It’s called vermicomposting. The “vermi-” is Latin for “stinks like stale feet.” That’s the only thing that explains it. Because it smells that bad, and worse. Pickled stale feet, maybe. Imagine that.
That’s the scene – check that – the smell in our utility room. Vermicomposting central.
What is vermicomposting? Good question. I wouldn’t have been able to answer a month or two ago. Not to save my life. But I’ll tell you now: It’s when you take a lot of worms – in our case, at least 1,000 Internet-bought red wigglers – drop them in a container with holes in it (so the smell can seep out like a backed-up sewer) and then toss in all your vegetable scraps and other food the wigglers find appetizing. (Lucky for us they’re not fond of filet mignon or a nice cabernet.)
Why do you do this? Again, good question. You do this because you want to save the friggin’ planet. Because we throw a lot of wasted food into landfills unnecessarily when we could be putting it to good work. Worms will eat it and then – there’s no nice way to put this – poo it out creating wonderful organic fertilizer loaded with nutrients. (Someone gave it a fancy name – worm castings – but only to disguise the fact that it came from the back end of a worm. Any way you slice it, it’s still poop.)
So you reduce the amount of garbage you’re throwing out, you feed some worms who otherwise would have ended up in a bait shop, and you produce great soil for your plants or other assorted hobbies. (“Hey, it’s time for the annual worm poop throwing contest!”)
My wife came up with the idea, and I’m not shifting blame here. Honestly, I support the endeavor. It’s great that we’re taking such a step, and a good lesson for our daughter. When the bag of 1,000 red wiggles showed up in the mail, she couldn’t wait to rip them open and have a look. I love a girl who is both adorable, yet not afraid to dangle something that resembles red snot from her finger while cooing, “Oh, look how cute he is. I’m going to name him ‘Pepper.’” (Note: We have 1,000 worms and every single one of them is named ‘Pepper.’)
My wife has thanked me over and over. She’s needed to, as the worms haven’t been easy. Martha Stewart and all the hippie-dippie Web sites that tell you how to vermicompost made it sound remarkably easy. And to be honest, it’s not that hard. But there are some snags and hurdles – just enough to test your limits and make you want to bury the whole lot in the backyard and be done with them.
Most people get specially-built containers for their worms. This allows you to sift out the castings (remember? The poop?), drain off any water and do some other assorted things that I guess are necessary when you have worms who … oh, by the way … reproduce and bring into the world MORE worms.
But you don’t want to make the investment in one of those expensive contraptions right away, especially not if Martha Stewart tells you how to make your own from a big plastic bin with holes drilled in the sides.
Thanks, Martha.
What she doesn’t tell you about is the smell. Or how if too much water collects in there, you could have problems. Big SMELLY problems. That sometimes the worms even escape. Where the heck are they going? I wouldn’t think worms would be natural explorers, and they sure don’t stand much of a chance out on their own in the utility room.
I have learned this the hard way. I went for a run the other day, stopped to re-tie my shoe and found what could only be described as worm jerky – a little fella’ who obviously didn’t make it – stuck in my laces.
“It’s petrified!” I screamed while tossing away the crispy worm-stick. I will never run again.
We’ve now ordered one of those fancy vermicomposters. We’re in it for the long haul, it appears. My wife apologized, then thanked me. “I never expected this would turn into such an expensive ordeal,” she said. “I just can’t sleep at night worrying about those worms.”
But I knew it would be rough. Saving the planet is never easy, nor is raising 1,000 … oops, I mean 999 red wigglers.