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Composting is the ultimate recycling. Food scraps turned into soil that can grow food. I’d always wanted to do it, but never had a garden. Now, in a tiny San Francisco flat, my only options seem to be the fire escape or the roof. Or worms. Vermiculture (using worms to digest scraps then harvesting their “deposits”) was my last resort; something about a bin full of worms under my sink made me nervous.
What’s a greenie to do? Google it!
That’s how I found what appears to be the only indoor, non-worm composting system available. Thank goodness for modern ingenuity. The Nature Mill Pro finally arrived; I eagerly opened the box while my husband looked on skeptically. Surely it wasn’t heavy enough to hold the gleaming stainless steel appliance I saw on the website. Wait a minute … it’s not stainless steel, but rather a stainless steel looking paper glued to a styrofoam body. Isn’t styrofoam a toxic plastic? Nevermind, let’s get this thing plugged in.
The instructions direct me to “activate the cultures.” I look through the packaging debris for a packet of yeast or something (to be honest there wasn’t much “debris” – this thing was shipped with only bare essentials, everything clearly marked for recycling). Reread the instructions: “place 2 cups of dirt in the unit.” Dirt? If I had dirt I could do this outside. Fine, I’ll get some dirt. I head for Huntington Park hoping that the dog walkers have already gone home. How do I explain that I’m stealing dirt?
Back home, in goes dirt and wilting veggies from the fridge. Plug it in, and voila – start waiting. As the instructions remind me, compost takes time. The first few days went perfectly. Then, the asparagus happened. The trick to odorless composting is, apparently, no asparagus – I mean, balance. Not too wet, not too dry; “green” (veggies, tea leaves) in equal amounts as “brown” (coffee grinds, pasta, sawdust). In case you’re wondering, at its worst the unit smells like a primordial forest if you were a pig snuffling for truffles.
Slowly I’m learning this ancient art, throwing in sawdust pellets and baking soda along with each handful of vegetable scrap. The odor level has dropped dramatically, thankfully, but I wouldn’t call it odorless quite yet. And since the unit is so lightweight it’s easy to move to the back hall for those days when we don’t want guests wondering where the wet dog is.
In less than three weeks there was a glorious pile of compost, filling the window-planter-sized bin in the bottom of the unit. Now, what to do with a pile of dirt in a city?
