It's cold outside. Even without snow on the ground, it's chilly here in Burlington. And in Ottawa, there's enough snow to create a need to put on boots if you're going outside. And both municipalities have programs which "recycle" kitchen compostable waste. Good for them. But as Mary Mary pointed out, it's too easy to fall into the habit of simply dropping your banana peels and apple cores into the green garbage pail under the sink, especially in the winter.
This beats my childhood memories of filling a stinking gross plastic bucket then duking it out with my siblings to see who was unfortunate enough to have to battle the elements and drop it into the big composter outside. Be it raining. Be it sunny. Be it snowstorming outside. Composting must go on. That's the way it was then. But this is now. And what harm does it do to just throw our kiwi fuzz into the muncipal compostable waste bin?
Mary Mary confessed that she's been less than faithful to her own backyard compost heap. And I have fallen into the same rut too. From a household that devours fruit like there's no tomorrow, we produce very very little of our own compost, a pathetically miniscule fraction of our composting potential. And why? Because I'm too lazy to slip on some boots and walk around the perimeter of my house and transfer my kitchen waste from a bowl to a big black plastic bin next to the garden? I'm too lazy to invest in one of my greatest passions?
I am a gardener at heart. Maybe I was born that way - with the desire to watch life transform from tiny dormant seeds to vibrant green shoots and leaves. Or maybe I mimicked my father's passion for veggie gardening and after seasons and seasons of watching and learning, the passion has become my own? Whatever the origin, gardening is a way of life. It's a way of thinking too. And last night, I was about to discard some uneaten apples from Cole's snack into the compostable waste bin under our sink when I stopped. It suddenly felt all wrong. Like throwing money away. Instead I set the bowl aside on the counter (truth be told, it's the next morning and I'm still gathering energy to take it outside).
I remember my father used to trek into the bush beside our house and collect the fallen apples from the wild apple tree - the bits that were left after we'd cranked them with a baseball bat into the trees - he'd collect them carefully and put them into his compost. He collected it like it was valuable. And it is valuable. So why give it away?
~Miss Greenish Thumb~