I just learned this weekend how important these topics are to city folk. Of course we have a huge pile of compost out behind our greenhouses, but the times I grumble and hold my breath as I pace past it hold nothing against having a dish of it sitting on my counter for a week. I'm amazed at what we take for granted here in the country when others have to go through a greater process to do the same sort of thing.
So, here it is . . . the compost talk that Johanna wanted so badly. I'm sorry, but I have to post the tale of her fascination with the cluster of plants in the hedge row. She hurried over asking what it was that grew there, because she'd never seen anything grow like that.
"You mean the pile of dead flowers?" I answered, obviously curious why she was so interested.
At that moment I knew. Composting is not a pile of crap. It is a luxury. After dinner, I can throw my corn cobs out into the bushes where something lower on the food chain will scurry over and be glad it found its next side dish.
At Windflower, all those end of the day compost runs with juicing tomatoes, rotting onions, and worst of all, potatoes or cabbage do its part to make fresh soil for next year's crops. If you wonder whether we pot or seed into that soil, the answer is no. We have the privilege of letting someone who specializes in composting make that soil mix for us. As if a great big pile of compost wasn't enough, we need our dirt pile too.
Recycling has its place too. Ask Jake the Elder who is its biggest advocate. Why else would we have a compost salad day?
