It is 7:30 a.m. in Houston and still a little dark. “Oh, I hope they come,” I say to myself as I push my walker to the back door and look down the driveway. My compost pile is in sad shape and I need help. After tending my pile faithfully for thirty-three years, a case of pneumonia had sidelined me. It came just as my longtime helper retired, so for weeks nothing was done to my compost. There was no one to feed it or keep trash out. When I was finally able to return to the pile, I realized that it was time to train others to bring my compost back to life. There they are, giving up a Sunday morning for me:
Lidia Sheheb, my helper, her husband, Edgar, and seventeen year old son, Carlos. They are smiling at me. “Come in, come in, I’m so glad you are here. I want to read something to you before we start.” I pick up the Complete Book of Composting by J. 0. Rodale and Staff and read. “It’s easy to make compost if you have five things: green grass clippings, dried leaves, top soil, fertilizer (13-13-13), and enough water to moisten. Stack them five feet high, five feet wide and five feet deep. The pile has to be that big to get hot enough to change into good black compost.” I tell them I just wanted to read them what the books says, because if we leave out any of the directions, it won’t get hot and change into good dirt.
Edgar and I had started a pile several weeks ago and now it is time for Carlos to learn how to build one. We walk to the back yard and I sit in my walker to supervise. Carlos looks at the big pile of leaves and starts moving them into place, making the first layer about six inches deep. He sprinkles a little water on them. Edgar nails black sacks on the fence to protect it for my neighbor. Six inches of grass clippings come next and the pile starts to rise. I refuse the offer of extra grass clippings from a neighbor when we learn that they sprayed weed killer on their lawn. One forty-pound sack of top soil is sifted over the grass clippings and then handfuls of fertilizer spread on top. If we had been in the country, we could have used manure. Carlos sprinkles water on top and repeats the layers until the pile is five feet tall. He stands back to admire his work.
“I hope the microbes are happy,” I remark. Carlos looks at me. “Who are they?” he asks. “They are the inhabitants of the compost pile,” I explain. “They are like bacteria, earthworms, fungi, viruses, algae and protozoa. They are the workers who change the raw materials into compost. Different kinds of microbes do different kinds of work. There are bacteria that come on the scene for only one purpose—to get rid of the dead plants. Other bacteria walk on stage so to speak, like actors, to do their work when the pile is hot. They are called thermophilic microbes.”
Carlos drops the handle of the wheelbarrow. “That’s hard to believe. You really mean it’s true?” “It is true,” I assure him. “Humans give them everything they need— food, water, and air. The pile must be turned to let the air in. If you want to make compost quicker, you should turn the pile every few days.” “How do you know so much about this?” asks the boy shyly. “Carlos, I have been reading this book and making these piles for a long time.”
As Carlos put up the wheelbarrow and Edgar went to check on our earlier pile, I realized again that there is a mutual relationship between the earth and me. I have been composting since 1971 and it has become a way of life for me. It is the soul of my garden.
Edgar walks up smiling and gives me a handful of dirt. It’s warm! I let out a shriek of delight!