Come springtime every year, there’d be a predicable domestic spat. I’d say the compost was ready. She’d look at it and retort, “No, it’s not: you can still see bits and tell what it’s made of.” (Actually, two shes – mother and daughter.) “Then you’ll have to wait another year for it to finish to your specifications,” I’d shoot back, only to be told we couldn’t wait that long. And so on.
Part of this seemed to question my very manhood. I was, after all, the one doing all the work, from collecting the bags of leaves around the neighborhood and dumping the kitchen garbage in the covered bins to changing the rabbit cages, in large part for their precious, nitrogen-intense pellets.
Well, most of the work. The red wigglers would also do a large share.
Still, I suspected that if we waited as long as they wanted, all of our organic matter would evaporate.
At last, I had a flash of genius. I’d slowly sift the pile, trowel by trowel, and whatever came through the screen turned out beautiful. They approved and used buckets of it on the square-foot garden beds as fast as I could provide them. The part that didn’t fit through the screen was also beautiful, along the lines of woodland detritus with flecks of brown eggs. I put that aside to decay further, perhaps to be spread as mulch in July or August.
The motion of sifting itself can become a kind of Zen practice as you admire the material before you and the thoughts flitting through your awareness.
This movement’s like panning for gold, as I found washing my dishes in the glacier-fed river below Mount Shuksan. Back and forth, back and forth, with all that matter getting smaller and sparkling more in each round of swirling.
All the peach stones are tokens from our cheap peach bonanza after Hurricane Irene ruffled nearby orchards.
The squirrels plant a lot of our wild black walnuts.
Listen to all the cardinals and mourning doves.
Plastic, in flecks, is inescapable.
How loud, those geese overhead! Me, I’d be more stealthy.
We eat a lot of eggs.
Jnana's Red Barn 
Thank you for the follow Jnana. You have some interesting posts and I look forward to freeing up some time this weekend to read more. I like your reference to Zen-like sifting. There are so many activities we humans do that can create that state if only we’d seek them out. A lady that I’ve known for over fifty years carries a twenty-five cent piece with her always. One side is almost a mirror, the other as pristine as the day it was minted. She uses it to relax and by placing it between her thumb and forefinger has completely worn the engraving of the ‘head’ side.
I love gardening, though I’ve never gotten the hang of composting. Even doing simple things like pulling a few weeds or just fluffing the dirt makes me feel better, and starts the wheels turning in my brain for something to write. It’s always such good therapy!
Such a wonderful post by which to start my weekend – early morning, rain dropping on the metal roof, pinging out a soothing rhythm as I sit, sipping coffee, reading this. Truly a peaceful moment and delightful post.
Your comments as I sip my coffee here in my attic studio on a misty morning give me a sense of our sitting around a big circular table. How lovely, indeed.
Well thank you for the wonderful post – and yes, it is a lovely misty morning – or was -now mid-day here – still grey and breezy, but last night’s storms have really helped green things up! And this is something to lift the spirits too — more coffee and a wander about to see the sprouting greens.
Have a wonderful weekend 🙂
Compost sifting is exactly panning for gold! Garden gold…
I have found the sifting most rewarding. Little chunks of egg shells, marvelous. Later, when the worms show up, fantastic.
Oh, you kindred spirit! You’d love the bits that are showing up in our seaweed mulch, too. Clam and mussel shells, periwinkles, flecks of crab and lobster.
Best of all is the way this comes together in the things that flower and fruit.