Appreciating all that clay it is capable of and recognizing and accepting when an unchangeable limitation has been reached has been an exciting and humbling journey. It certainly stops me in my tracks each time I arrive at a juncture where the only rational thing to do is to draw a conclusion and make an adjustment.
I recall my grandmother's soil up north, with her noting its high clay content. Indeed it looked different from the soil in the city gardens I was familiar with; it wasn't loamy, it was clumpy, and it was much tanner. Filled with clay, the soil she gave her time and attention to was graciously productive, providing much nourishment.
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