So we did the test. The worm test. Vermicomposting worms. The kind that eat table scraps and leftover vegetable bits and human flesh. (No, I’m making that last part up.) My wife said: “If we can keep worms alive then it will be a great test for how we’ll do with chickens.” Chickens have been her dream for years. Laying hens. Big, fluffy fowl that you wear on your shoulder like a parrot. Who guard your house while furnishing you with eggs. Who bring love and joy and eat everything in your yard, down to the bricks, which they would also eat if only they had sledgehammers.
Happy Mother’s Day … Now here are your worms
I hope you thanked your mom on Mother’s Day. That fearless woman who brought you into the world. After carting you about in her womb. Who raised you and made sure your shoes were tied and your teeth brushed. Who made sure you grew up to be respectable and responsible and, if nothing else, somewhat civilized. You use a napkin, right? Because we all owe them that — a little thanks. Did you kiss your momma last Sunday? Actually, I didn’t. If I tried to kiss mine, she would swat me on the head. It’s not her thing.
Saving the Planet, One Worm at a Time
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.)