Yesterday was a curious sequence of teachings for me.

The whole morning, I spent planting squashes. That sounds like a poetic activity (activities, this is how Richard calls the different things that need to be done, and each time he tells me "let's change activity", I expect him to continue with proposing modeling clay). I guess, in theory it should be. Wonderful landscape all around. Forests, hills, cute little hamlets. Cute little plants to transfer carefully from pots into the ground. That should be a lovely "activity".

Well it wasn't. I hated it. And the whole time, I thought "god, I hate this". Why? Well, it's kind of my fault. Since I realized that turning the ground around and to leave it bare kills it, now every time I encounter this bare ground, completely dry just like rock, looking more like concrete than something alive able to give birth to something alive - it makes my hair rise. From a distance, say from a car seat, or a tractor seat, this 'naked' field doesn't look bad. These straight alternating rows of green plants surrounded by brown soil actually look neat, and give you a certain sense of wonder. They make you think, at first, wow, we humans make some nice things. We can grow the plants we like wherever we wish! How powerful is that!

But when you kneel down on this bare, dry ground, to plant something and the big dry pieces

[Unfinished]