So, we’re leaving Norfolk. Time is getting shorter. When I first arrived, time drug like a kid refusing to take a bath. Now, stuck on the fast forward button, I can’t believe the move is already here.
We’ve started packing the electronics, making our last medical appointments, trying to clean out the fridge. We broke down the compost bin. 😦
To our delight, our neighbor took all of the compost–two wheelbarrows full. She kept thanking me. I said, “Are you kidding? I’m so happy someone’s going to put it to use. We made this dirt! We worked on it for months!”
Now we’re only composting food scraps, which we put on a pile of decomposing leaves left over from Thanksgiving in the very back of the yard.
That means no more composting paper. I have to throw it in the trashcan, and I’m not used to it. I’m not used to having any trash. We usually only put out a trash bag once a month. I hate it. I feel wasteful and trite.
I have a milkfish in the freezer. I guess I’ll to have to throw out the skin and bones as well. Can’t have it on that pile for critters to get into. That’s it, no more fish until we move. This is much more difficult than I thought. It’s 01:00 and I’m up, fretting over the paper cup I threw in the trash earlier tonight while making dinner. Funny, how you get used to things, you know?
The day we broke down the compost bin was lovely; sunny with few mosquitoes. The spiders in the compost were minding their own business, happy in their warm, dark home. Suddenly we empty the dirt, tear their home apart and a flood of soapy water washes in. Some of them jump for safety into the grass, the baby ones crawl on my arm. Many drown, separating families. It reminds me of a tornado ripping through a neighborhood, a flood leaving surviving family members grieving the lost. And as I scrub and rinse, I think how spiders, military families, humans–we’re all constantly thrown into random situations, weather patterns, changes of events. Some of us escape into the grass, crawl out of the water, some of us make it while others don’t. Those of us that survive move on, adapt and evolve. We build new, intricate webs as we enter the children into new schools, take on the role of new couple in the neighborhood, check constantly for an email from our deployed, watching curtains of snow from our windows, or squatting with a soapy rag over a compost bin in the sunshine.
“What are you doing?” my husband asks.
“Just thinking,” I say as the moment breaks and I continue destroying silky, empty spider egg sacks.
“Thinking about what?”
Military families aren’t that different from spiders in a compost bin.
- Carrot In The Compost Bin (insusansgarden.wordpress.com)
- Mrs. Money: Composting 101 (savings.com)
- Can this compost be saved? (ask.metafilter.com)
- Beardsley Farm offers trio of workshops (knoxnews.com)