Dirt. I’ve been in a life and death struggle with grit, sand, dust and leaves … for years. Living in a woods, the amount of dirt ever-present in the air and on the ground is hard to believe. And then, there are the leaves.
The majestic oak trees with which we are surrounded drop millions of leaves every year. Many, we leave in situ. There’s no place to put them anyway. They mulch the garden and turn to humus on the floor of the woods.
The dogs track them in and are sometimes so covered with them, they look like snipers disguising themselves as they set their targets.
Living in the woods is wonderful. And very dirty. We fight back, but we lose. In a good period, we hold our own and make minor headway again the encroaching rubble of nature. Such is the way of woodland living.