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20 April 2024

Strawberry blossom

I currently run 4 compost stations. Compost, when it’s done right, does not smell like garbage. The other day I stuck my arm in the steamy core of leaf mould, and its cleansing scent struck me so hard that a few areas of my brain woke up.
Composting made me mindful of the way I eat. I generate very little kitchen waste now. It also keeps me busy - even on the most dormant day I burn a decent amount of calories - there’s a lot to be done to maintain the microbial activities in those compost bins. I am not a green conscious woman, I scoff whenever I hear greenwashing nonsense, and I don’t trust anyone who claims composting “saves the planet.” The. Planet. LOL. I detest hyperbolic expressions like that. When the decomposing leaves struck my nostrils with the scent of ancient Buddhist temples, I was humbled, humbled by the generosity of the nature. For once I was the recipient. I am perpetually surrounded by people who take, take, take, and I am tired of their platitudes and tired of suppressing what matters to me. The intimacy with which my garden knew me shocked me. The dead leaves, microbes, earthworms, rain, heat, frost, and most of all, time, operate reliably to generate the scent that rearranges the way I reckon time, it is the scent that brings back the most beautiful moments of my life, those players in my backyard accept my sorrow and they keep giving, giving, giving, and that is the reason why choose to run 4 compost stations and spinning my tumbler like a hamster on a wheel.

24 February 2024

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