Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a nature-phobe; I’m a natural gardener. I go with the flow. I flow with it. I thought I’d have a compost heap, ended up with a worm pile. That’s fine. I can handle worms, so long as I don’t have to, you know, actually handle them. Or so I thought.
I like to bring home books about gardening, but they can be so gross. Like the one with huge sections just on bugs – every kind of bug that could be eating your plants and infesting your garden. And there are pictures of every gross bug, page after page of bugs and slugs and flies and larvea.
Then after the bugs they are on to the diseases, the molds and rusts, and the blights. And I’m thinking, just what kind of a stinking rotten bug-infested endeavor have I gotten myself into here?
Despite the lack of planning, I’ve only run into a few hitches with my compost-heap-turned-worm-pile. For one, it’s hard not to disturb the little fellows when adding food to the pile. Sorry, guys! And also, there are a few, what would you say?, unconventional?, items in the worm pile that I was told were good for a compost heap. Things like dryer lint and hair from the hairbrush. Stuff like that.
Well, last week, I was feeding the worm pile, adding some old greens, etc. when the garden fork pulled something out of the soil and vermiculture – (that’s a fancy word for worms and their poop). It was a big dirty snarl of my own red hair from the hairbrush — filled with a large family of worms. Either they were eating my hair or having babies in it, possibly both.
I don’t know if I have ever been more grossed out in my life. I wondered what had I ever done to deserve the searing image of literally seeing part of myself eaten by worms.
I’m telling you, this gardening thing is seriously sick.