June 27, 1971: My backyard in Houston, Texas, where the weather is hot and the growing season starts in February. There were leafminer trails all over the tomato leaves and bean vines; the soil looked gray and anemic. The only possible answer: make a compost pile and create good, rich soil for my flowers and vegetables. I’d never made compost before, but I was determined to do it.
I pulled up everything: the wormy tomato plants, the finished-bearing bean vines, the yellow-leafed nasturtiums, the 5-ft. eggplant bush with only one eggplant. I threw all these down on a spot by my back fence. I pruned the ligustrum, trimmed dead blossoms off the crape myrtle, pulled weeds and added this debris to the first batch. I’d not only started a compost pile, I’d cleaned up the yard.
June 28: I “discovered” peelings from peaches, figs and pineapples and the rinds of oranges and cantaloupes. I cleaned out the crisper in the refrigerator. Wilted radishes, old spinach—all went out to the pile. I felt like I was feeding a big green pet, a pet with a voracious appetite.
June 29: Preparing stew, I reaped potato, carrot and tomato peelings, plus green pea pods. I cut up squash rinds, and they went into the pile.
June 30: Raked up all the dry leaves beneath the fig tree and added them to the pile. The grass mowers came, and I added two baskets of cuttings.
July 1: By now, I’d read the Indore Method of making compost; it calls for a mixture of green and dry material, manure for nitrogen, a bit of water, and a sprinkling of dirt, all in 6-in. layers. My pile was now about 4 ft. x 5 ft. and 6 in. to 8 in. tall— ready for manure or nitrogen, water and dirt. I am a senior citizen with limited capacity to lift heavy things, so I went to the store and bought small sacks of rock phosphate for phosphorus, crushed granite for potash, and a treated sludge for nitrogen. I sprinkled these ingredients over the layer of organic material, added dirt to about 1/2 in. over all, and watered lightly.
July 3: Looking for more morsels for my backyard pet, I gathered up vases of old roses, removed petals to dry for my potpourris, and threw the stems and leaves on the compost pile. Then I went to my nearby florist, where they were sweeping up the day’s trash, and reaped a huge box of old flowers, ferns and leaves. My pile grew another six inches and was ready for more minerals again.
July 6: The vegetable man came by in his truck and, hearing about my compost pile, gave me a sack of bruised and wilted vegetables and discarded lettuce leaves. This gave me an idea; went to the supermarket and watched the clerk pull the spoiled leaves off the vegetables at the produce counter. “May I have those?” I asked. “Sure, lady. I have a box like this two or three times a day.” My pile grew by leaps and bounds.
July 9: Saw the grass cutters next door. Ran over with my basket and left it near the mower. The yard man smiled and said, “Okay, we’ll save it for you; it sure makes good dirt.”The pile was now almost 5 ft. high. To allow air down into the center, I had inserted two long sticks on either side. Pulled them out and felt them to see if the pile was getting warm. It was!
July 11: My neighbor, clipping her hedge across the fence, said, “I smell your compost pile this morning.” My heart sank. I said, “I’m sorry. I’ll cover it,” and ‘added a lot more dirt. Then I said, “As you prune your hedge, why don’t you just throw your clippings over to my side?” Somewhat taken aback, she threw her clippings over the fence.
I found out later that turning the pile and letting in air keeps it free of smell. She continued to throw me her clippings, and didn’t complain again of a smell.
July 14: Pile now more than 5 ft. tall. It was time to let it decompose. I put on the last layer of minerals and sprinkled it with dirt. Started pile #2.
July 18: Pile #1 was three weeks old. I was dying to see what was going on inside. I pitchforked as much as I could lift easily onto the ground. Lo and behold, all the rinds were gone. There were no signs of banana peelings. Some leaves and some egg shells were still of a piece, but on the whole it was all just black substance. And I had created this earth-like stuff with my own hands.
With a pitchfork, I turned it over and continued turning it every three days to hasten decomposition.
August 2: Went on vacation. Left piles covered with plastic to protect them from rain and hot sun.
August 23: Returned from vacation. Ran out to see piles. I turned pile #1 over. The compost was just right— black and spongy and moist. There. were many 4-in. earthworms in it, and even a garden snake!
September 14: Wheeled my precious cargo to my flower border, dug holes, filled them with good, black compost. A definite line of contrast showed between the old gray earth and the new, black, rich, friable soil in which I would plant my flowers.
That was 20 years ago, and composting is a way of life for me now. It is a mutual relationship between the earth and me. I give back to the earth little more than dry, fallen leaves and fresh, green grass cuttings. She gives me good soil for growing delicate, pink roses; velvety, purple pansies, and luscious, beautiful tomatoes. Truly a lot of something in return for virtually nothing.
—Lillian Illig, Houston, Texas
Note: This article was published in the July/August 1992 FINE GARDENING Magazine, on page 90