My daughter rolled her eyes. “If you say so,” she replied in perfectly rehearsed teenage deadpan. (I hoped the irony of my words was not lost on her; the phrase had passed her very lips many times over the previous two years as she emoted over her pet rats, usually accompanied by shoving one or both of the beady-eyed furballs in our faces.)
Thus began my composting redworm experiment last November. Cute or not, the little critters have been happily fornicating in my pantry ever since, in between consuming a respectable percentage of our family’s vegetative kitchen scraps. (Minus onion and orange peel, which apparently give them indigestion.)
Now six months later, the earthworms have been threatening to overflow their original bin. So, I designated today as Moving Day – time to start a new bin and move half the little darlings to their new home. A messy job, but somebody had to do it. Fortunately, as you can see from the photo, I love mud. (I also take a certain diabolical pleasure in anything that will cause teenage eyes to roll. Like making them take pictures of their mom and her crazy hobbies.)
Now all the little wormies are safely ensconced in their new (or renovated) homes, and my houseplants are enjoying a nourishing drink of worm tea. My kitchen floor is swept clean, and my daughter is speaking to me again.
Life is good.
(In case you missed my recent post about the spirit animal meaning of Earthworm, catch it here.)