This has been quite a year: I’ve learned to use very few paper towels, I’ve stopped scrubbing dishes clean before putting in the dishwasher, and I’ve become E, the Environmental woman. Yes, it’s true, as with everything I do, I do it wholeheartedly. All or nothing; it’s all.

I’ve been trying to figure out the whole composting ritual. I know New Yorkers who take their scraps in little Ziplocs on the train from the outlying boroughs into Manhattan to the GreenMarket composter. I know someone out in the country who has been swearing by these little green machines. He’s right. I’m sold.

I’ve had it two days and become a master. After all, you know how much coffee I drink and how I revere my espresso, and that coffee grounds make the soil thrive. Am convinced if I just composted the coffee grounds, my soil would be smiling and writing thank you notes. In the two days I have been in love with my new toy, we’ve been to the Farm Market and bought plenty of fresh veggies and fruit. The composter gracefully accepted the tops from the fresh beets, the peach pits, and the inners from the tomatoes.

The important wet-dry balance enabled me to shred all the class Z mail and feed it into the composter. Now we’re talking.

Maybe the best is I’ll no longer have to warn people about olive pits going into the garbage disposal (Yes, I know, we still use the disposal, but use it far less). The composter does not want meats, fish, and dairy, but loves egg shells.  Olive pits get composted, and we all appreciate the quiet.

Step aside, coming through with my kitchen counter gleanings.

This is a perfect solution for hard-rock soil and my newly minted environmental attitude.

thankyou

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