composting appeals to the Midwestern farm girl in me.
Okay, I've never lived on a farm. But I grew up in the Midwest, that's gotta count.
I enjoyed assembling my compost bin and here you see my tools. On top of the bin are the kitchen knife I used for gouging the holes that needed widening, and the hammer I used for pounding through the screws when they needed a little encouragement. The shovel was for my first layer of dirt and the rake was to gather my first layer of leaves. Then comes the organic waste.
It's satisfying to save the planet, but it's almost as satisfying to save money--or, I should say, to waste less of it. Before we got our compost bin our organic waste went into the trash. If we over-bought at the farmers' market or never got to that leftover salad, it felt like we were throwing money in the garbage. Now that waste goes into our backyard savings account.
Something about composting appeals to the miser in me.
We keep a little container on the kitchen counter for egg shells, grapefruit rinds, coffee grounds and whatever else can be composted. (Tea bags? Can I compost tea bags?) When the container is full I march it out to the compost bin and dump it in. We're getting a good layer of organic waste. We've already got some fluffy, white mold happening. It's almost time to add a new layer of dirt. Then I'll add more leaves. Then more organic stuff. The instruction booklet said to balance the different elements.
Something about composting appeals to the obsessive-compulsive in me.
On a different subject: it's 10/10/10. Do we get any prizes for this?