I was chopping veggies the other day, something I'm doing over and over again since joining Weight Watchers, and it struck me that I was THROWING AWAY THE TRIMMINGS.
Now, 11 years ago, when we first moved to Pine Ridge, Mary was 2. We had one of those plastic compost bins which, once we started having chickens and goats and all the rest, was hopelessly too small. Now we have this system, which really isn't photographed properly. Suffice it to say that it composts MUCH MORE than the little Rubbermaid plastic compost bin did.
I digress. What was I talking about? Oh, yeah.
MSP was 2. She loves her daddy, and would wait VERY ANXIOUSLY for him to come home at the end of the day. One of their daily jobs was to walk out to the compost bin each night. They would take The Yucky Bucket, our term for the thing that held the trimmings, and dump that day's trimmings into the container. Then they'd visit the pond, and swing a bit, and, as years went by, visit other critters, at least until we got rid of the little bin.
I have long since stopped collecting trimmings. It got problematic, in stages. The first stage was when Dad started doing farm chores and didn't go out with MSP to the compost. That led to the second stage, when the compost job was passed from kid to kid, with varying levels of enthusiasm for the task. Third stage was when the buckets started disappearing, although they'd show up again, usually flung in some corner to be found while someone was mowing or something. Someone would take them out, but neglect to bring them in. Eventually, all were lost, never to be seen again.
Last fall, I decided to revive The Yucky Bucket. Now, instead of putting the trimmings on the compost pile, they would go to the chickens, or the pigs, depending on the season. I even bought a new bucket with a snap-down lid; this would, I thought, trap odors. It did. It needed to. The Yucky Bucket got hopelessly Yucky, as people neglected it. Taking out The Bucket became part of Cleaning the Kitchen, as sweeping the floor and wiping the counters always had been. Alas, just as THOSE jobs often got neglected, ("But Mom, you said to wash the dishes, not sweep the floor...") so did dumping The Yucky Bucket, which got yuckier and yuckier...
Which explains why the pigs never got the corn husks from yesterday. I could have run them out myself, but I was in the throes of preparing dinner. I could have sent one of my minions, I mean, children, but that then becomes problematic. First of all, I have to re-explain WHICH compost bin they go into. ("The first one honey, with all the other new stuff.") Or, better yet, argue about whether they should go to the pigs. ("But, Mom, there's not enough to go around, and they'll just fight.")(Like I care.) And then there's the following-them-to-the-door-reminding-them-to-pick-up-the-ones-they-
Mommies of not-yet teens, I shouldn't tell you this, but I must. Sometimes it's easier to just do it yourself, and it gets easier the older they get.
Which is why I threw the corn husks in the trash.
Call Al Gore.