Is your compost hot…or not?
Or not, is my answer. My compost is cold, cold, cold, gentlethems, meaning I try to keep it under 80F. I muchly like to not do! To avoid work. To let nature take its course. I have spinal arthritis so pitchforking (as much as I have hearteyes for my pitchfork, Dear Helen) just isn’t my jam.
My kind of effort is a TikTok my daughter set up for me where all it is is me taking kitchen scraps to the compost to 90s big band swing revival classics.
The great thing about cold compost is…
Everyone has their aspirations. To quilt a quilt. To write the great American…meme. To dwell in the hut of content lords.
I’ve been aspiring to have a compost heap. Not only to have it, but to husband it. For the promising metaphoricalness of it, the grounding and-to-dust-shall-ye-return-ness.
And also, of course, for the environmentalism. I wave that flag. Of caring about whales and whatnot. The internet of trees. Periodically waving around the word mycelium as my caste does.
Keeping nutrients recycling and usable in the land instead of locked-up in landfills.
Attend well. To my kitchen scraps. …
A virtue in short supply? Patience.
My Lenten practice was supposed to be not eating after 5 pm, but this — lemon blueberry coffee cake with lemon streusel — was a damn siren. I have had to seek elsewhere for self-control.
How about the compost?
Perhaps I can hold myself back re: a pile of kitchen scraps layered with leaves?
The urge to mix in, muck about, pitchfork shit, make things happen, to speed, to satisfy: “the force is strong in her,” as they say. …
Bee balm Monarda spp. (also called bergamot or horsemint) is native to the Northeastern US and is a plant that makes a body feel successful — in hedge witchery! in garden neglect! because it don’t need a damn thing. Some find it invasive.
Its rosettes have arriven.
writing exclusively about a compost heap