The best art I ever made was free and compostable

At my artist talk last weekend, I distributed small glassine envelopes each containing just one teaspoon of soil from the woods. I typed “Earth” and GPS coordinates on each envelope and spoke about what a teaspoon of soil contains: exploded stars, remnants of the beginning of our universe, a billion microorganisms. I could go on. But really, you had to be there. That was the point. This was not an object but a performance.

Yes, it was kind of sappy. But that’s only because we tend to think caring about something deeply as sappy. So be it.

Making these packets took me less than a day : scooping soil on to a cookie sheet, sifting out the Douglas fir needles using a bit of window screen, patting the soil into an even layer so it could dry in the sun. Then, after typing on each envelope and measuring out a teaspoon of soil, I glued each packet shut. A perfect day. A bright light shining through the muck that is now.

I found the right size container to hold these envelopes, an antique wood box that previously held slides from a trip to Tasmania. (I love a touch of random.)

The packet of soil was worthless. It’s dirt. The packet of soil is a priceless. It holds a microscopic universe and particles of of our giant one. And, the seeds of future one. (And, actual seeds. If you plant it, you’ll grow something. Yet another miracle!)

At the talk, one person wiped away tears. A fellow sap. Two people turned the envelopes into percussion shakers and improvised a rhythm. We talked about glassine envelopes, and agreed it was the best part about buying stamps at the post office.

It’s the best thing I ever made.

Happy Earth Day. Now, go read “A Sand County Almanac” by Aldo Leopold.