Life and Death in the Compost Pile

Farm Note No. 3

Let loose — that’s how I feel. We may get another frost yet, but I’m hedging my bets, planting my seeds, and taking my chances.

Every year it feels like the chance to rearrange the furniture. Every stalk, flower, and vine is put in yet another configuration for yet another version of this ever-changing artistic endeavor we call our garden. Save for the stalwart perennial flowers and herbs, like friendly statues in their places, different crops are rotated through the beds in order to help keep the soil fed, balanced, and rejuvenated.

Amid all this nurturing of new life, yesterday I was reminded of my duty to another part of our small farmstead — the compost pile. In other words, the place where things go to die.