It all began with the purchasing of the green bins. Three were given to Sci, the busiest of all buildings. Two to Kohlberg and two to Scheuer, great gathering places for students and faculty alike. One to McCabe, a place of quiet desperation, and one to Shane Lounge, crossroads of the campus. And one (or so) went to each of the dorms, where the students above all else desired compost.
And of those who were to come to know these compost bins, in their dreams as in their waking hours! I was one of seven. Thrice weekly we would ride out in pairs, in a golf cart named Bertie, through snow and through rain, on paths and on grass. Few were the pedestrians who did not soon learn to heed the cowbell’s warning! We rode with wind and lightning. How nimbly the refuse of thousands was deposited into half a dozen receptacles, where it awaited a valkyrie named Chris to carry it to its Valhalla, or place of glory! We washed bins as they told us to. When they asked us to wear gloves, some of us balked.
The highest good is like compost. This appears in its benefiting all things, and in occupying, without striving, the low place which the rest avoid. But it is better to attempt to carry a compost bin when full than to leave it unfilled.
Often the composter finds grace at the bottom of a bin. This you may little believe, who hide your waste in bins and hide yourselves. In a moment the gauze of consumption’s paradigm is torn away; we are lain bare to confront the arrogant wolfish thought, and to share the earth’s slow breath. Without desire we find the deep mystery.
The next time you find yourself composting, see if you can find yourself, composting. When you make your oblation, stay near the bin awhile, and absorb the fragrance. Be still. See what you can pick out from this odorous mixture of what others have left. Feel the weight of the bin. If you are courageous, pick through some of the compost and so explore the habits of others. Maybe pause for a second and listen to your surroundings. Above all, observe yourself at this moment, your emotions and responses, your senses and thoughts.
What do I mean when I speak of grace? I found grace in a pastrami sandwich. There are few now living to whom I dare speak of these thoughts.
The world is changed. I feel it in the compost, I smell it in the compost. My heart bursts; the old days are dying and the compost system will soon be transformed on campus. The system devours and begets itself anew. Next year there will be no riding out. We lose our name, our cart, and our glory. Yet for the great balance we give up these things. When the work is done we withdraw into obscurity. The next day of compost is near, and none shall avoid its sweetness, not those in Lang, not those in Trotter, nor those betwixt. Vain shall be those who compost white plastic lids.
And for those now living, and for those reading after: multiples of three, let them be. Our recycling facility does not accept polyvinyl chloride (#3) and polystyrene (#6), as they are difficult to process; these must go in the bins for incinerator waste. And don’t even think of composting styrofoam.
Everything in its place. The place of food stuffs is in the compost, and the place of (most) clean plastics is in the recycling. Separate these two essences, and if possible rinse the plastic before recycling.
Give straws a pause. Even if they’re green, they are neither compostable nor recyclable. A straw can break the camel’s back and cause a recycling load to be rejected.
If tea is a staple of your diet, please remove the staples from tea bags before composting them. Lastly, what I say three times is true. WHITE PLASTIC COFFEE LIDS MUST GO IN THE TRASH, as they are #6 plastics.
Your fellow students and EVS technicians sort through your waste every day. A stitch in time saves us nine. And we’re not perfect! If you help us to prevent contamination, recycling loads are less likely to be rejected from recycling plants and sent to landfills or incinerators, and metals and plastics are less likely to end up in the soil where our food is grown.