We operate two different compost bins and they were both absolute disasters last week.
I’m only able to write about it now because I’m finally starting to recover from the experience.
Compost bin number one, the city run compost program, gets the dirty compost — the meat, the questionable leftovers and anything that has oil and/or dairy.
It lives in the garage. Between barbecuing, toddler activities in the driveway, gardening and outdoor chores, the garage door is often open. So the flies come visit.
The bin was covered in maggots two weeks ago. Ewwwwwwww. Luckily for me, my partner put himself in charge of cleaning it up. The maggoty compost had to go somewhere so it was stuffed into two, or five, garbage bags. It’s time like these that you give up on composting THAT pile and chuck it to the trash.
With a garbage pick up every two weeks, things just got nasty in the summer heat.
My poor partner had to “deal with it” a couple more times before the garbage was finally picked up.
At the same time, compost bin number two, the outdoor compost, was exploding with fruit flies. This is the one I dealt with.
I thought I had a good ratio down but I needed much more brown material (dry leaves, shredded paper, coffee grinds, wood ash and dirt) for the amount of green material (egg shells, fruit and vegetable scraps) that I was putting in.
The fruit flies loved us.
So I remedied the issue and loaded the bin with much needed brown matter. Balance seems to be restored.
This week’s very steep learning curve made me question why I bother composting. The best answer I came up with was feeding nutritious earth to my garden and that’s only mildly motivating when dealing with two separate bug infestations.
As I heading outside with a bowl of vegetable scraps yesterday, my three year old said, “Are you going to the compost bin? Can I come see?”
And then it came back to me. I compost because I care where my food comes from and where it goes. I want my girls to care too.
“And remember not to over think it. Everything rots eventually!”