Composting is one of the easiest, most sustainable activities going. Leftovers from everything you chop like salad, fruit and vegetables, or the non-meat, non-grain discards from the dinner plates go into the bin I keep under the sink and, when it’s full, I dump them in the big bin out back. I started small, but results were lackluster so I amped it up with a fancy pants model, a six-tiered design that allowed me to disassemble it, turn the soil, and put it back together with ease except — despite hundreds of trips to the compost bin — I’d never turned a clump. I’ve been composting with fervor for years, but the truth is, I’m not terribly good at it.
Embarrassed by my incompetence, I decided, just for kicks, to get out there with a shovel since none of the kids could be bribed. To combat the creepy flying things — winged demons that rise up every time I opened the lid to deposit my treasures — I donned my husband’s beekeeper hood. After the first turn of the soil, I was amazed. Beneath the still recognizable orange peels and pineapple rinds, the discarded zucchini ends and apple cores, was none other than black gold. Beautiful, black, rich and fertile soil that one day I might spread on my flower garden.
That was about five years ago. I still haven’t used the soil even though I compost every day. It’s strange, but the pile in the bin always stays about the same height. Maybe there’s a sinkhole underneath and our table scraps are going to feed Middle-Earth dwellers, or maybe Mama Nature is just messing with me, I don’t know. But I do know this. I’ve kept hundreds of pounds of food waste out of the landfill so even if I never put a thimble full of that gorgeous soil in my garden, I’ve still done something fabulous for the planet.
Today is Day 3 of the A to Z blogapalooza. Are we having fun yet?