I have a guilty pleasure. AhhhhI’m not sure it would rank anywhere in humanity’s top 1 million. But it’s in my top 10.
This isn’t for public consumption, so please don’t repeat.
Sometimes I go into my grow room, close the curtain, lift the lid of a five gallon bucket, and run my hands through my little stockpile of finished worm castings.
I said it. I’m not ashamed, much. I wish I could convey what they feel like in the dead of winter, or anytime for that matter. I wish I could capture how light and fluffy they are with an image. Screened through 1/4″ hardware cloth, aired out on a board till they contain perfect moisture, lighter than soil, meatier than seed-starting mix…man.
Yeah, a little perverted. But they’re so perfect.
I think it’s as much the aura as the substance; what they do when they’re suspended in bubbling water and molasses for a day, what they do in the bottom of a tomato hole or sprinkled into potting mix.
Such a perfect substance, from waste, to waste, to creation.
I wish I could capture for you how they feel falling through fingers. Light and airy, but full and heavy. Perfect.