I'm not sure that Mike really, truly understands what I've kinda, sorta told him.
I'm getting worms. Two pounds of worms. In the mail. And they're going to live in our kitchen. And they're going to eat our garbage. And then we're going to plant vegetables. In their poop.
He wasn't sufficiently shocked.
Perhaps when he comes home and sees this little beauty by the end of the week (which I'm making myself, by the way...no expensive worm bins for us). So long as the little composting rock stars haven't died on their way here. And I'm thinking to myself that I probably should have gone the logical route and bought night crawlers from the bait shop rather than ordering them online. But then logic is not my thing, I guess.
In any case, I've decided that I am not going to go all Williams Sonoma on this project. Not that I do on any project. Because I can't afford to. But also because of that Bitch article I shared a week or so ago. About how chicken coops are so in right now. I'm not getting worms because all the cool kids are doing it. I'm getting worms because I don't want our food waste to be waste and I can't afford to buy as much fresh produce as I could grow. And can.
Here's the thing: I really want my girls to grow up knowing that they are capable of producing much more for themselves than any store owner would like them to believe. Of course I want them to appreciate supporting local business. But that's where you go to buy supplies for your compost bin. And, you know, don't buy worms online. That too. I'm slapping my own wrists right now. I'm a newb and, as such, am entitled to my rightful share of newb mistakes. But imma be a diamond someday, Lord.
I had this roommate in college and she was a total hippie. And she and I didn't see eye to eye on a lot of things. But I wanted to be like her. I wanted to eat organic food. Hell, I'd have settled for knowing what made a food organic, really. I wanted to shop at the co-op and have a garden and be all...that. It was as if she and her mother had this understanding. This knowledge and a contentment with the Earth and what came from it that set them apart from everyone else. Not above the rest of us. They were humble and really kind. Not the types of hippies that look at you all stanky because you're eating a Little Debbie. But patient. Like, when you were ready to learn they'd be there to teach you.
Well, they're not here. But the memory of them and their lifestyle has haunted me and made me, at the risk of sounding more like Jack Nicholson than I'd intended at the outset of this post, want to be a better wo(man). I'm slowly evolving into a much more conscious and intentional person. Sort of like a hippie hybrid. I don't know that there's really a classification for me. Mentally ill, perhaps.
In any case, after much internet research, I've come to realize that vermicomposting, like everything else in this new boom of eco-coolness, has the potential to be big business. There are worm bins going for hundreds of dollars online. Like, these worm suites are nicer than some of the dorm rooms I've inhabited in the dusky days of my sordid past. True story. So I've got some rules established for my garden/composting adventure of 2013.
1) No buying expensive shit. I will recycle, I will upcycle, and I will make use of things that I either have, can get for free, or can get for next to nothing. I already bought the worms. But I will repent. I will make that right.
2) I will stick with it. Because my brain likes to get me really excited about something and then move on to the next thing without me realizing what's happening. But I'm having none of it this time. No sir.
3) I will buy the supplies I can't find./make on my own locally. Because Walmart is convenient, but it is going to eat all of our souls one day.
4) I will blog about it. Like it or not. Well, not really. If you really don't like it I'll stop. But I hope you'll like it. If for nothing other than laughing at me as I try to make gold out of worm poop. It's a funny sort of alchemy.
5) I will not treat my worms like worms. My hope is that one day I might be good enough at making compost (and worms) that I can sell them at the Farmer's Market here in town. Then I can't be responsible for what happens to the little boogers. And that's an ethical dilemma I'm going to need to puzzle out before I start that leg of the journey. Yes. Seriously. I'm having a problem with the idea of selling worms to the slaughter. It's part of the illness. I'm sorry. But not really. In any case, that's far, far away in an uncertain future. But I'm just making this rule now to remind myself that they're not worms. They're lives. And they're helping me out by eating my old newspapers and pooping them out into a box for me to spread on my garden. So I need to do them right.
I'm such a freakalatrobe.
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