As I’ve mentioned many times before, my house sits on a literal pile of rocks. I don’t have such a thing as native topsoil in my yard. My property lines are flung across what is essentially a heap of cobbles and boulders plowed into this section of our broad valley by ancient waters.
But an interesting twist flavors the
rocky makeup of the ground at the front of my house. I discovered this many
years ago when I planted a Russian olive and again when digging a hole for the
linden tree outside the bay window. In both instances, while digging a hole in
which I could plant the tree, I dug down into a layer of pure sand—almost as
fine as flour. The layer of sand lies a bit over a foot below the surface and
is at least a foot thick. The linden tree has thrived, I believe, by splaying
its roots within this layer.
A few days ago, I started digging a
hole for a tree (species to be determined) that we’ll plant some twenty or so
feet southwest of the linden early next spring. Happily, after barring and
shoveling my way down through the hard-packed rocks, I once again encountered
the super-soft layer of sand.
Strange good stuff, this. I’m not
sure what unusual dynamics account for layering the sand between shelves of
stone, but I appreciate the effort.
I’ve posted photographs of my digging
project. This includes a photograph of the sand alongside a Cold Smoke beer.
The beer is not a reference for size in this instance—rather, it’s there
because I earned a sip.
—Mitchell Hegman
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