“All good farmers become connoisseurs of dirt and dust. We have progressed from trailing a horse-drawn plow and marching through mud to riding modern equipment that elevates us three or four feet above the ground. But no good farmer can escape contact with the earth, we feel it on our tongues and in our throats.
Farm dust varies with soil types and regional cuisines. I don’t know how the Georgia red clay tastes, but I have visited the Wisconsin dairy lands and Washington’s Skagit Valley. Mixed with rains and lush growth, their dust is heavy and thick and has a richness, like a fattening dessert of chocolate.
Dust from the San Joaquin Valley of California contains subtle nuances of flavor only the native may detect. The denser clays of the northern valley have a smell of river history mingled with them. The Sacramento and San Joaquin rivers drain into this lowland area, centuries of topsoil collected from a valley three hundred miles long.”
— Epitaph For A Peach, by David Mas Masumoto