My Pile: Ruminations

Busy as I keep tending to my pile, garden and yard, there are always plenty of moments when I just sit, to rest and reflect.

There are any number of places in the backyard for taking a seat to ponder my pile, the flat lawn and  bushy gardens, and the rising trees that ring the house and property. My property is basically a square piece of flat land that slopes gently front to back, with a small box of a house set in the middle. Surrounding a moat of grass lawn that rings the house and flatstone patio is a  perimeter of mulched garden beds, thickly planted with perennial flowers and shrubs. Rising above them is an array of trees, mostly hardwood but some evergreen, ranging in size from 20 feet tall to more than 80.

A wider canopy of green on the horizon of the neighboring landscape frames the wide swath of sky above.  I view this stretch of open space as my property as well, the air rights that allow me to claim passing clouds, lingering sunsets, circling hawks and fluttering bats as my own.

In the gloaming of a deep summer evening, I sit and watch the flashing legions of fire flies that rise through the twilight, a light show rising into the ether. Sometimes it’s the chase of a visiting hummingbird flitting among the flower heads that keeps me still. If I sit quietly enough, a cautious dove will alight on the flagstone patio to coo over the tiny black seeds dropped in profusion by the gangly cleome that border the vegetable garden.  Not too long ago, I was startled by a red tailed hawk that swooped low over my backyard, a squirming squirrel clutched in its talons.

Though a scene of some industry, there are plenty of perches to take a pause on between backyard chores.

Though a scene of some industry, in my backyard there are plenty of perches to take a pause on between chores.

Other times I heed the sudden downdraft of a chill, ill wind on a muggy summer day, a head’s up  that I have only minutes to take in the branches swaying haphazardly in the gusty breeze, the flashes of lightning approaching from over the distant hill before fat drops of a dousing thunderstorm begin to plop down upon the ground, and bang off roof and driveway. Today I watch as braces of robins skydive into the dogwood to pluck the bright-red berries from bended branches.

I see and use my yard, like most gardeners do, as an outdoor living space, a series of interconnected rooms decorated with plants and hardscapes. Although I have a number of nice chairs on the back porch and patio, a comfy, cushioned wrought-iron lounge chair or two, and even a good sturdy picnic bench in the shade of the backyard, I most often take a perch on a stump or stone. I don’t know why, but I suspect these places make me feel more connected to the yard I keep in the most organic, down-to-earth way. Generally having a pair of clippers tucked in the back pocket of my cargo shorts or jeans or being otherwise grubby may have something to do with it as well.

Two squat logs that begin the twin wood walls that embrace my pile are frequent rest stops. So, too, are the largest rocks that anchor the borders of the flower and fern gardens in three corners of my yard. Each are about as high as a small footstool; I know how sturdy these small boulders are because I dug them out of the ground and rolled them into place. Depending on the day and time and task, any of them make a good perch spend a moment taking it all in. As the years go by and both the garden and I mature, these pauses grow longer, and more frequent.

The view I often find myself taking in is from the fat round chunk of maple, 20 inches tall and nearly as thick, that sits upright along the stockade fence that runs behind my pile. The log has a rotted knot hole big enough to stick my fist in. It’s no good for splitting into firewood but serves as another good rest spot to ruminate upon my pile and beyond it the lawn and garden it rises from and nurtures.

After all, ruminating is what my pile is all about.  From the Latin ruminat – “chewed over” or “to chew repeatedly for an extended period,” as in what cows do to cud, since the 16th century the word has also meant “to turn over in the mind” or “to reflect on over and over again, casually or slowly.”

What I reflect on today is an exotic new contribution that awaits being added to my pile. I’m looking at a bucket packed full of pellet-size poop from a small herd of llamas and alpacas that reside at a nearby nature center. They’re part of a collection of animals of a working demonstration farm. I’d stopped by to find out more about the organic vegetable garden they keep and to inquire about a Master Composter class they offer.

One thing leads to another, and that thing is the heavy bucket of llama “beans” that now sits before me. I find out more on a website kept by Blue Rock Station, a farm in the Appalachian Mountains of southeastern Ohio:

“Llama manure is… simply put… terrific stuff for your plants.  The llama “beans” as they are often called (as they resemble coffee beans, or rabbit poo, or whatever other “bean like” thing you care to imagine) break down slowly, releasing their nutrients into your plants. Other advantages include:

  • almost no smell (ideal for indoor plants)
  • extremely rich in Nitrogen, Phosphorus and Potassium
  • will not “burn” your plants

The smooth green nuggets remind me most of vitamin capsules, only not filled with oily gel but dry. In fact, a member of a compost forum, permies.com, suggests soaking the llama beans to spur their decomposition, so I am happy to let the bucket sit for a week or so while I wait for the leaves to fall en masse. Showers are on the way, and I’ll keep the bucket uncovered to let the coming rain soak in. The llama manure doesn’t smell much more than the sniff of a horse stall.

 

A bucket of newly procured llama poop from a local nature center sits on deck beside my pile, waiting to be added to the rush of fall leaves.

I thought I’d be busy by this time with raking leaves and adding them wholesale to my pile. Looking through my compost journal, I know in years’ past by now sometimes I’ve already gathered heaps of fallen leaves, even spread wood chips across the culled flower beds. The cud for my pile is still clinging to the trees, the leaves still largely as green as the lush grass of autumn growing thick in my yard. Though I plan to mow the yard again this weekend, I have few other pressing chores, so for now I wait and watch and, yes, ruminate.

 

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