Also known as “good clean dirt”.
My first inclination is to credit my mother with the phrase. But more than likely she picked it up from one of her peers.
We managed to bring dirt in many forms and varieties into the farmhouse when I was a child. “Clean dirt” mother complained about the least.
Brought from the fields or the garden, this dirt represented work. And the promise of a crop. During the years we knocked pounds of it off our shoes at the back steps. Another batch went outside on wash day – when dad’s overalls would be carried out, the cuffs unrolled, and the garment given a good shaking. But bits and pieces still made it into the house – some were swept up. Others rinsed down the drain when our dust decorated faces were washed.
A few more days and I’ll go push my hands into my own tiny patch of “good clean dirt”. My preliminary work confirms the earthworms survived the winter in large number. The robins and I smile.
I like them for their work in the garden. The robins like them for breakfast, lunch and dinner.