For much of my life I was a faithful but passive composter. That is, my mother composted, and she also cleaned up after me which meant that any organic waste was carefully returned to the ground from whence it came. When I moved out on my own it did not occur to me to follow in her footsteps. I never ended up living in any one place long enough to invest in a composter and forgot about the environmental benefits of so doing.
When I moved to Ottawa a couple of years ago, the city had just piloted a green waste program. My house had a newly- delivered green bin and each residence had received strict instructions to fill it! Dim memories of my mother's faithful devotion to composting resurfaced and I found myself delighting in every apple core, broccoli stem and dainty eggshell that made its way into my green bin.
Life got even better when I moved to Germany - EVERYONE in Germany composts, and every apartment building has a compost bin. By this time, compost had become second nature (I am my mother's daughter after all) and the thought of putting my onion skins or tea bags in the trash filled me with horror and panic. Then, I wrote a long paper on European Union waste policy where I learned that the human race has to stop using our natural world as a trash receptacle, and became fanatical about reducing the contents of my rubbish bin.
When I came back to Canada earlier this year I moved into a house with a lovely back yard and a composter already in place. I set to work removing the branches and debris that had accumulated in it through the lack of composting activity by the previous tenants and gleefully dumped an inaugural bowl full of lemon rind and carrot peelings into its waiting arms. "I will never not compost again!!!" I cried as I did a dance of joy in my backyard. Little did I know my commitment would soon be challenged...
My fickle landlord called a couple of weeks later to tell me that actually, he and his wife were selling the house and that I would have to move. I will spare you the details of my very frantic real-estate purchase, but I am happy to report that I am now the proud owner of a very cozy inner-city condo. One which boasts neither garden nor compost bin... I despaired at first, but I readers, do not flinch in the face of hardship! Nor do I give up on something I believe in as strongly as composting! So for the past few weeks, I have been storing compost in the three yoghurt containers (that I accumulated while I was briefly without a fixed domicile earlier this month and unable to make my own yoghurt) and freezing it until such time that I can take it to its proper resting place in the backyard compost pile of a friend. This I will do until such time as I find myself living in a house with a garden and my own black composter.
My enthusiasm for composting, paired with my enthusiasm for recycling, plus my zeal for buying products with as little packaging as possible means that I hardly generate any trash. I empty my rubbish bin maybe once every couple of weeks, it never smells because it contains nothing that could rot, and I don't even need to use garbage bags of any kind.
Life got even better when I moved to Germany - EVERYONE in Germany composts, and every apartment building has a compost bin. By this time, compost had become second nature (I am my mother's daughter after all) and the thought of putting my onion skins or tea bags in the trash filled me with horror and panic. Then, I wrote a long paper on European Union waste policy where I learned that the human race has to stop using our natural world as a trash receptacle, and became fanatical about reducing the contents of my rubbish bin.
When I came back to Canada earlier this year I moved into a house with a lovely back yard and a composter already in place. I set to work removing the branches and debris that had accumulated in it through the lack of composting activity by the previous tenants and gleefully dumped an inaugural bowl full of lemon rind and carrot peelings into its waiting arms. "I will never not compost again!!!" I cried as I did a dance of joy in my backyard. Little did I know my commitment would soon be challenged...
My fickle landlord called a couple of weeks later to tell me that actually, he and his wife were selling the house and that I would have to move. I will spare you the details of my very frantic real-estate purchase, but I am happy to report that I am now the proud owner of a very cozy inner-city condo. One which boasts neither garden nor compost bin... I despaired at first, but I readers, do not flinch in the face of hardship! Nor do I give up on something I believe in as strongly as composting! So for the past few weeks, I have been storing compost in the three yoghurt containers (that I accumulated while I was briefly without a fixed domicile earlier this month and unable to make my own yoghurt) and freezing it until such time that I can take it to its proper resting place in the backyard compost pile of a friend. This I will do until such time as I find myself living in a house with a garden and my own black composter.
My enthusiasm for composting, paired with my enthusiasm for recycling, plus my zeal for buying products with as little packaging as possible means that I hardly generate any trash. I empty my rubbish bin maybe once every couple of weeks, it never smells because it contains nothing that could rot, and I don't even need to use garbage bags of any kind.
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