Gardening | 4amWriter

Welcome to Sunday Spin, where I blog about life beyond the realm of writing.

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The other day, hubs asked me to spray the weeds along our fence line. He’d bought this enormous sprayer (the kind you can strap on to your shoulders) and quarts of Roundup for the job. This is when I discover how serious he is about killing weeds.

So, I went out and pumped poison all over the unsightly weeds when I spied movement. I ceased spraying. I peered down into the long tendrils of overgrown grass. A fat toad hopped out into open space.

Immediately I knew I had doused him with Roundup. Without even contemplating my next move, I dropped the weed killer contraption, scooped up the endangered toad into my hands, ran into my house, and washed him off in the kitchen sink. Yes, I bathed a toad.

I eventually released him into the woods behind our house and he seemed okay. I mean, he wasn’t gasping or oozing pus or convulsing. But maybe the poison works slowly? Or perhaps it starts internally? Or maybe I didn’t kill him, but I crippled him. Yes, these distressing thoughts were filling my mind. I was sure this toad was doomed, and it was all my fault.

So, I decided we would ban Roundup and all chemicals from our gardens. I went searching online and stumbled upon Grandmother Musings where I found a weed killer recipe made of natural ingredients.

Now, I’m not sure that toads are safe from this recipe, but they probably have a better chance with vinegar than with glyphosate, isopropylamine salt or diquat dibromide.

Welcome to Sunday Spin, where I draw your attention to a post that strikes me as funny, educational, dreamy, tasty, useful, or just plain fun. You can find all my Sunday Spin mentions here.

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We’ve just gotten through quite a spell of rain. We have the kind of sloppy ground where worms must crawl to the surface or else they’ll drown. I found an enormous worm in the parking lot of my kids’ school. He was wriggling in a puddle, but he wouldn’t last long during AM drop-off. So, I bent down, scooped him up and flung him to some higher ground where he had a better chance of survival.

Yes, I rescue many forms of wildlife.

My son said, “Mom, you should have saved him for your compost pile.”

My daughter scoffed, “How would she get it home? Put it in her pocket?”

Then they doubled over in laughter at the idea of me forgetting I have a worm in my pocket, sitting down, promptly squishing it.

Ick.

Anyway, the conversation reminded me that I need to rehab my compost pile. I’m a fair-weather composter. I don’t trudge out back in the middle of January with my banana peels or coffee grounds. I’m pretty lazy about turning the pile to keep everything cooking. I don’t layer it the way I’m supposed to. But, even my half-arsed efforts have yielded me some nice (albeit of a small quantity) compost from year to year.

I know that it’s a little late in the year to get started. However, I saw this post on The Soulsby Farm about building a worm farm and I was curious to know what I was doing wrong. If I was doing anything right. Immediately I am intrigued by the simple, cheap list of supplies! And Cheerios? You’re kidding me. My family goes through eggs and Cheerios the way Red Wiggler worms do, so now I am hooked. I need to re-do my compost pile so that it works like that! The pictures make the process look easy, and it won’t take me all day.