yfritz's Journal, 25 May 2024

TLDR (again)

I am burning a good amount of calories daily at a local exclusive gym. By gym I meant the backyard garden of course. It offers complimentary spa treatments which include a farmer’s tan, mud facial and dirt manicure (très chic💅). Fact: Turning a compost bin is as strenuous as tire flipping. My bin’s capacity is supposed to be 50 gallons but I’m sure it weighs a wee bit more than that, as the pile shrinks instantly due to rapid decomposing, and I’m having to add a crazy amount of yard debris weekly just to fill the bin. Don’t let anyone tell you that a small pile compost does not heat up. It’s entirely possible. I expend additional calories (cico!) by engaging in activities to diversify the composition of the bin content, eg., sourcing the local microbiota (a fancy way of saying that I walk to the nearby stream to collect and haul decaying plants). My calorie intake involves eating natto. Thank god I’m Japanese. The compost bin gets natto’s slimy residue, rich in bacillus subtilis, which would supercharge the compost. Behold. The temperature of my compost pile is steadily above 110F. Occasionally I hit 140F. Not bad for a measly 50 gallon bin procured via Craigslist. Call me Heisenberg, I’m cooking good stuff. I felt cocky and my nostrils flared with pride.
Until.
There’s a house behind mine and it is defined by a giant trampoline that sits in the middle of the yard. I’ve never seen anyone using the ugly contraption. The owner carefully mows the lawn around it and that’s about it. One day as I was turning the compost, I saw him spraying something quite obnoxious, and I inhaled the pungent fume through the aforementioned nostrils. Pesticide. Are you kidding me sir? What are you trying to protect, your underutilized trampoline?? I was crestfallen, it explained the mysterious disappearance of critters last year, and this year again it would kill the wildlife I am trying to attract. I went inside, sat down, wept a bit, and comforted myself with an image of the dumbo neighbor bouncing bouncing bouncing on his sacred trampoline until he was a human catapult and expelled to the stratosphere.
Bumblebees immediately disappeared after that. I was gutted. I used to think bees were annoying, always following me and being nosy as hell, but I never wished them harm and I missed them sorely. “Come back,” I said as I amended the soil of the area intended for foxgloves, “I will plant your favorite flower.” It was a rainy day and I got covered with muck. Racked up 13,588 steps that day. I’ve become quite smitten with foxgloves, I got a few varieties growing, Camelot, Dalmatian and Dwarf Red. Curiously, the dwarf kind is now the tallest. Okay Grumpy. I see, you like my compost.
Yesterday I was mulching Grumpy and his fellow dwarfs, and I saw their bell shaped petals quiver. Then I heard the rustling sound inside the flowers. It was them. Bumblebees came back. They were furiously burrowing to reach Grumpy’s nectaries. Their derrières were fatter than I remembered. Oh baby. A triumph! Wait, wait. There is no need to make a song and dance about it. I am a bit timid about happiness these days, as it is fragile and could be wiped out easily by one swipe of pesticide spray. The victorious moment passed without decorum anyway. Greed robbed the bees of their dignity. One of the bees got the flower’s filament stuck on his butt, and flew away with it, which reminded me of my former boss who was walking around with a TP tail. And I sat there, behaving more ridiculous than the said bee, laughing hysterically and covered in dirt, but the nature did not judge me and filled the morning with glorious surprises, it brought back the critters that have not visited my yard for some time, I discovered that frogs laid eggs in the fountain and as I squealed with joy I was surrounded by white butterflies, another species that defied the trampoline massacre.