How to be sentimental about compost.

There are a couple of things I obsess about.  Actually, there are a lot of things I obsess about, but one of them is compost.  Specifically, compost containers. Which is how I ended up moving the compost (AGAIN) in my pajamas yesterday morning.

Originally, I went to a city sponsored composting class in order to get a free Earth Machine. It’s a good deal.  But eventually I started to think there was probably something that would work a little faster, and require a little less effort than trying to turn the contents with a pinch fork though a relatively small opening.  A friend gave us a spinning composter which seems good in theory, but they don’t hold very much, and I don’t like that the contents doesn’t sit on the ground where bugs can get into it easily.

It must have been winter when I decided a Naturemill composter would be a good idea.  Indoor composting, what’s not to like? It was expensive and and decidedly NOT for a non-detail oriented person.  I was constantly either jammed or smelly.  To Craigslist it went.

The most recent idea was a three bin wood and chicken wire container that came from another friend and apparently used to be a monkey cage.  Sounds a little crazy but it seemed to be working pretty well for keeping in-process compost, aging poopy chicken bedding, and finished compost in a neatly contained area.  Except that it was huge and blocking the light from our already shady garden area.

And so it came to pass that I found myself in my pjs yesterday using more strength than I actually have to upend the three bins and construct a 4 ft circle of leftover fencing, tarp and zip ties.  And when I refilled it, and stood back, I realized I had created my grandparents’ compost pile, possibly almost to the exact dimensions.  Because it turns out, all the technology and spinning and plastic in the world sometimes can’t do the job quite as well as something simple created out of leftover junk. Lesson learned.


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