Compost Happens

There's a bumper sticker in the parking lot at my church that says "Compost Happens."  Kind of funny, but it is true?  Strictly speaking, any food waste and yard debris left to its own devices eventually would break down.  To get good quality compost quicker takes a little effort.  Which is fine, because I get an inordinate amount of pleasure turning the compost pile.

In the fall, apple cores and post-Halloween carved pumpkins are heaped on, along with some of the newly fallen leaves.  I happily make the trudge across the snow covered lawn with vegetable scraps in the winter even though the pile is frozen and the new offerings can't yet be incorporated.  It is a connection to the garden, a way to stay in touch with nature during the  long, dark,  dormant season.  When the weather warms up and the pitchfork finally can disturb the pile, it is therapeutic exercise.  Muscles I haven't used in months stab at the heap of dirt, leaves and food in varying degrees of decomposition.  I'm reminded of the picnics, parties, and quiet breakfasts that have contributed to the nutrients, and I start planning the garden that they will be returned to.   I think of the summer sun and the smell of cut grass, and waging war on Japanese beetles.  I think of teaching the kids how to recognize when the food is ready to pick and of the soccer games and firefly hunts that it will fuel.  

Taking my foot and putting pressure on the pitchfork I try to get as far down in the pile as possible to bring the bits that have broken down more up to the top.   Working the pile over and over, mixing the dry and wet elements, mixing the more broken down bits with the new additions.  Slightly impatient, I'm trying to will the pile into the final stages, anxious to add the fertile material to the garden.  Turning the pile speeds up the process of breaking the food down, but ultimately everything breaks down for use at its own pace.  The motion is meditative.  I'm conscious of what I'm looking at, always surprised at the lack of smell, but my mind wanders.  Sometimes to gardening, sometimes to issues that are weighing on me, sometimes I've cleared my mind altogether except for the work.  With time, the things on my mind would fade and break down into harmless food.  But thinking things over breaks everything down to manageable pieces.  Providing the building blocks for healthy growth.