There are some jobs you put off. You have them. It's something that needs doing but for some reason you'd prefer to have an ingrown toenail than to do this task.
The compost bin that we used to recycle our household scraps, leaves, grass clippings, and other debris, was neglected for too long.
Then came the rain this past spring. Compost needs moisture, but when it gets too wet, it gets nasty and smells like an outhouse in August. People who've been to Washington during an election year will be familiar with the smell.
We had an outhouse until I graduated from high school, but many of you city dwellers had grandparents who lived on a farm or in the sticks. For those old enough, you've visited an outhouse in your life time.
They're similar to port-a-jons except they aren't pumped out every few days. In fact, when I was growing up, it was never pumped out.
When it filled up, you dug another one, covered up the old one with dirt from the new one, and moved the structure. If your family had money, you might upgrade to a two holer, That way two people could........perhaps I've said too much.
Needless to say our compost pile reeked.
Yesterday I put on clothes that I could burn, and rubber industrial gloves. With a clothespin on my nose, I cleaned out the compost bin.
I warned Jilda away from the garden until I covered the "stuff" with leaves.
This morning, my nieces dog came to visit. She usually lets Lady out each morning to use the bathroom, and after Lady does her business, she runs to our house to play with our collie, Cailoui.
When we opened the door to let Lady in, she had brown patches all over her coat. It took only a second to figure out what it was.
Apparently Lady had been enamored by our compost pile that was now conveniently on the ground and perfect for rolling.
She was outside as fast as she came in. She stood outside the windows looking in trying to figure out our problem.
This morning before coffee, I raked up a mountain of leaves and buried the compost. In a few weeks it will make great fertilizer, but I really wish my timing had been better in covering it up.
The compost bin that we used to recycle our household scraps, leaves, grass clippings, and other debris, was neglected for too long.
Then came the rain this past spring. Compost needs moisture, but when it gets too wet, it gets nasty and smells like an outhouse in August. People who've been to Washington during an election year will be familiar with the smell.
We had an outhouse until I graduated from high school, but many of you city dwellers had grandparents who lived on a farm or in the sticks. For those old enough, you've visited an outhouse in your life time.
They're similar to port-a-jons except they aren't pumped out every few days. In fact, when I was growing up, it was never pumped out.
When it filled up, you dug another one, covered up the old one with dirt from the new one, and moved the structure. If your family had money, you might upgrade to a two holer, That way two people could........perhaps I've said too much.
Needless to say our compost pile reeked.
Yesterday I put on clothes that I could burn, and rubber industrial gloves. With a clothespin on my nose, I cleaned out the compost bin.
I warned Jilda away from the garden until I covered the "stuff" with leaves.
This morning, my nieces dog came to visit. She usually lets Lady out each morning to use the bathroom, and after Lady does her business, she runs to our house to play with our collie, Cailoui.
When we opened the door to let Lady in, she had brown patches all over her coat. It took only a second to figure out what it was.
Apparently Lady had been enamored by our compost pile that was now conveniently on the ground and perfect for rolling.
She was outside as fast as she came in. She stood outside the windows looking in trying to figure out our problem.
This morning before coffee, I raked up a mountain of leaves and buried the compost. In a few weeks it will make great fertilizer, but I really wish my timing had been better in covering it up.