Diving into compost(ing)
(Originally published October 2023)
I’ve recently dipped my toe—not entirely metaphorically—into compost.
I don’t know much about composting yet, but I plan to be unbearable on the subject in no time.
Composting is defined by the EPA as “a controlled, aerobic process that converts organic materials into a nutrient-rich soil amendment or mulch through natural decomposition.” In other words, forgetting about a bag of spinach in the crisper drawer for a month is not the same as making compost.
I have so much to learn.
My newfound interest in compost comes with my recent impulse to prep the vegetable garden now so it will be ready in the spring. (Apparently, this is a chore that many otherwise normal people do. I had no idea.)
“I will do whatever it takes to have my own hot pile of rotting organic waste. ”
This fall, I’ve been laying sheets of cardboard over my abandoned, overgrown beds and topping them with everything from raked leaves to soil from underneath the old manure heap. The idea is that next spring I’ll have rich, thick garden beds brimming with worm castings and hope, rather than the usual stuff (mostly smartweed and despair).
But going forward, I need to learn how to make proper compost. In a cursory Google search the other day, I found a passionate community of gardeners sharing tips on “browns” and “greens” and bragging about the steamy temperatures inside their speedily decaying compost heaps.
I was fascinated—and envious.
A week ago, I didn’t care about composting. Today, I will do whatever it takes to have my own hot pile of rotting organic waste. This is how I am.
We already have both a decent mound of old manure and livestock bedding (browns?) at the edge of the garden and a constantly filling bin of kitchen scraps (greens?) in the backyard. I didn’t think to combine them—I never put “ew” and “ew” together, as it were—but I’m sensing this might be a basic step in composting.
To that end, I decided to move the fancy compost bin from its convenient spot near the house over to the manure pile, which lies by the garden, just a few feet from the New Hampshire border. The bin has, until now, served only as a glorified scrap bucket, albeit one that cost $139.
Using the tractor, I managed to pick up and relocate the bin, which consisted of four plastic panels (costing $34 apiece) held together with eight plastic bolts (costing no more than $0.02 apiece, or so I soon concluded). When I tipped it out next to the manure pile—gently!—the bin met the same fate as SpaceX’s latest rocket: a “rapid, unscheduled disassembly.” The bin was, alas, a has-bin. (I am so sorry.)
I had not intended to get so intimate with the slop I had just dumped. But soon I was wading into a 100-pound pile of old and new banana peels, broccoli stumps, coffee grounds, and worse to retrieve the now-disconnected panels, two of which were buried underneath the mess they had once contained. But I persevered, rescuing all four panels, plus the base and lid. I then topped the pile with a buckletload of old manure.
“I’m composting!” I said, wiping the back of a wet, stinky work glove across my sweaty forehead.
I was off to an amazing start.
I’ll fix the bin this weekend. Then I’ll spend the winter studying composting until it becomes my entire persona. By spring, I’ll be an expert—in theory, if not in practice.
If you say hi and ask how I’m doing, I’ll say, “Not great; I can’t seem to get my nitrogen levels above 42.8 lumens per cubic liter.” (Presumably by spring, I’ll know how composters talk.)
Even as you read this, I will already have spent 30 to 40 hours researching compost and ordering all the needed accessories. These, I assume, will include a garden hose with a specialty composting spray head, composting gloves (and matching goggles) and a supply of purebred compost worms.
I’ll have downloaded the latest composting app, too.
There’s just one thing bothering me: I can’t shake the knowledge that organic matter has been decaying without human assistance for quite some time. Does this whole composting business really have to be so complicated?
I doubt it. But, as with everything else I do, it will be.
