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A Compost Blether
by Patrick
Vickery
Gather together a hundred gardeners and ask
the question: what's the best method of constructing a compost heap? - and
you'll receive a hundred different answers with a few strong words thrown
in for good measure. Folk can be so possessive of their 'expert'
knowledge, can they not? You'll certainly get a heated debate,
anyway, with much colourful "rabbit and pork" (slang for 'talk'
apparently) thrown in for good measure.
I once made the mistake of engaging in a 'compost heap' debate myself.
Never again. The other guy, a man called Bill, for there was only two of
us left in the room by the time we'd really got stuck into the topic - the
others having beaten a hasty retreat - wouldn't talk to me for months
afterwards and even
now regards me as some sort of subversive element who's in the habit of
routinely undermining other people's tried and tested methods. But
then gardening does that to people sometimes, doesn't it, just like any
other human preoccupation, when 'Expert' meets 'Expert' and neither is
prepared to give an inch.
"What I do is pee on it," one 'expert' might proclaim, whilst
shoving his nose conspiratorially into your ear, "adds just the right
amount of nitrogen and potash. Good for the vegetables, especially the
cabbages."
"Human hair is water retentive," another might bellow (a local
barber of the district told me this once) "sow seed tatties on human
hair, a tried and tested method."
Well, what can you say to that?
Personally I tend to grunt when confronted by any type of 'expert' these
days, a drawn out murmuring sort of grunt. This usually does the trick.
Approving yet neutral. Better that, of course, than respond in a less
charitable manner with something along the lines of: "Take your nose
out of my ear, you pompous windbag!" Yes, much safer in the
long run.
But what happens to the compost heap once it's started? If - like me
- you lack the time and dogged persistence, then it quickly becomes a
breeding ground for the most intriguing collection of weeds, thistles and
woody-stalked vegetation that requires vigorous strimming to tidy the
whole mess up. Either that, or you're left with an untidy eyesore.
You could call it a 'wildlife garden' and leave well alone of course, that
is if you can live with such a notion; or you could strim it and then
explain it away as
yet another giant mole hill to add to the already growing number of giant
mole hills at the bottom of the garden (simply another piece of lumpy
grass to cut on a regular basis).
Compost bins, of course, are the 'thing' of the moment just now: plastic
containers (inverted conical shapes resembling wheelie bins without
wheels) and bottomless. Cast an eye around next time you're out and
about and see if you can spot any with weeds, thistles and woody-stalked
vegetation exploding
out of them. You might do. You just might do.
Despite all this, however, I may try one myself, see how I get on.
But could I really pass it off as a giant mole hill if it was neglected
through no fault of my own? I doubt it.
Now there's a sobering thought.
(Copy right Patrick Vickery 2002)
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