It's the Trash Stupid

You start to pay attention to your trash when, for 3 1/2 hours, you are driving it back and forth between your full time residence in the burbs and your vacation home in the mountains.  Well, more back than forth.  Much like those truckers who haul New Jersey trash west, then California fresh cantaloupes back east, without first hosing down the inside of the trailer, we were forced to assess the wisdom of our ways.

Soon after purchasing our log cabin we were advised by our new neighbor to take the trash back to NJ on Sunday because trash day in Woodland Valley is on Friday.  So it's all you can eat buffet night for the bears Monday thru Thursday if one leaves their trash out prior to returning home for the week.  And in fact, a casual drive down Woodland Valley Road on a Monday is more like a drive through downtown Detroit after a riot what with all the swerving around the debris strewn about by the bears.  Only it's banana peels, apple cores, styrofoam cups, and trash cans instead of burning tires and overturned cop cars.

Which got us to thinking about composting.  Reduce, reuse, recycle, and repurpose.  Isn't that a worthwhile endeavor?  We are not neophyte composters. For many years we had a chicken wire bordered compost heap right out our back door but also in clear view of our neighbor's kitchen window.  But after a few passive-aggressive comments like "Oh, I see your pile is almost to the top of my window", we decided to move it to the other side of the yard. No longer convenient, the compost was turned less and less and we peeled our carrots more and more into the regular trash rather than cart the organic waste "all the way" to the other side of the yard.  And because in our kitchen nothing can sit out on the counter, our little compost bucket, hidden behind the trash can under the sink, was soon forgotten.

I have always considered myself a "Cadillac Conservationist", which is not dissimilar to my other political affliction, "Limousine Liberal", so in my mind, at least, I was never a conspicuous consumer.  I might own a second home 200 miles distant, which I drive to three times a month, but at least I don't own a yacht, Jet Ski, Porsche, or a Hummer.  And those impossible to open plastic blister packs that all my new toys come in these days?  I tsk tsk several times about the wastefulness as I throw them in the trash, since in Woodbury, NJ only numbers 1 and 2 are recyclable. 

So when Tammy picked up a copy of Country Wisdom News while awaiting her 3:30 massage at the Emerson Resort in Mt Tremper you could say that the starter had already been added to the compost.  If you've never spoken with, nor read about a hard core composter the experience is more Pentecostal revival meeting than cooperative extension newsletter.  After reading the article about the miracles of composted waste matter, Tammy was ready to have her prodigal body dipped in the waters of the Woodland Stream and purged of her wasteful ways.  The author was so enthusiastic about the fertilizing power of compost that I was reminded of  the time when Tammy's best friend in high school rubbed MiracleGro on her breasts.  I am hoping the compost will do more for my melons than the MiracleGro did for hers.

The Envirocycle

In any case, we are obviously not alone in our desire to have our composting be as convenient and scientific as possible.  Some marketing genius figured out that a chicken wired pile which has to be turned with a pitchfork every week isn't going to make anyone a profit.  Nor is it very much fun.  Apparently going simple isn't.  Go ahead and search for composters at amazon.com.  I'll wait.  I don't know how many dinosaurs had to die to produce the oil to produce all this plastic, but just like the supposed energy efficiency of a Prius, I can't help but believe that the carbon energy used to manufacture all this environmentally friendly paraphernalia more than makes up for any carbon energy saved by composting.   Never the less, Tammy eventually settled on an ingenious little solar workhorse called the Envirocycle Composter.  Just 3 turns a week on our way out the door and we should be spreading our fertile gold in 8 short weeks.  I suspect that being able to grow over-sized melons will be just the beginning of Tammy's new found confidence......in the garden.

We put the composter right out our back door and the little intermediary bucket to collect the kitchen waste is under our sink.  Our compostable waste flow is now so convenient and accessible that it even meets the American with Disabilities Act standard for wheelchair accessibility.  I have no more excuses.  The only problem is, I am still carting my waste 209 miles south from Phoenicia to Woodbury.  I am hoping to be able to trade my compost for some carbon offsets.  In my mind, I already have.