You people are nothing if not passionate about your compost. I received more comments and advice for my Garbage Buffet post than I’ve ever received before, and I thank you.
Your exhortations? Your claims? Your encouragement? It worked. At least, it worked enough for me to place an order.
I have to give Jenn of Garden Djinn the credit for pushing me over the edge. One of the things that has always put me off from composting has been the crock of decaying produce that composters keep on their kitchen counters. To be fair, if said crock has anything resembling a reasonable lid, this is fine. I mean, like anyone else, I can hold my breath while I open it. I can even empty it thirty to forty times a day, if need be.
You people think I’m full of hyperbole, but really, I’m just afraid of the smell of decay.
But Jenn suggested this fabulous little super-shiny crock. This thing is pretty, folks. Pretty! And yet compost-involved.
“You want pretty with your compost?” Steve asked.
I explained I wanted something that would not retain a single smell. See, back when Steve and I were both residents of the Washington D.C. area, he lived in a house we affectionately called Tibet, because it had a strand of faded prayer flags draped across the front porch. D.C.’s notoriously high rents mean there are a lot of group houses, where any number of people band together, take over the bedrooms and split the rent in an effort to create affordable housing where there is none. Steve lived with four other roommates at Tibet, one of whom kept a garden out back.
The kitchen, most days, was a total disaster. I did everything I could to keep from eating there – there was a fairly constant war on the whiteboard around the corner about how people needed to CLEAN UP AFTER THEMSELVES, but everyone was very pleasant to each other’s faces. And to be fair, everyone was incredibly nice, even if they were comfortable living with a kitchen that left something to be desired in the cleanliness department.
Did you hear that? That was Steve’s head exploding because I’m outing their kitchen to the world. Sorry, Steve.
Because this house had a garden, this house also had a compost pail of sorts. This so-called pail really was a plastic ice cream container with a huge chunk missing out of the lid. Now, I am all for recycling, but, you know, buy some more ice cream so you can get a new container with a hole-free lid. Really. The container leaked the lovely scent of slowly putrifying organic garbage out into the kitchen, since everyone was willing to add to it, but as far as I could tell, no one wanted to empty it. Ever.
“You’re right,” Steve said, when I reminded him of this association I have now with compost. “That was gross.”
So no, I do not want smell with my compost. But I did follow Jenn’s suggestion, and bought the shiny little crock, and it is on its way, along with a wire container for compost, which was quite reasonably priced and, I think, will work fine for my purposes.
Now…all I need is a fork to turn the stuff, and some good weather. Then I’m getting the compost party started.