I remember as a child digging past the brown soil to reach the Georgia red clay. I would make plates and bowls and let the dry in the sun. After a few days they would crack from the heat. But it was so thick and rich. It used to get under my nails and fill up the creases in my hands. It stained my clothes. My momma used to yell at me for diggin in the ground so much. I was such a country child.