It’s Wednesday and I’m caught up on compost.
This is what it’s come down to – I feel an accomplishment in not having any compost in the sink. Really? This is something to be proud about? How did it come to this?
Yet another small practice that was taken away by the pandemic was the New York City composting program. What started as taking your compost to the Farmer’s Market on Saturday had turned into eventually having your own brown bin that you could deposit your compost in all week and have picked up on Fridays.
When it ended I bought a compost bin for the back yard, which, because we cook with so many eggs, fruits, and vegetables, filled up pretty quickly. Then the winter came, and the opening froze shut. While walking the dog one day I discovered a compost bin outside the local community garden. Problem solved.
Since then, I’ve been bringing a small bag of compost daily. Except all my neighbors have been doing the same thing and when the bin fills up the folks at the garden take the bin in. Then I get frustrated because I have no place to put my compost. So now I’m storing it in the little bins the city provided for compost transport from kitchen to bin in the back yard until the bin comes out at the community garden once more.
How did it come to this? On some level, it’s a prime example of trying to hold onto some sense of control, as well as a positive program that the city had started, that is necessary for about a dozen reasons. I’ve even taught composting lessons and spent lots of time researching the process.
Could I put my compost in the garbage like everyone else and be done with it? Absolutely. Will I continue to shlep my little bag of compost to President Street on a daily basis? Sure will.
As long as that bin is out, I’m there.