Faux Terra Cotta Composter

My husband's natural inclination, upon seeing the utilitarian black, heavy plastic items I bring home, is to turn up his aristocratic nose (can an Irish nose be aristocratic? Someone enlighten me!). I don't blame him -- my first composter was big, black and industrial-looking. My second was big and industrial, although it was green. And my current composters -- outdoors and vermi -- are, again, big and black and plastic. Ditto for my rain barrels, which he will not allow in the front of the house, or anywhere anyone but me can see them.

While this doesn't bother me a bit, I do see his point about aesthetics. It would be nice -- not necessary, but nice -- if my composters and rain barrels added to the general decor, rather than subtracting from it. This wouldn't mean I'd get rid of the big, black plastic I've got -- just that I'd be allowed to showcase somewhere other than the basement.

Enter Algreen Products. This has to be the nicest looking composter out there (aside from those delicious pots from Daily Dump in India).

I'm not sure how well this composter works -- it isn't open on the bottom (how will beneficial insects get in?), I'm not sure how big the door is for retrieving compost, and it looks pretty small.

However, on the plus side, it's got a storage area at the bottom with a spout for removing compost tea. That's really cool. Although again, how will beneficial insects help the decompostition?

Ah well, it's lovely. They've even got a matching rain barrel, with room for plants on top instead of a cover. Ahhhhhhh.

And there's location

I forgot to mention something that actually was quite important to Pete: location of the bins. I had reasonably assumed that locating the bin close to the house, making it convenient, would be a good thing. It was a good thing -- for the mice. In fact, it was a very good thing for the mice who found the bin and then found their way under my kitchen sink. I won't post a picture of what that area looked like, but trust me, it was no where as neat and tidy as the picture I am posting. (Note: I think the white-footed mouse is our culprit.)

I rapidly moved the bin to an edge of our property. I called the Village first though. Depending on where you live, your town/city/village may have views, codes or opinions on composting. The nice fellow who answered my call told me Glenview didn't have anything in writing, but he was all for the attempt.

And that's why the bin is shown far from the house in a picture posted earlier, and that's also why Pete had some hesitation about me bringing a bin indoors -- the vermicomposter. As you shall see, he was overcome by logic and cuteness.

(Jumping ahead -- I put the vermicomposter in the laundry room. That's on the same level as our family room, but no one would ever know it. My mom, who has a nose in a million, never made a comment when she was here a few weeks ago.)

It turns out Patience

Patience makes the heart grow fonder. And the compost thicker.

I know you logged in to hear about worms, and worms you shall hear about. However, the path didn't start with worms. And composting is all about patience. That first composter -- the cold-composting bin -- actually did create compost. It was unfinished, as I could see clumps of composed (as opposed to decomposed) material, but it was usable.

When a squirrel ate through the bin, and Pete declared the white duct tape wasn't a highlight of the backyard, I went ahead and got him to buy me the tumbler. Tumbler composting is batch composting -- holding a mix of brown and green materials in a bin, then putting batches into the tumbler and, um, tumbling it for a few weeks until it's ready and you start with a new batch.

This tumbler is supposed to be different (hence the outrageous price): it's supposed to combine cold and tumbler composting in one unit. Unfortunately, I didn't add enough brown material to this composter, and the same squirr-tastrophe happened here, too.

(Note to self: heavy duty recycled plastic may look indestructible, but Chicago squirrels can chew through anything.)

In addition, I thought the claims were a little over the top and didn't bear out under practice. This really is a batch composter, which isn't my thing. So out it went.

And then quite a bit later...

We moved to Glenview in 1998. I had been modestly gardening in the city for 2 years, but now I had a whole quarter acre to play with -- and because our house is tiny, I had almost the entire plot as a playground.

Old Lady Ill (yes, that was her name) had been a gardener too, but I didn't let that stop me. I pulled out her iris and her hens & chicks. I enlarged her back plot, removed some groundcover around a tree and made that into a garden, too. By the time I signed up for my first class at the Chicago Botanic Garden, I had convinced my husband to remove the overgrown hedges in the front of the house, removed squares of lawn for roses and coreopsis, and taught the girls that corn grows on a stalk, not in a grocery store.

But that first class at the CBG would be Pete's undoing, because that first class was all about composting. It was called "Mulch," but only the first 10 minutes was spent on that stuff you can buy in plastic bags at Home Depot. The rest of the discussion centered on making the gold at home. It turned out I had everything I needed to create plant food at home, except a hideously expensive, recycled plastic black composter that cost a mortgage to ship from my favorite Gardeners Supply Company.