It was getting dark out and I wasn’t wearing my glasses, but I’m pretty sure my compost pile is already looking more dirt like. This is after I pulled all of the cooler external stuff away to prepare for the turning:
Don’t mind the fresh grass clippings. They are getting their own pile that will probably be a quick stinky experiment, unless I can get some browns mixed in. But eh, I’ve already got one baby to look after and I’m sure we aren’t burning up those brush piles or picking up more leaves any time soon. I refuse to buy compost materials. Maybe I’ll rip up some cardboard. Or maybe I’ll just add some kitchen waste and watch the whole thing turn into a smelly nitrogen-charged raccoon fest until it spontaneously combusts.
Ok, so then I dug into the center and started pulling the hot stuff open, creating a space for the cooler stuff to be rotated in. Look at it in all its steamy goodness:
I found quite a bit of white powdery crap that I think means my temp is too high? Not sure and too lazy to look it up. But anyway, the pile doesn’t stink. It smells a bit nice, actually. Or I’m just effed up.
Lying in my warm pile of rotting junk post turn. This is a good look for me. Gravity is my friend. Oh yeah, this pile is full of piss. Awesome. Oh well, we’re family. It’s nowhere as bad as sitting on a public toilet after some hovercraft of a lady has not been neat or wiped the seat. Of course that lady probably didn’t drop a million centipedes and spiders out of her crotch either.