11 Jun 2012 4 Comments
It’s a sad day when I must report to you that my worms are gone. Yep. Every last one of them, gone, bye-bye, escapees from the worm bin leaving only their stinky remnants behind. Which is your first clue. Stinky. Remember, a properly maintained worm bin doesn’t stink. It doesn’t smell, doesn’t bother anybody… It just exists for them to produce.
So when I returned home from a week in the mountains and removed the lid, you can see how the unpleasant waft gave away the fact there was a problem. Combined with the dried carcasses on the garage floor around my bin, it was no stretch to realize what had happened. My heart sank. I poked through the nasty gooey debris, but nothing. No sight of those gorgeous red wriggly bodies to be had anywhere.
Now mind you when I left, the bin was healthy and clean and my babies had plenty to eat. They were fabulous! And worms should be able to make it a week without my help. Granted my husband remained home while the kids and I jaunted through hiking trails, leapt from waterfalls and cavorted along the paths of Rock City but remember: he’s not exactly a fan of the worm bin, especially as it’s located within close proximity to his vehicle. I can only hope he wasn’t standing there cheering them on. “Run, Willy, Run!”
I wouldn’t put it past him. While supportive of my endeavors, he’s a reluctant worm farmer to say the least and he’d rather buy bags of the dried stuff from our local seed store. “Aren’t you trying to be a localvore, honey? Why not support your local merchants and buy their worm poop?”
Very funny. I’m working toward self-sustainability, remember? As for my worms, I won’t give up. I hate to give up. After our planned trip to the worm farm this month, I’ll be armed with the secrets of successful worm binning just you watch. Until then, I’m open to suggestion!