DialMforMara suggested that I blog about plants, and here I am.

Plants.

I bury my toes in loam-dark soil; 

I walk barefoot through the dirt my ancestors farmed. 

That is the part I easily remember of a poem I wrote in high school, when the assignment was roots.

Yeah, but it took me more than 20 more years to really internalize why my ethnic heritage – German on my mother’s side – was something we never really talked about.  And on my father’s side I was Good Old Mutt, so my roots were, well.  Farming.

My pen name is a tree.

If you look at my twitter, my background image is a vineyard.

When I dream of going home, I dream about my grandparents’ home, the old farmhouse, or gardening with my grandma.

I like things with very deep roots.  Old things with their structure going way down.  I like things with their feet buried in the soil and their arms lifted up to the sky.

Like me.