You will be happy to hear that the Oman marriage has weathered a massive marital crisis. It was tough for a while, but we are doing well now. As you might expect, the dispute centered on compost.
We have a lot of really cool compost. A summer of assiduously saving table scraps, grass clippings, and rotten, deer-spoiled vegetables has paid off. We have a pile of wonderfully rich and blacked compost ready for the spreading. Not only does the compost represent the promise of better dirt next year, but it is also the culmination of months of work and patience. In short, it is a major family accomplishment. This is where the marital crisis comes in.
Except for a final die-hard jalepeno plant and one last pumpkin, our garden is through. So Heather and Jacob went up to the garden a few days ago, pulled up the last of our dead watermelon and cucumber plants, and spread the compost. That is right. She pulled up the chicken wire coop that had enclosed our compost pile all summer, and then spread the entire pile over our now fallow-field. WITHOUT ME! She enjoyed the moment of compost triumph, the magical revelation of just how black and rich the bottom of the pile was, and the fun and excitement of spreading the fruits of our carefully developed rot all without me. I missed it.
It made for a few rocky moments. I felt as though I had been excluded from some sort of deep gardening ritual that I by right should have participated in. We’ve since worked through this. Jacob and I went up to the garden yesterday and dug the compost in, so I did get some participation in the rot-spreading finale. As for the compost itself, it is pretty good if I don’t say so myself.