Confessions of a Crude Composter: The "Anything That Rots" Method

(Editor's Note: Originally published January 17, 2008. Comments welcome; authors may not respond.)

Forget layering greens/browns, turning piles, temperature probes, moisture meters, winter worries. Just stop worrying and start building. My way yields tomato patches like the one pictured.

I compost anything that rots: leaves, pine needles, ashes, vegetable scraps, leftovers, dairy, meat, paper (plain, newsprint, colored), wood, sawdust, roadkill. Even pet/human waste (not for beginners). Part of a larger effort to produce minimal trash—if I can treat waste on-site, it's my responsibility. Sending byproducts away doesn't make them disappear; they return in water, air, landscapes.

Bonus: no kitchen wastebasket in 3 weeks. No trash barrel since before Thanksgiving. That makes me happy.

Tour My Compost System

"Julie" – chunky machine (nicknamed) processes small critters delivered with straw, stockpiles treated ingredients for retrieval.

Corrals, not bins – Straw bales: 100 bales/year at $2.50 each. Most for new corral; many mulch the garden. Started on an acre two winters ago: sandpit (ex-swingset) for strawberries/herbs; first corral 3×6×2 bales high (36 bales). All summer: moving boxes, garden trimmings, shredded paper/leaves.

Winter: shifted to trashcan by back door. Spring: capped corral with thick straw, planted tomatoes/melons—worked until vines "stole a car and made a break for the county line!"

Late fall cleanup creates piles shrinking to nothing. This one on a year-old lasagna bed, started with shredded paper.

"Son of Compost Corral" on a lasagna bed not ready till next spring: gone-to-seed cole crops, shredded paper, unshredded leaves, kitchen scraps, cardboard, unfortunate roadkill. (Pets get buried; anonymous possums... well.)

New bales go up as last year's corral implodes. Brown mush started 2 bales high. Spring: original corral spreads onto garden; gain planting space. Hope to fill Son enough to cap and plant.

All-season interest: summer active corral smells of dill/mown grass; aging one sprouts wild plant hairdos. Fall: fresh straw lines driveway. Winter: old corral implodes impossibly; new one fills. Virtuous feeling.

Spring: fresh compost juices flowing pre-planting. It's all good. Maybe someday: KISS Compost—Keep It Simple, Sweetie.