One of my annual rituals involves emptying the large compost bin as we prepare to enrich the garden for our new plantings, and then refilling it with layers of collected leaves (bagged by our neighbors, especially, each October), a winter’s worth of kitchen garbage, and bunny-cage hay and its prized pellet-manure. The production of “organic matter” to counter our clay soil is also part of our battle against what my wife calls Dead Dirt Syndrome, and it’s been a wonder to observe progress over the years we’ve been at it.
The Apostle Paul has exhorted Christians to pray without ceasing – an impossibility, as we know – yet as I lift forkfuls from the big bin, reline its sides, load and unload the wheelbarrow, I often find myself entering a prayerful zone of reflection. First, there’s the reminder that humus – the stuff of compost – and humility are words sharing a common root, and that both are nurturing elements for life. Then there’s an awareness of our essential abundance – all the meals we’ve enjoyed; the reality that children in America are familiar with tastes that kings in earlier times would have never imagined. We haven’t gone hungry. In fact, there’s so much waste to lament, a resolution to be more frugal or attentive, and then a sense of contrition knowing that we’re still putting this to work rather than tossing it out to the local landfill. Soon I’m appreciating the stages of transformation as I observe how matter breaks down into something resembling potting soil – rich, dark, soft. But I also know this always requires patience and will go at its own pace, no matter how I might try to rush it.
I’ve learned to watch the stages of change, too. That period when the pile begins steaming and its interior reaches 140 degrees or so. Followed by that period when the red wigglers (or is it wrigglers?) appear and proliferate. My buddies, reducing the leaves and hay and newspaper and cardboard and garbage into finished compost. You could view them as angels, arriving from wherever to bless the home and garden. At least I do. Yes, gratefully.
Jnana's Red Barn 
So thoughtful! Thanks for sharing!
An ease of mind comes along with knowing you are doing a good thing. That’s how I feel when I am working with the compost through every step of the process. The stuff I would have thrown out as garbage as a kid used to form into a stinking mess and I think that was our clearest sign that we were doing it wrong back in the day. Creating compost is so much simpler and quieter than coordinating all those people and trucks and land space. Now there isn’t even that smell of corruption. I love the smell of compost; it smells like there is life hidden inside. And it really does magically transform the soil which transforms all the life it supports and nurtures, It really does feel like being part of a sacred thing.
Beautifully said.
Thanks for pushing me to think about this idea. I just loved reading your post: it struck a nerve. =)
Gladly!
I love this and can totally relate to the idea that within the humble we find the sacred. I can’t resist sharing with you a similar but different walk to the compost that I did not so long ago: http://suzanneaskham.com/?s=compost
What a great example of springing to awareness in the course of a busy day. Here’s suggesting others click on the link to see for themselves!
“Springing to awareness” is a great way of describing the process. I shall use that phrase in the future!
Ah, yes. Beautifully said. And as the process of composting works, invisible to us for the most part, to transform matter, so the process of prayer works on us and those around us, also for the most part invisible. Lovely thoughts for a spring day — thank you!