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You know what I dig? Holes. Holes in the ground, that is. I dig digging them, and I do one or two a week if I can.
Can't say why, exactly, and it's a pretty new pass-time for me. I sure helped bury a few cars in my short stint with the Holy Aquifers. Maybe that's what turned me onto it. But even before that, I think there's something of those mushrooms still with me, somehow. Because now, being in the earth still feels so... right.
I like the picking of a spot for a new hole, usually somewhere up in the hillsides behind my house where the soil is loose and easy. I like those first few shovelfuls, when comes that "it'll all be okay soon" feeling. But it's after a few hours of work, when you're getting a deeper into the cool earth and your muscles want a break, that's the good stuff. And you crouch down on in there, curl up in a ball, and you're centered. You're connected, you're part of something, the consumer and the consumed, the spoke and hub. You're back on the land, you're back IN the land. You're home. Hard to describe it.
And sure, it's good exercise and all that, and you'll find all kinds of weird trinkets as you dig, at least around these parts. But all that's beside the point.