Till Dirt Do Us Part

Leo leaned toward the window to get a better look. “I think you have enough dirt to outfit every garden in town. How much is this costing us?”
With all the gardening supplies, the wood for the boxes, and now this dirt dump, our money-saving garden was turning into a money-eating monstrosity. I was reminded of the plant from Little Shop of Horrors smiling and licking his chops after saying, “Feed Me, Seymour.”
I tried to minimize. “Oh, not that much. I’m sure it was on sale.”
A look of relief came over my husband’s features. “Yeah, that’s what you get when you buy in bulk,” Leo agreed. I wasn’t sure how long that would last, but for tonight, my budget overrun would go unnoticed.
“I guess I’ll start filling the boxes in the morning. What’s your favorite vegetable?”
“My favorite vegetable? That’s tough. I really like tomatoes.”
“Then that will be the first thing I plant. Fresh tomatoes on the table. Won’t that be wonderful?” As opposed to the fresh tomatoes the grocery store had always supplied with no dirt involved whatsoever.
“Can’t wait.” Leo kissed me and turned to go upstairs. I looked back at the dark foreboding mountain that I was now expected to move. Damn that Rocky. How was it my back already hurt and I hadn’t even lifted a shovel?
It was nine-thirty the next morning when my aunt Maggie rushed through the door to see our newest addition, a giant pile of dirt. She had just dropped my cousin Danny at his day habilitation center for adults with developmental delays. I had also deposited Coco at Chickadee’s and had to make only one trip back when we forgot her lunch.
Aunt Maggie came striding into my kitchen, her small five-foot frame in a hummingbird sweatshirt, and her blue plastic handbag hung over her forearm. “I’m here now. What in the world were you so upset about on the phone?”
I took Maggie by the hand and walked her out to the backyard. “This.”
Aunt Maggie’s eyes widened as she took it in. “Lord a mighty, girl, how much dirt did you order?”
“A bed full?”
“Well, I think you’ll have enough for the job and then some.” Aunt Maggie’s words were an attempt at comfort.
“So here’s my question. Is there any easy way to get all of that dirt shoveled into the garden boxes?”
“Sure, it’s as simple as anything. You take the shovel and put the wide soup spoon–like end in the dirt, and then you put the dirt into the planter box.” I did not enjoy my aunt’s humor in the least. She reached over and took the shovel that was resting up against the back of the house.
“Have at it, little girl. You’ve got a lot of work to do.”
Butch scratched on the back door wanting to come out. I normally would have let him, but for some reason, he was fidgety today and kept barking at the dirt pile. It was a little much for a dog’s headspace to suddenly have a mountain spring up in his yard. I took the shovel and thrust it deep down into the pile and walked over to dump the dirt into a planting box. Somehow, yesterday, that planting box didn’t look that huge. That little shovelful barely grazed the bottom of the box. It was going to be a long, long day. In my heart of hearts right then, I made a decision. A judgment call, if you will. I. Hate. Gardening.
“Do you want me to run home and get my shovel to help you out?” Maggie asked.
I turned and faced her giving her my big brown eyes that could have been in a velvet painting. “Would you?”
“Well, I’m not the woman I used to be, but I could help a little bit.” Right then and there I loved my Aunt Maggie. She was always there for me in times like this.
“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” I groveled.
“You’re welcome.” She looked at me as if I didn’t need to bow at her feet. She would’ve done it anyway.
I stuck the spade back into the dirt, renewed with the thought of having help. Yes. I could do this. But instead of going deep into the pile as the first shovel thrust had, I hit on something hard.
“What is that?” I pulled the shovel out and then touched at the lump with the tip of the blade.
“What?”
“There’s something in this. Something hard. “I dropped the shovel and started pushing the dirt away using my hands. Sifting through the small granules of dark-brown soil, I uncovered what looked like an orange T-shirt. The T-shirt was apparently filled with something, so I scraped at it some more and realized there was an arm attached to the shirt. I had been delivered more than a bed full of dirt. I had been delivered a dead man.