Mr. Weasel would surely rebuff this statement, but as far as I and the Weasels are concerned, he is King of the Fad. Not just any fad. Definitely not societal fads that we all know about, but his own personal fads. A sudden idea that becomes an obsession and a major expense. Within a few weeks time, interest is lost. Then it just becomes a storage problem.
Much like a child's need for guitar lessons or the latest video game that turns out to be lousy or Jonas Brothers Concert tickets, these are passions that will soon end up our morgue that doubles as a garage.
Some examples of this would be handmade Irish tin whistles, a concertina, his gorilla feet running shoes and I am not even cruel enough to mention his choice in drag preventing swimwear for swimming laps at the pool we do not have, just to name (or not name) a few.
The latest idea that Mr. Weasel wants to bring to life is adding composting to our daily lives. Well, not really our daily lives. It's more like my daily life, being that I am usually home many more hours than he.
Note that we are not green people, so to speak. As a baby eating, woman hating, environment destroying, conservative attitude type, I recycle more than I throw away because it's free and I have to pay for my garbage haul even though the process is not cost effective or environmentally friendly. I reuse most of what I can because it's cheaper to use what I already have. I do not litter and nor does anyone in my home. We live by common sense rules and are fairly responsible beings.
That said, I hate compost. I hate the process of composting or rather the process that I would have to endure of taking everything I would normally push down the garbage disposal and trek it through the yard to a compost bin that will stink to high heaven when you open it and gag me constantly. I do not want to wade through the snow in the middle of winter to dispose of things that I could in the kitchen, just for the sake of making something that I can (but don't) buy pre - bagged at Home Depot.
I have been given the argument that compost, done correctly, does not stink. Coming from a back round of having been near a handful of compost bins when opened and having gagged and held my breath through the local outdoor garden center compost aisle, I beg to differ. I find the aroma to be reminiscent of a back alley in Camden, with a hint of the primate house at the zoo.
Mr. Weasel's idea is that we could then use the compost to fertilize my very small and modest vegetable and flower gardens. I personally enjoy subscribing to a lifestyle where my fertilizer, like my chicken, beef, sausage, bacon, scrapple and eggs, simply come packaged from the store. I know what they are, but I don't want to ever think about the process.
Think about it. Everything that I would put into my garbage disposal, i.e. everything that I don't want to put into my trash can because it would stink up the kitchen, is what I would have to trudge across mud and snow for about 7 or 8 months of the year and have it decompose, rot and ferment for a years time before spreading it all over the ground where I would be growing food in hopes of actually eating the food.
That sure sounds like a winning plan to me. Much like hot dogs, I do not think that I would want to eat the food after having first hand knowledge and visuals of the process.
If you make your own compost and love it, I tip my hat to you. I'm just saying that making my own compost would make me green.
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