Everybody do the worm.

I have worms. Not in the gross way, but the good, composty sort of way. I found a worm seller in Spring Hill, KS (or rather, the worm-preneur found me, via this blog), and on Sunday Andrew and I drove down there and bought three-quarters of a pound of red wigglers. They also gave us a bag of manure and castings to help us get our bin started. Very nice. They gave the worms to us in this jar that they had labeled with their own company label. Pretty cool. I think I may have been the first customer, which is also awesome.

In case you’re interested in starting your own worm bin, here’s how I did it. But don’t copy me until I update you on whether it’s working or not.

Step 1: Buy container; drill air holes.
Step 2: Fill with shredded paper.
Step 3: Let cat play in shredded paper.
Step 4: Dampen paper with squirt bottle.
Step 5: Put on rubber gloves; dump in manure/castings.
Step 6: Dump in jar of worms.
Step 7: Realize that worms will not just fall out of the jar.
Step 8: Reach into the jar and start shoveling out worms.
Step 9: Huh. Notice that worms are much warmer than I expected.
Step 10: Shovel more worms.
Step 11: Bury worm pile with shredded paper.
Step 12: Add handful of chopped up food waste; cover with more shredded paper.
Step 13: Put lid on, wait for something to happen.

Third time's the charm.

Once you are married, are you supposed to stop celebrating all your previous “anniversaries”?

Today marks seven years since Andrew and I began dating. Or rather, it marks seven years since I gave in to Andrew’s relentless wooing and decided to give him another shot, since we had actually already dated and broken up twice before. And I’d already vowed that I was through with him, because a girl can only take so much heartache, especially from someone so handsome. And charming. And funny. And smart.

But because of the handsome/charming/funny/smart characteristics, I gave him another shot. So glad I did. Because now, seven years later, we’re still celebrating. Our official anniversary is now our wedding date, but surely it’s okay to remember all the little milestones that got us to where we are.

The next “anniversary”? September 2, the day Andrew unofficially asked me to marry him, closely followed by September 19, when I got the official, down-on-one-knee-oh-and-here’s-a-sparkly-ring proposal. Ah, memories.

V is for Vermicompost: Continued

On Saturday morning, I woke up at 6:40am, showered, and went to the farmers' market (the big one in KC, the one that is a 25-minute drive to reach) because the worm guy was going to be there. And I had spent my Friday night shredding paper and drilling holes in a plastic storage bin so I'd be ready for my worms. (I know, you are sooo jealous of my fantastic weekend, right?) (Seriously, though, my weekend was fantastic.)

But the worm guy was not there. We walked everywhere, up and down the rows, but we couldn't find anyone selling worms. We did buy six peaches, a bunch of onions, and a dozen ears of corn (that, incidentally, had tiny worms in them). But the worm guy wasn't there.

Due to the magical power of the smart phone, we looked him up on teh intarweb, and found that due to the recent surge in popularity of the worms, he wasn't going to the farmers' market in order to give his worms time to, um, replenish, if you know what I mean (bow chicka bow wow).

Sigh.

He'll allegedly be back selling worms at the farmers' market on July 18. And that is when I will start vermicomposting. Allegedly.