|Worms composting. If you stare at this image long enough, you will see the pouting face of Donald Trump.|
I can think of no better way to personally commemorate the end of Donald Trump's presidency than to write about worms and their poo. Last summer, I sought to buy a composter for my vegetable garden. While looking online, I discovered worm composting.
It seemed simple enough:
1. Put worms in a bin of garbage.
2. Worms eat garbage.
3. Worms excrete castings as compost.
After much browsing, I bought a 'worm hotel' - a series of stackable tray bins with mesh bottoms which I furnished NOT with casting couches, but with garbage and shredded paper. One hundred hotel guests arrived by mail in a sack from Uncle Jim's Worm Farm in Pennsylvania. I made a little sign, "The Wiggle Inn", and waited for compost to happen.
A week later, the worms were dead. Either I had done something terribly wrong or I had purchased a sack of doomsday cult worms (No, I did not test the soil for Kool-Ade). Most likely, the summer heatwave did them in. Without air conditioning, The Wiggle Inn was a deathtrap. For the next three months, I continued feeding garbage into the vacant hotel to rot on its own accord. A sadness hung about its trays as the ghosts of 100 red wigglers wrought my kitchen throwaways.
In early December, I sprung for another sack of worms. This time, Uncle Jim, make it two hundred! A Christmas present to myself, I set them loose on the lower trays, where the garbage had broken down the most. Not only did the worms survive, but a month later, I harvested a bucketful of the richest, blackest compost a garden could hope to have. The Wiggle Inn is now a happy, thriving worm community, safe from the curious finches who perch upon its roof.