Compost Happens!

Being homebound should allow us to turn some “to-do” list items into “just-dones.”  The possibilities are fascinating and endless:  cleaning behind the refrigerator, knocking down cobwebs in the basement, and organizing the toilet tissue collection all come to mind.  Gardeners also keep outdoor to-do lists, so last weekend I tackled sorting out my compost bin.  Putting it to rights has me set up for the coming growing season and given me the deep satisfaction one gets from cleaning a bicycle chain or recycling old socks into dust rags.

My compost bin is a long narrow affair, about four feet wide and 20 feet in length.  I’ve added organic matter, including plant clippings, weeds (without seeds), fall leaves and kitchen scraps for years.  Finished compost, that dark, rich, boundlessly useful soil amendment, forms in the bottom of the pile.  On Saturday morning, my elongated pile consisted of three zones, running from left to right.  Zone One was a heap of finished compost, entirely broken down and waiting to be used.  Zone Two had a mass of almost woody stuff – ornamental grass stems and other tough perennial plant debris from the past few years – sitting on top of more finished compost.  Zone Three was last fall’s clippings and a good heap of kitchen scraps.  The goal was to make three new zones, one of finished compost, another of actively decomposing debris and a third left empty for future use.  Since there is no app for this, it was going to take some muscle.

Using a short-handled digging fork, I first moved Zone Two’s almost woody stuff to the side.  This revealed the compost beneath, which I shoveled onto Zone One, making a massive heap.  Having a big pile of ready-to-use compost is the gardener’s version of a pre-COVID stock portfolio, but there is little chance my black gold will suddenly disappear.  With Zone Two empty, I began re-filling it with all of the plant debris on hand.  Since the kitchen scraps are the quickest to break down and can potentially draw pests, I mixed them thoroughly with the almost woody waste as well as last fall’s clippings, using a tossed salad approach on a rather grand and dirty scale.  In clearing off Zone 3, I found more compost underneath.  This stuff was rather chunky, so my plan is to pass it through a screen (1/4 inch hardware cloth), put the bits back into Zone Two and put the compost to use.

My methods run somewhat counter to the composting advice found in gardening books.  There we are told to build a compost pile using layers of soft, green materials (such as weeds and grass clippings) alternating with brown materials (fall leaves and woodier stems).  I never have these materials at the right time and quantity, so my compost pile is more of a catch-as-catch can affair.  We’re also told to aerate the pile by turning it, which hastens decomposition.  For me, turning is as rare as cleaning behind the refrigerator.  Yet, like things in life, compost happens.  I'm not sure this final photo does justice to all my hard work, but I think my compost pile ended up looking absolutely fabulous.   

Carrying On

Our worlds are getting smaller with COVID-19.  Working from home, avoiding stores, and limiting social contact is just strange.  But there is one thing in which we can indulge:  gardening.  Most often a stay-at-home endeavor, gardening doesn’t require travel, burns nervous energy, and can often be performed solo, especially if no-one else in your house has a green thumb or likes to get their hands dirty.

So what can we do in March?  First and foremost at my place is raking leaves.  The woods behind our house supply leaves in quantity, and although I spent last autumn cleaning up, winter winds piled shoals of brown leaves along the house, behind the garage, and against the raised beds.  If Saturday is dry, I might fire up the leaf shredder and chop them into mulch, getting a jump-start on the Herculean task of mulching all the gardens by May.  With the noise and dust involved, everyone will keep their social distance.

Pruning could also be tackled.  I really enjoy pruning dormant trees and shrubs, since I can easily identify crossing, damaged and diseased wood for removal.  It is a great time to study the form of each plant, and decide how pruning could be used to improve a shape or rein-in exuberant growth.  The warm-ish weather has buds swelling on some plants, so I’ll only prune those still asleep, and avoid those which tend to “bleed” in the spring, including maples and birches.  A neighbor with overgrown rhododendrons asked for advice, and I told her to prune them hard, meaning it is okay to cut back into old wood as far as necessary.  We’re able to do this because rhododendrons can grow new branches from anywhere along their stems.  Not all woody plants have this ability, however, and if you try this with a juniper, you’ll end up with a butchered bush which never re-grows.  Pruning a rhododendron hard now also means no spring flowers, but if your sawing arm is itching for action, it might be worth the sacrifice.

COVID-19 gives us one possible pause in pruning, though.  Plan on what you are going to do with that mountain of trimmings which vigorous pruning will generate.  I would normally load up my little black truck and haul them to our town’s brush pile, but that’s closed right now.  If you have curbside pick-up of yard waste, that may be suspended, too.  Check with your municipality before relying on their normal services, as those folks are stretched thin at the moment.  I have the luxury of having my own mini brush-pile, which I clean up periodically, but not everyone has space enough for that.

The compost pile is also calling my name.  I’ve got a lovely mound of fine, rich “black gold” sitting in the bin, waiting to be spread on the raised beds and then forked in.  Compost is magical stuff, making clay soils drain better and sandy soils hold more water, so digging compost might keep my mind off Corona.