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Doesn’t get more exciting than this. Seriously.

So there you have it. You wake up one morning, stuff yourself stupid with lime and poppyseed pancakes, then think (or maybe even say out loud) “ZOMG my backyard needs a compost bin!” and immediately procure and erect same.

Mighty mulching machine!

I don’t even like gardening, but when M pointed out that composting all our kitchen scraps would virtually halve our non-recyclable waste, I was all over it like beetroot on white pants. I’ve got a real boner for reducing my impact on the world, minimising waste, taking only photographs and leaving only footprints, etc., and so the one guaranteed way to get my support behind a project is to suggest that it may, in some small fashion, minimise (or, hallelujah, compensate for) waste production.  When we first hauled off to the hardware emporium to procure a putrefaction pillar, we were confident it would be a straightforward process. But the price and the huge range staggered us (I reeled, M tottered, I collapsed into the arms of a confused stranger who just wanted to buy some gardening gloves without floral chintz on them), and instead we ran away crying decided to re-evaluate our position. I don’t think we’re serious enough at this game to justify shelling out $375. So I spent an afternoon grumbling to myself about the commercialisation of the life cycle of waste, decomposition and resurrection etc., while giving the ol’ Google a thorough workout to determine precisely what sort of compost bin we wanted and, most importantly, why.

I learned two things. One: we wanted a bin pretty much identical to the one you see above. So we got one. Two: people get Serious about composting. There are whole forums dedicated to the art, covering every detail you could ever want to know about domestic composting and a whole lot that you probably didn’t. Ever wondered which human bodily fluids are compost-friendly? No? Betcha do now. People get hardcore about this stuff, exchanging learned opinions and advice regarding the pile’s optimum heat, nitrogen-to-carbon ratio and whether or not your pile is robust enough to process roadkill.  I think it rocks: it reassures me that people care about their impact on the world (or, at the very least, care enough to recognise they could get one more use out of their food scraps by putting them on the garden).

I realise that writing about this stuff is hardly going to win me the Miles Franklin — let alone any new readers — but this is exciting stuff. This, my friends, is SCIENCE. Science in a big plastic, uh, tardis-thing with a jaunty orange clasp! I will try to restrain myself from blogging too much about this new fascination, instead indulging in my new hobby of following M around explaining which human castoffs are compostable and why you mustn’t put pig faeces in the heap.

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