Composting

When we lived in Africa, is was an enormous surprise to realize that trash removal was rather hit or miss; sometimes your trash bag would make it into the truck intact, and sometimes the feral cats in the neighborhood would tear that bag to shreds, and your trash would litter your front walk under you until you cleaned it up. There were no sturdy plastic or metal trash cans left out on the street because they would be stolen in the middle of the night if left unattended. The "developing" country we lived in didn't participate in recycling because they couldn't really control the regular waste population.

I mention this only because it was the first time I really thought about where our trash ended up. It was pretty much in my face that by throwing out a dirty diaper, and then walking around it the next day on the way to the bus stop that the trash was ultimately my responsibility because I had produced it. We started to try to change the way we operated and to produce less waste, but it was slow-going in Africa. They had bigger fish to fry than worrying about co-mingling their recyclables.

We've been consuming a ton since we moved back; I don't really understand it. We were satisfied living a pared down existence in Africa. But when I got back into the groove of life in America, I couldn't really stop myself from indulging deeply in my creature comforts. It was overwhelming, honestly, to be able to buy what ever I wanted, whenever I wanted it. I could pay for everything with a debit card-I didn't even need cash. I felt so wealthy, so full of bounty. It was a trip.

But, it's been quite a wake-up call to realize that all that spending, all that consuming, has created so much waste in my life. I have grown sick of seeing the over-flowing recycling bin each week, and I'm shocked with myself about the amount of stuff we have. We still have more boxes of stuff that have yet to be unpacked from our last move. I'm not really even sure what to do with it all. It's mostly stacked in the garage, waiting for me to sort through it. And frankly, most days I don't have the strength.

Luckily, I got a small kick in the arse from the Universe this year's end by taking a look at our finances, and it comes as no surprise that wasteful spending tends to catch up with you. It seemed prudent that we tighten the belt around here, and frankly, I was ready for it. It's as if I'd spent myself into a stupor, like the food coma after Thanksgiving dinner. We're at a point where it's become necessary to make some changes financially, and is completely in line with my spiritual shifts. It has, as they say, come to a head.

Last spring, I started gardening in our sweet little back yard. I set up a compost pile with the hope that we could limit our waste and create something productive from it. I don't normally ever get to the planting phase of garden tending. We usually move every two years, and just when I make friends with the garden, it's time to pack the boxes and move to the next place. Last spring, out of sheer desperation to feel a bit more dug in to my life, I started goofing around out there. I planted our first veggie garden, cleared out the beds, mulched, and just tried to get a sense of what the garden's personality was like. I didn't know where things would thrive, or how much water the soil kept. It was a brand new relationship, and I loved it. (Also, no one really wants to weed with you, so you can listen to your iPod in relative peace for hours doing productive, meditative labor).

Sweet Boy, my 8 year old, immediately took to the idea of composting, and he helped maintain our compost pile with a fervor. We set aside table scraps, egg shells, veggie and fruit peels, and tried to be mindful of what we put in the compost pile and in the trash can. I admit to being a little distracted by the whole process, and found the compost bowl to get in the way when I cooked dinner. I liked the idea of it, but it was sort of a hassle. Once summer hit, and I was out of commission following surgery, the compost pile was relatively abandoned.

This Christmas, my brother in law sent Sweet Boy a compost machine, and it has reignited our interest in putting our waste to good use. It comes at an interesting time for me, as I'm looking at the way I've been spending my time: shuttling kids to school, keeping the house in order, keeping up appearances. I haven't found it to be terribly fulfilling, this house-wife gig, and it dawned on me recently that I've been focusing on things I don't really care about. I don't care if the yard is a bit too carefree for the neighbors, or that I'm not driving a Volvo. I don't care that the other wives in Cute Husband's work community are coiffed and polished and beautifully put together. I don't care about how clean my house is. I use to be really preoccupied with getting this image right, but the more time I spent keeping in step with these empty impositions on my time, the less connected I felt to Spirit and to myself. The less I felt truly productive.

So, I guess it's good timing, this myriad composting. I think there's something pretty valuable to be learned now, looking back on the choices I made over the past year and figuring out what to make from them. I'm lucky to get to have the chance to understand what really matters to me, and to concentrate on those things that make me happy. It makes me happy to sort through the things we no longer need and find a home for them. I'm happy to have the time to pay attention to the way we eat, to have to scrutinize how we're spending our pennies, and how best to live a life that's a bit more simple. Taking the time to pay attention keeps me in the moment, as trite as it sounds to say. And it is with these little steps, these small things we do each day, that builds something rich and nourishing. How much better does it get than that?