Today was the day to travel to the local big box garden center to buy some bags of compost. I looked online first, so I wouldn’t stand there all day trying to decide—I had work to do! I found a product that claims to break up the hard red clay soil and improve the structure. It surely needs something. The website said that my ninety square foot flower bed would take ten bags. Our little car can’t carry that much and neither can I. Too expensive anyway. So I ended up with five bags—three of the “Clay Breaker” and two of another product (as it turns out, by the same company) that “contains organic fertilizer” –from a hen house it seems. I hope the rain doesn’t enhance that “fragrance” and/or bring the local flock pecking. From a bug standpoint I don’t mind but I don’t want to trip over them or have them in the way of the cars.

Some helpful young guys at the garden center hoisted the 1.5 cubic foot bags off the pile, onto the flat bed cart and into our car trunk. Too bad they couldn’t do the reverse on the other end. But a wheel cart (I don’t know what else to call it) and I managed to haul them out and to the garden, with my husband happily doing the wheeling.

Before I spread the compost, I dug up the clay soil, thankful that the weather was perfect–my mother calls it “Chamber of Commerce weather,” blue skies and mild temperatures, a soft breeze. The bag instructions said to dig up four to six inches; my back says I dug about four inches across the plot. I think I will feel it tomorrow; it’s said that if you keep on doing the thing that made you sore, you won’t be sore anymore ( of course not if you’re injured) so tomorrow’s garden workout might help.

Would I get it done before dark? It had turned cooler in the “golden hour” (the hour before sunset that photographers cherish) but it didn’t take long for me to warm up. The neighborhood rooster had given up his crowing and the crows their cawing, making way for songbirds who called, “Secret, secret” and were answered by “Picchu, picchu.” A dog barked in the distance, but otherwise it was totally quiet, giving space for my prayers. Countless shovelfuls later, the red clay became black with a layer of compost—not a deep one, but hopefully enough to make a difference in the clay bog.

Tomorrow, Lord willing, I’ll begin to plant some flowers—and make progress on weeding my vegetable patch.

What is your soil like? Do you add anything to improve it?