My first compost pile in a few years, not going fancy with any kind of contraption yet. Maybe ever. I’ve had success with just-laying-it-all-out-style, being able to turn things in easily. Why mess with easy?
But I’ve added so many seedy bits that now I’ve got sprouts growing out of my compost. Birth and death in one mound of dirt. Food from food. Do not pass go, do not collect $200 (that would be the grocer who isn’t collecting…)
On the one hand, the beautiful cycle of life unfolding effortlessly is such a sweet surprise – uplifting, hopeful, fulfilling.
On the other hand, hang on! I need to be able to be rough with this mess, chop and dig and turn, cultivate decay. How am I supposed to ruthlessly recycle when I’ve got lovely delicate greenness volunteering out of the soil, offering a future bounty in selfless sacrifice?
Of course, I have a hard time thinning the things I’ve planted on purpose, too. Seems so cruel. Yeah, y’all are gonna have to die because your buddies here need some elbow room.
Gardening is a solemn affair at times, I tell you! A gardener is often inspired to consider philosophically that power of life and death being wielded, even with strawberry juice running down the chin…