Compost

The first year of the pandemic gave people lots of time at home. Some took up baking bread, or at least they squirreled away all the flour and yeast in the known world to do so. And the learning curve must have been tough on their digestive systems because they also needed all the toilet paper available to humanity as well. No judgement - I understand what can happen when a recipe goes south. I was among the “I think I’ll grow my own vegetables, how hard can it be,” crowd. Turns out, like everything, there’s a lot to it, starting with the dirt. Excuse me, soil. Rookie mistake.

April 2020, I headed into my backyard and put some lettuce seeds in the raised planter boxes the previous owners of our home built. The two 6’ by 2’ rectangle boxes had been staring blankly at me like the hollowed-out eyes of a jack-o-lantern in early November for the whole of the previous summer. I eagerly bought seed packets for green leaf lettuce, red leaf lettuce, and romaine, but no kale. Those seeds were as valuable as toilet paper, apparently. And four zucchini plants. It only took about twenty minutes to make the straight-ish rows about 1/8” deep, sprinkle the pin sized seeds, cover them over, toss the packets into the recycling, diligently water, and wait. It was a pretty nice spring in Seattle back in 2020, weather wise at least, so my little lettuce plants started to peek through the soil pretty quick. You’d think I was in The Martian and these were the potatoes that were going to save my life. While everyone else was watching The Tiger King, I was watching my lettuce. My neighbor, who knows how to grow vegetables and had been doing so for years, came over to stand 6 feet away and offer her expert observations. “What kind of lettuce is this row?” she asked.

            “Oh, I can’t recall. I have 3 different kinds in here but I don’t remember which is which.” It then occurred to me I should have saved those little packets. An instant memory of my grandparents’ garden with little stakes with the seed packets standing sentry at the end of every row warmed my heart. “Genius,” I thought.

            “When did you plant each row?” she asked again.

            “I planted them around the middle of April,” I said proudly.

            “All of them?” she gently asked with a sense of either puzzlement or pity, I couldn’t tell which.

            “Yep, all of them,” I said, still proud. Again, it dawned on me. “Oh, that wasn’t such a good idea, was it?”

            “Well,” she started compassionately. “If you stagger them, you won’t have all of your lettuce to eat all at once.” We stood in silence for a moment. I could tell she was beginning to wonder if she should ask anymore questions. Finally, she ventured again, tentatively. “What complimentary crops did you plant?”

            At that, I just laughed. “Oh, I didn’t plant any complimentary crops. Just lettuce and these 4 zucchinis.”

            Now she was laughing with me. “Do you know how big zucchini plants get?”

            “Nope.”

            “Huge. And each one will give you tons of zucchini.”

            “Great! I’m the only one who likes zucchini.” We were laughing so hard we both bent over. I managed to choke out, “I’ll bring you some.”

            She finally caught her breath and said, “what about your soil? How did you prepare the soil and what are you doing about bugs?”

            “Absolutely nothing,” I laughed.

            “Well, it’s not too late for some good organic bug deterrents, but next year, you’re going to have to work on your soil before winter.”

            And so it began. I started learning how to prepare soil, stagger my planting such that the harvest isn’t all ready at once, and I have learned about the three sisters: corn, squash, and beans. And while I’m still a rookie vegetable gardener, I’m not new to gardening. I love having my hands in the dirt, working in my yard, keeping my beds weeded, grass trimmed and mowed, roses blooming, bushes neat, and pots brimming with color. But I’ve never given much thought to the soil before, at least not beyond what color I would prefer my hydrangeas to be. But as I’m learning how to cultivate rich soil, a whole new world is beckoning. It feels like the first time I suctioned a mask to my face and peered at the complex world under the ocean waves – that kind of mask, not a KN95, but fair assumption. We are talking about spring 2020 after all.

            On the one hand, building nutritious soils is fairly straightforward. You need good minerals that come from a natural composting process with some greens and some browns so plants can grow and thrive. But, as much as it might seem like this is about gardening, composting, and soils - it’s not. To be honest, I don’t know near enough about that to say any more than I have. Just after attending the Seattle Flower and Garden Show with my daughters last February and listening to a gentleman present on native plants and what they need, my pastor was talking about The Parable of the Sower, and I was struck by the similarities between what he had said and she had to say. While he was talking about plants that are native to the Pacific Northwest and the different kinds of soils they need to thrive, she was talking about the different “soils” or condition of a heart necessary to receive from God. My mind wandered to think about what the composting process of one’s life is in order to maintain a heart where God is welcome, and life thrives.

            In the parable, some seeds fell on the hard-packed soil of the walking path. No chance of growth there. Good soil needs to be tilled, turned, loosened all the time. This is such an important process because the normal course of seasons hardens soil, much like our hearts. The cumulative effect of daily fears, failures, offenses, injustices, even successes have to be tilled in a composting process and then rototilled into the soil of our hearts. Compost has to be churned with love and infused with the oxygen of examination and the warmth of truth in order to break down the natural elements of a life and feed the soil of a heart in order to foster growth. If you shove down and trample your fears and triumphs, your failures and friendships, your offenses and offenders, those you’ve angered and who’ve angered you every day - your heart will be as hard and as uneven as a well-trodden path. You may think you’ve tamed it, whichever of the pieces of your life you’re tamping down but, in fact, they will have tethered you. For me, a great example of this is withdrawing out of fear from my husband in conflict. Having lost all contact with my dad when I was five with no explanation until I was nineteen and then growing up with two abusive, alcoholic step-dads, I hide at the first sign of conflict in fear of abandonment. I am the most ardent of rule followers, so when the rules said, everyone wear a mask, a mask I wore. He is less of a rule follower and far more independent minded than I. Many people took issue with the masks for many reasons; for him, he was more than willing to wear a mask for his own safety and for others’ safety. But he bristles at being told what to do, so there was a tension there and he drew some lines about wearing his mask in his office all day, every day. But he shares his office with others he decided to make a part of “his bubble.” However, that made them a part of my bubble, and I wasn’t comfortable with that. As you can imagine, for both of us, this conflict had little to do with the masks and more to do with my fear of rejection and abandonment that I try to abate by making sure I’m doing everything right all the time, which is impossible and exhausting. And when I sense rejection is near, fear mounts inside my gut like I’m a little kid being chased, and I withdraw. For him, it was about his vow of independence he made to himself when he was very young and his parents divorced. When anything infringes on his ability to control himself and his environment to prevent that kind of pain again, he shuts down. It’s a perfect storm. Thirty-five years of marriage have unfurled this scenario between us like flag billowing in a breeze. Understanding helps, but man, softening the soil on those hard-packed responses is back-breaking work.

            You also need plenty of soil. If it’s shallow, seeds may grow at first, but they will not thrive. Without deep soil, the plant cannot develop roots that will sustain life. The soil holds the water and the minerals, but it also provides stability. A heart that is unavailable, hidden behind the rocks of past accomplishments, hurts, or anger over hardships is shallow soil. Relationships and opportunities to grow and live into your gifts in effective ways will be scorched by seasons of drought where the flow of new water and nutrients lags and your roots don’t have deep soil from which to draw. Shallow roots can also leave you vulnerable to topple when abundance comes because you will not be grounded well enough to handle the money, notoriety, attention, or responsibility it brings. Both the absolute bounty and the beautiful as well as the abominations of life have to be tossed into the compost pile of the heart and churned together. Be grateful for your blessings, forgive yourself and others their mistakes, learn and grow from failure, be generous with your bounty, be humble regarding your gifts, and take full responsibility for your shortcomings.

            Even plants that initially thrive in deep, rich soil face threats. A heart that is open to love, examination, and truth is also prey to worry and distraction. These can choke and crowd the best of plants. Regular weeding is important, particularly in good soil because everything grows in rich soil. Make sure you have honest relationships with courageous people who will keep you growing in self-awareness for there are fewer gifts of greater worth.

            So what makes for good soil? Compost replenishes the nutrients that time and the planting process drains from the soil. Compost is made up of the healthy stuff in your life that you no longer need or can use, or that was once good and beautiful but is now rotten or beyond its useful life. Not everything makes for good compost, just like not everything is good for a human life or body. Animal fats and greasy foods promote fungus growth in your literal vascular system and in your compost pile, and as it turns out, metaphorically in the soil of your heart too. Harboring resentments and malice for another person, no matter how guilty they are, will only bring rot to your very soul. Shackling yourself with shame has the same effect. Dr. Brene Brown writes in Rising Strong about ways to rise strong from what she calls “face-down moments” in life when you’ve failed. Process the story you’re telling yourself and reconcile it with the truth. Take stock of what you’re feeling in your emotions and in your body. Own your part, learn, grow, and move forward.  

For good compost, you need some green and some brown. Good green compost adds nitrogen and comes from things such as the parts of fruits and vegetables you don’t eat or that have gone bad, coffee grounds, eggshells, or stale bread. Brown compost is rich in carbon and comes from things that were also once beautiful or useful but are no longer such as fallen leaves, faded blossoms, black and white newspaper, wine corks, used paper napkins or paper towels as long as they’re not greasy, or shredded clean cardboard. Any or all of these could be added to your compost pile and - when turned regularly to be kept warm and exposed to oxygen - will break down and become a rich, nutritious sustenance to keep out weeds and promote growth. Or, you could take what was once useful and beautiful or is beyond its life and now rotting and shove it in a big black plastic bag, seal it tight and send it to a landfill where it will produce toxic methane gas. Same raw material, vastly different outcomes. The same is true of the elements of your life and for your heart.   

Of course, this sounds over-simplified for the soil in your garden boxes waiting for this year’s crop or your heart wanting for God or a sense of living from a place of abundance; it’s not easy to nurture balance and health. The lists are easy. The process is clear. The practice will require more courage and determination than you think you have, but it’s just that, a practice. Begin each day and don’t ever stop no matter what happens. The process must be continual, and you must believe it’s well worth the effort. Because “how hard can it be,” is always a dangerous question - whether you’re growing vegetables, baking bread, or cultivating a heart that is open to God and ready to sustain a thriving life.