Am I a Good Citizen of the World?

There it sits in my driveway, almost up against the garage.  A green can with a yellow top.  Maybe the powers that be thought the composting garbage bin would encourage people if it looked like a sunflower.

I’m giving myself credit.  I at least brought the composting bin down my driveway, unlike many of my neighbors who just left it where it was dumped.   They were probably wondering what now?

I worry about our Earth.  This is why I decided, if someone hands you lemons,  compost.

Now I’ve tried composting before.  I bought one of those black bins where you’re supposed to dump leaves and orange peels and the like.  All I got from it was more raccoons from my never-ending supply.  So instead it marks the burial spot of my beloved cat Tuffie.  Well, she was beloved until, after she died, I discovered a houseful of fleas that had previously preferred her.  For some reason this infestation put me off pets for the rest of my life.

Back to composting.  I said to myself, “Carolyn, here’s the opportunity to make the world a better place.”  So several days later I drove—okay, that sort of negates making the world a better place, but it was too far to walk—to the Container Store and bought myself a kitchen counter composter.  A saleslady had to help me find it, divulging at the same time that there had been a run on kitchen counter composters.  I explained our town’s latest effort to save the Earth single-handedly.  She laughed and pooh-poohed the whole thing.

Back home with my composter, I noticed that I had to use compostable bags with my new purchase.  How generous of them to include five bags to start with, and a warning that the bags would decompose in about three days.  More money down the compost drain.

Oh, well, I’m giving it a try, although I heard on the grapevine, figuratively, that if you put your compost out before your collection day, you’re likely to get maggots.  A solution offered was to put your compost in the freezer until the day of collection.  I have mine in the refrigerator downstairs—yes, I have two refrigerators, color me the enemy—placed in a plastic bag.  My intention is to dump out of the plastic bag the crap, as I’m affectionally calling my compost, into a paper bag before putting it in the compost bin for collection.

I’m really not feeling particularly virtuous about this whole situation and frankly have no idea how long I’ll be able to keep this up.  When I run out of bags?  Or when I question the idea of rot on my kitchen counter?  Or when I lift out the composable bag and discover it’s decomposed?  Time will definitely tell on this one.

Surely, there are other ways to save the Earth, so even if I don’t compost, I’m not all bad.  For example, despite moving five times in my married life, I’ve never bought new construction.  The first house I purchased was already forty years old, my present one had been standing for nineteen years.  You can tell by the bathrooms, which are small and pokey.  Still, my house is in proportion to my yard, unlike newer houses that leave no green space for the Earth to breathe.

Confession:  I have grass.  However, in my defense, I also have let the garden areas go wild.  This being a prairie state, I have drought-resistant wildflowers that serve the birds well.  Also, I planted bee balm, which has spread dramatically and draws bumble bees and butterflies, much needed pollinators.  I have a bird feeder hanging from my huge oak.  And so far I haven’t taken a shotgun to the squirrels and raccoons, mainly because it’s illegal.

Living by one of the Great Lakes, I enjoy a temperate climate, with plenty of water and somewhat bearable weather, depending on the season.  Ergo, I rarely turn on the air-conditioner; and I keep the heat in such a state that people seem to complain that my house is too cold, or perhaps that’s just a reaction to my personality?

Although my gardening has dropped off with age, I do my best to be considerate of Mother Earth, not for posterity so much as because I like the beauty of it and want to preserve as much of that as I can.  However, I only am willing to go so far.  So when I die, you won’t find my body thrown into the woods to decompose and feed whatever wildlife hasn’t already inhabited my yard and/or lived under my deck. Nor will I be placed on a palanquin to be eaten by vultures.  Ashes to ashes.  If it was good enough for the Bible, it’s good enough for me.