The Joys & Dangers of Compost

As spring settles in and it’s time to wash and store the sap buckets, the farm is shifting into full-out gardening mode. A key to the success of a robust organic market garden is rich soil fed by compost. As with most everything else, the farm makes its own. Manure from the sheep, droppings from the chickens, garden clippings, and collections from our four kitchens factor into the magic of compost brewing.

Steve tells me that it gets darn hot in the compost pile during the natural cooking process, and he occasionally “stirs” it, using the bucket of his tractor. At times, when it’s warm enough to be out on my mother’s back porch, we hear the hum of the tractor and the smell of compost wafts over us. You might well think that this is an unwelcome occurrence at tea time, but au contraire! The smell of compost is the aroma of life. I’m not suggesting that Estée Lauder work on a perfume formula, Eau de Composté, but I have heard of a “grass” scent perfume, so we’re getting close.

Here they come!

As to the dangers of the compost pile, I have one word: chickens. If you think that laying hens are merely innocuous, easily flustered egg mamas, have I got news for you. They don’t just flock to the compost pile when they sight me toting my little white pail, they rush me like Von Miller zeroing in on a hapless NFL quarterback, only they have sharp beaks. I have, at times, emptied my pail on top of a chicken (not on purpose!), and Steve has helpfully suggested that I need shinguards.

What are the chickens favorite compost snacks, you wonder? They seem to particularly enjoy scraps of bread and spaghetti noodles. Obviously, they are not watching their figures. The sight of a chicken attempting to eat a spaghetti noodle is every bit as funny as you would imagine. I tried to get a video clip of it, but it’s hard to film chickens — they refuse to come to practice to run their lines, and they never stick to the script. Yelling “cut!” has no effect whatsoever.

So, I actually boiled up some spaghetti in an attempt to orchestrate a hilarious video for you. (I stop at nothing for this blog!) Unfortunately, I had not reviewed the UEL rules (United Egg Layers) which clearly state that hens may not be required to exert themselves before noon. What I got on film was thirty seconds of the chickens daintily nibbling from the compost pile, ignoring the noodles entirely. Oh, well, it’s a bucolic scene! Click here to go to the video.

p.s. My football reference is a clever way (at least I think it’s clever) of determining if my son David actually reads my blog. #yaybroncos