In this Soil...
a Journey in Place piece
This essay was written in response to a writing prompt from Janisse Ray’s year long Journey in Place course which invites you to get to know your “place” more intimately. All you have to do is subscribe to one of her substack’s to be eligible to receive this thought provoking course in your email box weekly. At the end of the year, you will receive an actual book of these emails in your physical mailbox.
Draw a Map of Your Place
From the Writing Prompt
In this soil… lies the building blocks of our life. It holds the nutrients for the vegetables we plant that allows them to thrive and survive, in turn, we consume the vegetables and we survive and thrive. Unfortunately, she will also hold chemicals that are sprayed and have lasting effects for years. This soil acts as a filter for the water cycle. The wastewater from our septic tank seeps into a drain field that is positioned at least 24” above the seasonal high water table and at least 100’ from our well, so that the water can be filtered by the soil and return to the water table. During the rainy winter when the trees are sleeping naked in the woods and the sap isn’t rising, the soil works day and night to filter all the rains that fall and are added back to the creeks and rivers. I’ve watched the soil move across the farm from east to west during long wet periods. The water is moving the soil trying to reach our beloved Ohoopee river just a mile away. I’ve watched the soil and water rushing down the hill at my Sanctuary in the Swamp seeking a way to join the river. The water will deposit the sandy soil at the bottom of the hill, causing problems for vehicles trying to travel through it. Their tires will sink into the sand if they’re driving too slowly and in their panic, they will spin them down until the frame is setting on the ground. Then they will go door to door searching for someone with a 4WD or tractor to pull them out. One year, the county thought they would fix the problem by capping the top of the sand hill with clay which only ended up flooding my shop. A layer of thick, red clay spread across the whole concrete floor. We’re still cleaning that up. The clay also filled in the hand dug, spring fed well that was lined with timbers, where my g. grandmother gathered water for cooking and laundry when she raised my grandfather here during the early 1930’s in the ‘Hoopee swamp.
We’ve gardened in this soil since 2006. Upon moving back to the area, we lived in the swamp a mile west of where I had grown up. The soil was well drained, yet dark and rich, full of nutrients that our beloved river would leave behind after she receded in the spring. We grew the most lovely squash, corn, and butterbeans in that garden space under the power lines where my grandpa gardened for many years before he moved up the road. I’ll never forget the first garden we planted down there, Grandpa came down and sat in a chair while we worked. He was already deep in a long battle with lung cancer, but he liked to watch us work. From his chair he’d say, “Honey, I don’t think that’s the way you want to do that. Want me to show you how?”, in a sing-song voice. “Sure.”, I’d say as I held out whatever gardening implement I was using incorrectly. Then he’d get up and show me his way before returning to his perch.
Now we garden at the farm where I lived from the age of twelve to eighteen. The soil here is sandy and lacks structure to hold nutrients and water for use during the long hot Georgia summers. We’ve learned to amend it with our homemade compost created from the chicken, duck, & turkey bedding we gather. We give our seedlings a good start by planting them with a handful of “black gold”, also known as worm castings, from our worm beds. We make worm tea by steeping the castings in water and pouring over our plants. All this activity is for long term soil building, not the quick fix of commercial fertilizers that leaves your soil more depleted year after year.
The soil is vastly different on the west side of the farm as compared to the east side. This is not apparent looking at the hayfields near the highway, but wander the woods and observe the trees and animals that live there, it will then be obvious. The woods on the western side are various pines, oaks, holly, and magnolias with an understory of yucca (Yucca filamentosa), ground lichens (Cladonia subtenius) and wire grass (Aristida stricta). Gopher tortoises (Gopherus polyphemus) burrow into the sandy soil and red foxes (Vulpes vulpes) dig dens into it. On the east side of the farm there was a clear cut back in 2007 to remove the beetle infested long leaf pines that were turpentined by my g.grandfather in the early 1900’s. Although we have replanted a stand of long leaf pines, you will see sweet gums, maples, and a thicker mass of brambles including blackberries, wild muscadines, and maypops. This is perfect habitat for northern bobwhite quail (Colinus virgianianus) and the eastern cottontail rabbit (Sylvilagus floridanus). Our pastured pigs love this area as well, especially during the summer.
This soil connects generations. As children we played cars and trucks under the majestic grandmother magnolia which was planted by Granny in this soil seventy years ago. We tried riding our bikes up the sandy driveway, although it was quite difficult. Now my grand sons play under grandmother magnolia, using her exposed gnarled roots as balance beams to run along or roadways for their cars and trucks. This soil contains the blood, sweat, and tears of my ancestors and countless others through history. My brother once found a cannon ball in our western woodland. Even before colonization, this soil grew forests that were the hunting grounds of the Creek Indians. This soil is the basic foundation of us, never forget that. We’re constantly vacuuming it out of our home, but it grows our food and filters our water. We must take care of it as it takes care of us. It is Mother Earth’s most basic element. She doesn’t like to be naked and bare as she will lose herself to the water cycle. Keep her covered by planting trees, native vegetation, and cover crops. Thank her every time you dump out that vacuum canister.
I hope you enjoyed this post and come along as I walk on the old bridge road to my “sit spot” in the swamp. Where is your place? I hope you are documenting something about it to share with the next generations. Let me know in the comments below.
Thanks for reading!
I loved reading this! So many rich stories held in your farm's soil!
Such a comprehensive post, so vast & lovely. Thank you, Becki.