A good compost pile is the backbone of a good garden. I like to have a hot compost, above 140 degrees Farenheit, preferably. The hot temperature is the result of microbes digesting the organic matter in the pile. Hot compost kills weed seeds and pathogens. However, some people prefer cold compost, which is easier to make, but takes longer. Anytime you put together a large pile of organic matter and water it will eventually decay. Don't feel daunted if you can't put up a Cadillac Compost Bin like we have. Just a pile will work, as long as it is big enough. Compost happens!
We used to just have a compost pile, which worked but was messy, especially after some of the community dogs developed a taste for rotted kitchen scraps. So the community agreed to invest in some really fine bins. I based the design on the ones we had been using at LQ, which Alec, the compost king, had built. But these bins are even better. There are four bins, each four feet wide and six feet deep by five feet high. The front is made of 1" X 10"s which slide into place between grooves. Between the bins there's a similar system in the front half of the dividing separation. The back half and the outside are reinforced wire mesh.
My husband Steve, the reigning regent of the veggie garden at TP, has taken on the composting duties as well. He likes seeing the magical transformation of waste into black gold. Finished compost is black and crumbly, with no smell. It is essential for organic gardening.
There are four bins in all. We use the left bin, Bin A, to accumulate chopped organic material. Kitchen scraps not fed to the goats and chickens, like onions, coffee grounds, and citrus peels go into the small tin trash can so he can properly integrate them into the pile. Bin B is the newest pile, made from a mixture of the goat and chicken pen mucked out material, the chopped weeds and prunings from bin A, and kitchen scraps all. These materials are layered like lasagna, watered as they go in. The whole pile is topped with a layer of straw or dry leaves.
The compost gets turned twice a year. It's a big job and does take some muscle. Definitely better with a few folks taking turns...that's one of the advantages of cohousing. Before the biannual mucking, we turn the piles to empty Bin B so it's ready to receive the new compost. Bin D, on the far right, is the oldest, and has been emptied by then. So the pile in C goes into D, then B is turned into C, leaving B empty for the new pile. The compost goes mostly to the veggie garden, which is close at hand. Some makes its way to the ornamental gardens as well, adding valuable nitrogen and organic matter to our sandy soil.
Here Steve turns the pile from one bin to the next. You can see how useful the removable slats between the bins are. The turning speeds up the process, as material that had been squashed on the bottom winds up on the top, and everything is mixed up, making material more accessible to the tiny organisms that are working on it.
I often liken building a compost pile to making bread. Both depend on biological activity to work, and require a familiarity with getting the right balance of ingredients. As Steve turns the material, he fluffs it with a practiced toss of the pitch fork. This adds air into the pile, which is necessary for biological activity. Meanwhile I add water with a hose. I use a brass shut-off valve to control the spray and am careful not to overwater, which would cause the pile to go anaerobic. It should feel like a damp sponge. Without any water, there would be no decomposition.
Because our manure comes from the goat pen, it is often trampled into hard layers. Here he breaks up the clods with a Japanese farmer's hoe, which we got from Seeds of Change. "Get the right tool for the job!" sez Mr. Natural.
On one of our Community Days, we see another cohousing resident cutting sunflower stalks into short lengths before they are put into the bin. This is an important step; chopped material breaks down much more quickly, and doesn't cause problems when turning the pile.
The finished product enriches the veggie garden in the early spring before planting. We love our compost bins; now we have a neat pile and no more sick dogs! The soil here is very low in organic matter and the sunlight is so intense that it burns it up quickly. If we didn't make compost we'd have to buy it to be able to do a vegetable garden. But since we have the animals and lots of organic waste at hand, it makes sense to nourish the land, and ultimately ourselves, this way.
A good compost pile is the backbone of a good garden. I like to have a hot compost, above 140 degrees Farenheit, preferably. The hot temperature is the result of microbes digesting the organic matter in the pile. Hot compost kills weed seeds and pathogens. However, some people prefer cold compost, which is easier to make, but takes longer. Anytime you put together a large pile of organic matter and water it will eventually decay. Don't feel daunted if you can't put up a Cadillac Compost Bin like we have. Just a pile will work, as long as it is big enough. Compost happens!
We used to just have a compost pile, which worked but was messy, especially after some of the community dogs developed a taste for rotted kitchen scraps. So the community agreed to invest in some really fine bins. I based the design on the ones we had been using at LQ, which Alec, the compost king, had built. But these bins are even better. There are four bins, each four feet wide and six feet deep by five feet high. The front is made of 1" X 10"s which slide into place between grooves. Between the bins there's a similar system in the front half of the dividing separation. The back half and the outside are reinforced wire mesh.
My husband Steve, the reigning regent of the veggie garden at TP, has taken on the composting duties as well. He likes seeing the magical transformation of waste into black gold. Finished compost is black and crumbly, with no smell. It is essential for organic gardening.
There are four bins in all. We use the left bin, Bin A, to accumulate chopped organic material. Kitchen scraps not fed to the goats and chickens, like onions, coffee grounds, and citrus peels go into the small tin trash can so he can properly integrate them into the pile. Bin B is the newest pile, made from a mixture of the goat and chicken pen mucked out material, the chopped weeds and prunings from bin A, and kitchen scraps all. These materials are layered like lasagna, watered as they go in. The whole pile is topped with a layer of straw or dry leaves.
The compost gets turned twice a year. It's a big job and does take some muscle. Definitely better with a few folks taking turns...that's one of the advantages of cohousing. Before the biannual mucking, we turn the piles to empty Bin B so it's ready to receive the new compost. Bin D, on the far right, is the oldest, and has been emptied by then. So the pile in C goes into D, then B is turned into C, leaving B empty for the new pile. The compost goes mostly to the veggie garden, which is close at hand. Some makes its way to the ornamental gardens as well, adding valuable nitrogen and organic matter to our sandy soil.
Here Steve turns the pile from one bin to the next. You can see how useful the removable slats between the bins are. The turning speeds up the process, as material that had been squashed on the bottom winds up on the top, and everything is mixed up, making material more accessible to the tiny organisms that are working on it.
I often liken building a compost pile to making bread. Both depend on biological activity to work, and require a familiarity with getting the right balance of ingredients. As Steve turns the material, he fluffs it with a practiced toss of the pitch fork. This adds air into the pile, which is necessary for biological activity. Meanwhile I add water with a hose. I use a brass shut-off valve to control the spray and am careful not to overwater, which would cause the pile to go anaerobic. It should feel like a damp sponge. Without any water, there would be no decomposition. 
Because our manure comes from the goat pen, it is often trampled into hard layers. Here he breaks up the clods with a Japanese farmer's hoe, which we got from Seeds of Change. "Get the right tool for the job!" sez Mr. Natural.
On one of our Community Days, we see another cohousing resident cutting sunflower stalks into short lengths before they are put into the bin. This is an important step; chopped material breaks down much more quickly, and doesn't cause problems when turning the pile.
The finished product enriches the veggie garden in the early spring before planting. We love our compost bins; now we have a neat pile and no more sick dogs! The soil here is very low in organic matter and the sunlight is so intense that it burns it up quickly. If we didn't make compost we'd have to buy it to be able to do a vegetable garden. But since we have the animals and lots of organic waste at hand, it makes sense to nourish the land, and ultimately ourselves, this way.
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