There is solidarity in this soil

One of my favorite things about living in Baltimore this year has been seeing the transformation our backyard has taken from this

to this

to this


in less than two months!

It's been a labor of love so far, mostly because of a little thing called heavy metal contamination (not as cool as it sounds... But at least Metallica is not involved). As I was dreaming about and planning my organic veggie and herb garden, I got to know some other Baltimore gardeners who strongly advised me to get the soil tested for lead and other heavy metals, because many Baltimore yards have toxic levels of these nasty things. So, I did. Today I got the letter from the lab, saying that we're in the clear! Everything looked great.

To celebrate, I went out and scattered some winter rye and hairy vetch seeds as a green mulch -- They'll help keep the soil from eroding over winter, and in the spring I can cut them in and they'll add healthy levels of nitrogen to the soil.

I had an interesting realization while I was planting, though. At first, while I raked the yard and began scattering the seeds, I had my iPod on. I was listening to songs about urban gardening (yes they exist), trying to be inspired, but as I went along, I realized that I could feel the autumn breeze on my skin, feel the warmth of the afternoon sun on my face, but I couldn't hear the sound of the seeds falling to the ground out of my hand, or the rustling of the leaves on the trees around me. I was "connecting myself with the earth" by planting seeds, but I wasn't connected completely. So I unplugged, and I listened. And I found nature, wildness, in the inner city. I heard those seeds hit the soft ground, I heard the black birds caw and the sparrows chirp, I heard the rake as I gently scraped it across my freshly scattered seeds. I heard the voices of my neighbors; I heard life. It was beautiful.

Currently, my backyard looks like this: