocolate milk and I challenge anyone to find a pair of my son's pants that don't have a hole or a stain on at least one knee.
But beyond the actual love of dirt, there's something else to the "dirt don't hurt" phrase. I'm taking it to the next level, in my own smalltown, backwoods way. Consider it a non-latin Carpe Diem, where instead of walking around the puddle, you jump, as hard as you can, right in the middle of it because tomorrow, that puddle might not be there.
Or as it is in my case, drive through the puddle on a 4wheeler, over and over and over and over and over, until someone snaps yet another muddy photo of you and your dad yells at you like you were 14 to go hose down the vehicle.
That's the good thing about dirt. It washes off (usually), and most of the time, doesn't hurt a single bit.
Comments
Enjoy the dirt!