Day 49
dirt
When we are spending time at our house, or at the camp that my family gathers at, or just camping in the woods, we get filthy. There are no barriers between us and the dust and dirt. Our hands and ankles, our feet if we are barefoot, smudges on our faces and grit in our hair, we get more earthy the longer we are out here. Soon your skin and nails start to smell like the fine alpine powder that is everywhere. It makes me feel closer to the planet.
I grew up with parents who believed in a shower every day, getting your hair up in ponytails or braids. I wore clean socks and clothes, washed my hands and face. I was raised squeaky clean. I performed pretty-little-girl well I think, but when I got older, I gradually abandoned it. I became more and more comfortable in worn jeans (that were actually worn out by me and not by a factory) and going barefoot outdoors. I went through a solid hippie phase where I wandered around town barefoot with bells on my ankles in gauze skirts and tanks. Even these days I tend to find myself loving the smell and feel of a bit of dirt on my skin.
During this pandemic, the obsession around cleanliness, to protect ourselves from the virus is certainly warranted; but I find the sterility of everything sad. I feel like the obsession with cleanliness sometimes distances us from our habitat. We can, in my opinion, be too clean.
Gradually, I am hoping we find ways to protect ourselves from viruses without sacrificing our connection to dirt. After all, dirt contributes to food, clay for structures, a home for the billions of creatures that help form our eco systems. Ultimately dirt will be our home, so we would do well to stay comfortable with a little under our nails.
