Our former house is almost sold; closing is on Friday. Today Rich and I went to the waste station and emptied remnants from the garage: old wet rugs, broken-down furniture, one of my graduation robes.
All that's left of us is a compost bin that never would pass inspection by today's standards. Now we can buy "earth machines" and fancy rotating drums and consult compost mavens, but when Rich built this primitive square bin in the early 1980s it was profoundly unscientific. Into it went food and garden scraps, topped occasionally by spring grass clippings and autumn leaves. A lot of it was eaten by acrobatic rodents. Some of it -- tablespoonfuls, not much more -- actually turned into soft, sweet-smelling, nutrient-rich compost. After twenty or so years, this wasn't much to brag about.
I hope my life -- our lives -- have yielded more, but I wonder. Random piles of actions and thoughts and fears, nibbled around the edges...if I paid more attention, maybe I could have been one the folks at the cooperative extension demonstrations, proudly standing next to a barrel full of fertile soil.
Or maybe not. Maybe feeding hungry rodents is the best I can do.
Candace
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