Compost

The last two summers have been difficult ones for gardening, due to my inadequate planting medium (AKA dirt) and marauding squirrels eating my young plants. Consequently, back in March, I couldn’t bring myself to begin sprouting seeds.

But the weather warmed and a tomato plant called my name at the grocery store. It needed a cozy place to grow up.

Since last fall, I’ve been composting kitchen scraps. For the tomato plant, I topped off a dirt-filled tub with compost and planted it, sheltered by a wall o’ water. I also added a few cucumber seeds to climb the fence. Ooops!

Don’t get me wrong. Everyone was happy—especially the squash seeds that sprouted out of the compost! I weeded out most of it, but wanted to transplant some in a roomier container.

Which meant I needed more good dirt. I ordered a cubic yard (minimum order) of rich composted soil. That’s a lot of dirt! Especially when hauling it bucket by bucket.

At least this year the garden ought to grow. And no signs of squirrels! (Yet.)

Composting words

Writing requires composting too. Everything goes in to get decomposed, or do I mean re-composed? Research, dog walking, idle thoughts, listening to news, staring at the chalice flame during Zoom church services . . .

And if any unneeded seed-ideas pop up, I’ll try to save them for transplanting.