When we first bought our home, six years ago already, I always gardened with gloves on. The feeling of dirt on my hands irritated me. Dry dirt had a raspy feel, too hard and too crumbly. Damp dirt had a spongy feel, too moist and too clingy. Working in the earth without gloves left my hands feeling dry and rough.

I realized today that I have not been reaching for my gloves as often over the past few years. More and more, I dig into the garden with bare skin, reveling in the textures I encounter. I enjoy the connection to the earth as I work in it. The feeling of the gloves is irritating when I do put them on, and I discard them quickly.

My fingertips may be stained green, my nails may be broken, rough, and lined with black rims of dirt, but my senses have expanded and my enjoyment of the garden has grown. Like with knitting, it is now the process of gardening that I enjoy more than the product.

I have forged a deeper relationship with the natural world as the years have passed, becoming quietly passionate about protecting the earth and her resources as time has gone by. Perhaps there is a connection between the dirt on my skin and the passion in my soul.