Getting Back to The Dirty Life

“But most people don’t go outside that much” a man on the radio said when defending the idea of building a self enclosed city on Mars that could sustain human life.

I was in the car as I heard this, and my first reaction was “This guy’s nuts! People go outside all the time.  What kind of person wouldn’t want to go outside?” 

As I continued to listen, I rolled down the window just enough and handed the attendant my validated ticket for the grocery store parking garage, before rolling it up again as I exited.  After an earlier workout at the gym and a long day grading papers, I was looking forward to getting home and settling in with a book and glass of wine.

And then it dawned on me— I was the type of person the guy on the radio described:  a perfect candidate for Mars.

What were my excuses?  It was January.  It’d been raining forever.  I was wearing a particularly uncomfortable pair of heels.  The list could go on. 

When I parked a few minutes later, and climbed the carpeted stairs toward home, I wondered what on earth happened to those dirty childhood days, when I would get grass stains on my pants, and sand under my fingernails.  What happened to the mud pie and snowball fight?  Did I grow out of the outdoors?  If so, how could I find my way back?

Kristin Kimball’s new book, The Dirty Life, answers that question and gives us all a reason to get outdoors.  She’s the flip-flopped version of my own equation:  instead of growing out of the outdoors, she grew into them. 

A New York writer who falls in love with a farmer, the book takes readers along with her as she starts a CSA with her fiancé, and learns to farm on 500 acres six hours from the city she loves.  She describes her land and the animals who share it, with such care, that I felt I too had smelled the soil on the end of her shovel, and looked into her cow Delia’s patient eyes. 

There are no excuses on Kimball’s end as she bundles up against the winter dawns with no experience, and sweats out the sickeningly hot summer.  The book chronicles all four seasons on the farm and in her new relationship, which is just as regular in its shifting.

The best part?  It reminded me of the meditative tiredness at the end of a day outdoors, the amazing meal made with food pulled from the earth.  She made my mouth water for things I would never normally crave— pigeon wrapped in bacon, giant watermelon radishes drizzled with reduced balsamic and sprinkled with pomegranates.  Most of all, she made me not want to live on Mars. 

So, I decided to prove the radio guy wrong and join some of the people who do go outdoors. Marra Farm Giving Garden is located in South Seattle, and it donates all produce to the food bank and to the community in which it was raised and harvested.  They have volunteer work parties on Tuesday, Friday, and Saturday from 10:00-2:00, starting in March.  I’m happy to say that I’ll be there this spring, graduating from mud pies to edible produce.    

In the meantime, as I go out for my usual ritual of getting coffee and reading, I have started to walk instead of drive.  In true Seattle form, it usually starts to rain, and my suede shoes inevitably get soaked, but there is something about the dampness on my skin, and the blood in my cheeks, that makes me feel more like my old self.  

For more information on Marra Farm Giving Garden visit:
Marra Farm Giving Garden