I now know where the best potting soil comes from, not that that will change the world or mean a lot to Beacon readers with the exception of a few who think about such things.

The story starts with Friday’s downpour. We weren’t supposed to get anything like it. But then this summer has had its surprises, especially one hot and muggy day after another. It’s the humidity that has put a crimp on things, as I learned last Thursday from Department of Public Works Director Dave Picozzi. As you may recall, Picozzi’s crew has taken on the job of repainting the Rocky Point Arch. So far the job has involved scraping and sanding off rust that spotted the steel structure ever since 1995 when the amusement park closed, if not longer. The second phase of work involves applying an epoxy primer that will stand up to salt and corrosion.

But epoxy doesn’t behave well in humid conditions. Dave said it becomes gooey and instead of drying with a nice hard smooth sheen looks more like skin after being in the water too long. That just won’t do for one of the few remaining icons of the park and its more than 140-year legacy of thrills, banquets and clam cakes and chowder. The epoxy will have to wait until Mother Nature wrings out the stickiness.

It was moisture that put me on the course of discovering potting soil and the weird thought that maybe there’s a new business here, one that put Rhode Island in the forefront of recycling. And heaven knows Rhode Island could use something – well, anything – as setting the trend nationwide.

My plan Friday evening was to stop at Salk’s and pick up some items to complete my list of weekend projects. That changed as soon as I left the office and the skies opened up. Streets instantly turned into rivers and, despite the mad slapping of windshield wipers, visibility was reduced to a blur. Amazingly, traffic was moving on West Shore Road and some motorists, who had still not turned on their lights, weren’t giving up an inch.

When I reached home, I decided as close as I was to making a dash to the porch, without a bathing suit it wasn’t worth it. So I waited. Water shot down the roof valleys, sending geysers to the walkways. Cascades poured over the kitchen window that, thankfully, was closed.

Then I spotted it, the downspout from the second story gutters, which usually would spill onto the first floor roof of the kitchen was dry. Cleaning the lower gutters was on the list of seasonal routines, but I had never ventured to stage a ladder to the second level. Rather, I cleaned the downspout by removing it. That always seemed safer than perching a ladder on one roof to reach another.

This time I vowed to clean the length of the gutter. So on Saturday morning, I tried lifting the ladder from the lower roof. It crashed down.

“Are you all right?” Carol yelled. “A ladder just hit the window.”

I was fine and went for plan B, carrying the ladder inside and easing it out a second story window. What I found was black gold. It stretched the length of the gutter. Things were growing in it, weeds, saplings, but not flowers…yet.

I reached my hand into it and pulled out a compost of decayed leaves and fine sand from the asphalt roof singles. A worm wriggled. How did it get two stories up?

By the time I was finished, I had filled two five-gallon buckets and was pondering, and you may conclude it was a result of being up a ladder too long, that there was a business here. Rhode Island could be celebrated for the source of prime potting soil while taking home maintenance to a new level. Rhode Island would have a niche. The state could be on the crest of the wave, rather than buried in the trough. This would be innovative and enterprising, worthy of note across the country. For once, we’d be out of the gutter.