Who would have thought a big pile of dirt could make something fun and beautiful?
On one side of our pond is just a bank, a man-made boundary that turned the springs on the side of a hill into a body of water. It is not fancy, just dirt. But it makes all the difference. It holds the whole thing together.
It’s big enough to walk on, to leave footprints in the snow. It’s big enough to stow a boat on, to arrange a few dead logs on for seats. It’s big enough to anchor a dock on. And although you cannot see them, there is even room for sustaining infant mayhaw trees, which will provide us with the best juice in the world.
But it’s just a pile of dirt.
On the other end of it are the daffs. A huge, glorious flock of daffodils pops up on this bank every spring. They are always the first open, due to the warmth off the water, I guess. They are already out and waiting for a bit more sun, to show some yellow for us. All they needed was a pile of dirt.
People are not dirt. But I want to be there when needed, nothing fancy, just there for whoever or whatever the need. I want to hold my end of this life in place and be firm and supportive. I want to matter. I want folks to feel like they could anchor something in me.
And I want to support the blooming things.