Journey Down the Rabbit Hole

I have the urge to write almost every day. I don’t exactly want to keep a diary, and I don’t think every observation I make is brilliant (or even most of them). So, I was at a quandary. What should my topic be? I love food and do write about that, but I am not a food journalist just an enthusiast. I kept pondering and it clicked. I realized that my life is driven by a series of mini obsessions. I am never happier than when I am zooming down a rabbit hole searching for something. On these days, Google is my best friend. So, I thought I would start a series of articles on what I am obsessed about for the moment. Let’s see how far it takes us.

Obsession #1: When I was little kid, I liked to eat dirt. My Mom would tell me that it was because I had a mineral deficiency, and I was instinctively trying to get some of what I was missing. I guess that’s entirely possible, but if you asked me. I just liked dirt. Especially the smell and the way if felt when I dug in my hands and crumbled it between my fingers. I must be returning to childhood, because I’ve been sinking my hands into damp soil a lot lately. I find it to be very relaxing and somewhat empowering. The earthy aroma and the texture take me outside of myself and help me feel more connected to myself and to the outside.

Every day, several times a day for the past few weeks, I pull out my bag of soil and dig in. Why do I have a bag of soil? It started when I bought several plants for my backyard. I waited a couple of days to plant them, which was a mistake. A string of 100+ days since then meant that I couldn’t stay outside long enough to plant them. I brought them inside to keep them from burning. Once in the house, I was too aware of the plants. I kept watering them and ended up slowly drowning them (darn that super absorbent soil). Suddenly, six healthy plants turned into two plus a whole lot of extra potting soil. Oops.

I guess I could have dumped the soil it in my flower box and been done with it. For some reason I decided to put it in a large bowl instead. Somehow, that extra earth hanging out on my kitchen counter called to me. So, I transferred it to a couple of large Ziploc bags that keep it contained. I figure if I'm going to self-soothe taking a daily dip into my soil is a fairly harmless way to go. Somewhat messy, but harmless. In a way, the soil is the gift to self that keeps on giving.

Thanks to my new habit, I learned a new word. I decided that what kept calling to me was the smell. Turns out that enticing aroma has a name. Petrichor is the warm, earthy smell of rain that falls on dry soil. It derived from the Greek words 'petra', meaning stone, and 'ichor', which is the “blood of the gods” in Greek mythology. Yep, that’s about right. That smell IS divine. If I close my eyes, I can feel the light patter of drizzle on my face. When I breathe deeply everything suddenly smells so clean and fresh. In just a few moments the tranquility has washed all over me and I feel refreshed and fall into a state of relaxation.

My obsession with my potting soil (yes, my nightly ritual continues) has spilled over into a search for the perfect candle. I have thunderstorm (close), potting soil (not quite), and cut grass (not quite) so far. Three more—rain, petrichor, and rain petrichor (yes, the last two are distinct from each other)—are on the way.

I plan to search until I have the ideal scent. I suspect it may end up being the combination of one or two of them, but who knows? The “one” might just be out there. Then, my potting soil, or as I prefer to call it little bag of heaven, will make its way into the garden and I will be on to my next campaign ... Oh, one last thing. If you're my friend, you're probably getting a candle for Christmas.