The urge struck me this morning to reach down and grab a handful of soil from the field I was in, and squeeze the dirt into a ball in the palm of my hand.
That urge this time of the year is as natural to people close to the soil as it is to pull a bit of June grass to chew on or to stop for a moment to inhale a freshly cut field of alfalfa.
The spring dirt-grabbing habit was handed down by some of the old-timers I’d known, that taught and practiced since the earliest of my days. It came with the admonishment to not even consider dropping a seed into the soil until a handful of dirt squeezed in my hand doesn’t remain in a clump. That came with the lesson to not put tomato plants into the garden in these parts until Memorial Day weekend.
The old-timers seemed to most often know what they were talking about, holding back the yet-unhaltered young folks from dropping coulters into the soil before the time was proper. Most youngsters of my era were apt and obligated to listen and learn.
Many other technologies since have taken over, an example being the soil thermometer I peer at beckoning me each morning. Plenty of other gadgets even more newfangled dictate ever-more-accurately when planting season is nigh.
No matter how accurate or technical those gadgets, though, plenty of us still will swoop a hand into the dirt this time of the year to see whether the palm-balled soil remains in a clump. And, according to this morning’s reading, the old-timer says it’s too early to plant in this neck of the woods.
— Scott Schultz
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