As I look down at my muddy gloves, I am reminded of that scene from Monty Python and the Holy Grail; I have become a mud-harvesting peasant. (Maybe I have always been one - see the photo above.)
Okay, it’s not really mud I’m harvesting, it’s worm castings (aka worm poo). I’m separating the worms from the rich soil amendment they have worked so hard to produce. (Hard work for the worms? Probably not, but they deserve some kind of credit, right?) They live in a multi-level worm apartment. It consists of three stackable trays atop a pedestal. The trays are restacked as one becomes full and another is ready for harvest.
As I continue to remove the worms from the castings, I wonder if these little guys are living their best lives. The lowest trays are too wet and many of the worms are kind of stuck in a muck instead of tunneling in crumbly humus.
Certainly, I think, the worms need someone with more upper body strength, a healthy back, and a vegetable garden. Someone who could do better. Feeling a god-like responsibility, I work my fingers through the mud, committed to leaving no worm behind. I spend hours over several days harvesting 45 pounds of castings, asking Bjorn to repeatedly lift and move the trays, as they are too unwieldy and heavy for my aching back.
It all started innocently 23 years ago when Speedy, the 6th grade class turtle, joined our household for the summer. My two sons, then 10 and 12, and I took a family field trip to the other side of the American River to buy red worms - enough to feed Speedy for 100 days. But Speedy didn’t like red worms. He ate exactly none of them. Speedy and the boys returned to school in the fall, but the worms stayed home with me.
The worms dutifully ate all of our fruit and vegetable scraps and thrived. They reproduced admirably and continued to eat. I harvested the castings regularly and added them to my vegetable garden. After the worms outgrew their first home (a Rubbermaid tote with holes drilled in the sides) I bought another and started a second colony. When I had agreed to host summertime Speedy, I never intended to take on a new hobby. Looking back, it is clear that this was a case of mission creep.
The following summer at an excellent party in Ophir, I found myself in an earnest, wine-enhanced conversation about worms with a guy named Mark. (I have great social skills.) He told me I needed to get a worm tower. Interesting. Late that night after Bjorn and I got home, I apparently ordered a worm tower called Can-O-Worms. I know this because the next day I received an email confirming that my order had been processed.
The Can-O-Worms arrived and the worms moved into their new home. Worm life took a back seat and required little thought or effort. Years later when we moved from Newcastle to Applegate, the worms came long. The worms lived in our household longer than my children did. In fact, this red worm family has been with us for at least 100 worm generations. Makes me tired to think of it.
As I continue picking the worms from the castings, I wonder how many more years I will be doing this and start to entertain the idea of rehoming these little dudes, all 2,307 of them. But how, and with whom? After all these years, I feel responsible for their well-being.
Then I recall the open house Bjorn and I recently attended at the Placer Nature Center. With their knowledgable volunteer docents, we explored the nature trail, the garden, and the composting area. And if that weren’t enough, Kira, the director, showed genuine enthusiasm for my questions about animal scat! (Another great topic for party conversation, by the way.) Surely that was a very good sign.
With this in mind I impulsively shoot off an email to Kira, briefly explaining my desire to rehome my worms. Her answer arrives swiftly:
Hi Janet, Thanks for reaching out! Your offer of worms and worm tower is very generous! I have personal red worms and love what they do. Whenever we have relevant themed programs I bring a small worm bin to PNC. It would be superior to have our own! You would still have visitation rights. :) Thanks, Kira Greene, Executive Director, Placer Nature Center
The following week, I load my squirmy friends and their living quarters into our ancient SUV - the one that hauled teenaged snowboarders over the summit so many years ago - and make the winding journey to the end of Christian Valley Road. Kira meets me at the gate. Together, she and I unload everything and get the worms set up. I feel the need for ceremony, so I take Kira’s photo. My eyes well up just a little, so I quickly say goodbye, get in our old SUV and drive home with the windows down feeling a strange mixture of relief and wistfulness.
Yes, they are just lowly worms, but they managed, somehow, to wriggle their way into the fabric of my life.
“Composting with Red Worms” https://extension.wsu.edu/whatcom/hg/composting-with-redworms
Once again, an enjoyable way to start the day. Mindful of the message, I added my coffee grounds to the worm bin. Thanks for your wit and insight.
A blog about worms, I love it. Different, original, unique and so much more. I think my wife has been bugging me to invest in some worm habitat around our garden and the not complete compost area/bin. I guess this is a sign. 👍👍