Getting the dirt

The gardens around our house I had built up a couple decades past have subsided. The mostly peaty, muskeg soil I used has rotted down leaving me with more old, hard clay than my potatoes like. Time for rejuvenation. So I had Kipp dump me a big load in the front yard right where the big old birch tree used to be. That tree under threat by Hydro None for decades for posing a threat to their power lines had finally had the good grace to die a natural death, much to the delight of Pickle who had been lusting after it as a supplement to his firewood stockpile.
With the big dirt pile duly delivered I got out the wheelbarrow and proceeded to mulch my potato crop with a good six inches of new soil. Job done, I tipped the wheelbarrow upside down on the slope of the pile right where I would need it for the next installment when my ambition returned. The twenty cu yd pile was now down to 19.5 cu yd.
With social distancing having shut down the debating Table at the Bakery, those interested in the goings on in the community have been forced into cruising the streets to keep track of things.
Pickle rolled into the drive a week or so after the dirt pile arrived.
“Elliott, I see that pile isn’t shrinking much. That wheelbarrow hasn’t moved an inch in over a week,” he opined keeping his distance through the window, not attempting to exit the truck.
In complete contradiction of social distancing protocols I lunged through the window grabbed his right hand, gave it a hearty shake and enthusiastically explained, “You know Pickle, you are the first one who has ever showed up for the afternoon shift!”
Pickle was nearly lost for words but managed to sputter, “But there’s no shovel.”
“Not to worry, I’ll get one,” I stated hurrying towards the garage to get one.
I returned just in time to see Pickle’s truck disappearing down the street.
Bill was next along on a morning walk. “Nice looking dirt. When are you going to get it spread?” But he barely slowed down even when I pointed to the shovel and barrow.
Lou stopped by with some fresh cinnamon buns, warm from the oven. “Are you going to spread it all? Could I get a little bucket of it for my plants?” she inquired meekly.
Lou, you keep bring fresh cinnamon buns and I’ll deliver all you can handle!
Finally, Rick flagged me down on the road when I was biking. “You need a hand spreading that dirt? I can bring my tractor and loader in to complete the job lickity-split!” he offered.
I appreciate the offer, Rick but have to decline as the dirt is to be spread over the summer and the fall as crops are rotated in and out of the garden.
But it’s amazing how a simple pile of dirt can stimulate social interest in a social distancing scenario.