At
the back of our lot in Grand Junction there is a home-made compost bin that
rests against the garage and faces south into the sun. Made of old wood and
chicken wire, it rises from the dead weeds and detritus in that forgotten part
of the yard where pruned tree limbs, bent tomato cages, broken bricks, and
pieces of pvc pipe meet their final resting place. It is as far from the front
of the house as anything can be on our property, and its prosaic purpose in our
lives is often forgotten….particularly in the winter months when one has to
slog through the snow just to empty the household compost pail. That would be the little clay urn that we
keep by the sink that is mostly full of used coffee grounds and veggie
trimmings.
Today
was the first day in about six weeks of temperatures over 40 degrees, and it
was time to empty the urn. The last
several times I did this chore required me to don snow boots, wool cap, and
heavy parka just to get across the yard.
But today was decidedly different.
For one thing, I could actually see the lawn in places where patches of
flat faded grass were straining for heat and light. Other parts of the yard, suddenly freed from
their icy blanket, were melting into mud bogs.
In one of our raised beds four crinkled chard plants re-emerged,
battered but alive.
The
compost bin was in full sun, still covered with November’s leafy mulch, and
dotted here and there with onion skins, broccoli stalks, and an occasional
tomato peel. With a scattering motion, I
emptied the urn’s soupy contents into the bin, taking satisfaction in the small
bit of steam that rose from the surface.
Now it was time to take pitchfork in hand and churn the whole mess into
a viable mixture. As the tines broke
through the crust they met resistance from stubborn pockets of ice. I found myself turning over large chunks of
material rather than the loose dirt that I had expected. But as soon as the dark, dank underbelly was
exposed, the ice crystals melted before my eyes. The compost began to breathe again.
And
I began to breathe again. Without the mucus in my nose freezing. Without five layers of clothing on my body. At that moment about a dozen geese flew
overhead in V-formation, honking loudly and heading west. And I swear I could almost see the grass
unbending, the earth opening up in a broad brown smile, and the hibernating
soul of myself finally thawing out on the backside of winter.
