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temperature test
Sunday, September 5 2010
I have a drum composter specifically for the fecal output of my brown house, but it has been fallow since purchase as I've waited for the 25 gallons of humanure in Fecal Collector II (a 35 gallon trash can) to decompose down to a more manageable volume. But I'd been monitoring that pile for the past few days and determined that not much decomposition was taking place within it. How could I tell? I consulted the data coming from the temperature probe I'd installed with such fanfare when originally building the Fecal Collector II. Because it wasn't registering any temperatures higher than those of the ambient atmosphere, I knew that decomposition wasn't making much of a contribution. So the other day I thought I'd inject some air pockets and dry bulk into the mass, thereby forcing conditions to be a bit more ærobic. After using a stick to poke numerous wads of grass down into the 25 gallons of nastiness, I let it sit over night, and then checked temperatures. But there was still no noticeable temperature increase registering on the sensor. So today I decided to transfer the majority of the mass from Fecal Collector II to the drum composter. This was going to be a nasty job no matter what I did, but I worked carefully so as to avoid too much contact with the slop. Using a shovel, I was able to relocate most of the contents into the composter. There were a few minor mishaps along the way, so I mopped up the little spills with wads of grass and tossed them into the composter. (Failing to do this makes an attractive nuisance for dogs, who then want to kiss you.) The smell was nauseating but not as bad as other smells I've experienced (including secondhand farts and Marie's use of the litter box). Inevitably some shit got on my hand and I found it impossible to wash it completely away. The smell clung between my fingers despite multiple scrubbings with conventional soap and Dr. Bronner's wonder soap. Next time I do this job, I'll have a better system in place. And perhaps there won't be such a large amount to deal with.
This evening Gretchen and I attended a small dinner party at the residence of Michæl, a gentleman Gretchen knows through animal sanctuary work. This particular gentleman lives along the Shawangunk Ridge south of High Falls and is a neighbor with the hated director of the first local animal sanctuary with which Gretchen associated herself. Evidently being this director's neighbor is not an experience that endears one to her, and so we could all agree that the director is a witch and we could also muster abundant supporting evidence. (Michæl has actually been at our house earlier this year for a similar dinner party during which most of this was discussed.)
Also at the dinner party was Michæl's neighbor Abuti (who is Lebanese but a vegan like Michæl) and K, a woman Michæl had met through online dating (though now they're just friends). All of these people work in the finance sector, and at one point I found myself alone with just K and Abuti at the table, and was soon amazed by how quickly their conversation descended into impenetrable finance jargon.
Michæl and Abuti live in similar well-built modernesque houses above a stream dammed up by beavers. Michæl has an enormous Doberman Pinscher named Pluto that he'd rescued from some shelter. Pluto is good around people but will kill other dogs; for this reason we hadn't been able to bring our dog. While we were there, Pluto was friendly and energetic, occasionally bounding into the forest to bark like a hell hound. Michæl says that Pluto is much better behaved and healthier since being adopted, though he's still a handful. He can't really be taken into the city for fear that he will attack other dogs he encounters on the sidewalk, and so requires expensive upstate dog sitting whenever Michæl goes into the city. Pluto has been through many weeks of obedience training, but there is only so much nature (and puppyhood trauma) that can be fixed with nurture.
Despite a positively autumnal chill, we ate out on the deck. Appetizers included lots of foods Gretchen doesn't like (eggplant and avocado) but she was a good sport and somehow managed to choke down a thin slice of barbecued eggplant. The main course was a big bland pot of pasta, and dessert was a delicious apple pie baked by K. Throughout the meal we drank wine, all of which seemed to be a good bit more expensive than the wine I find myself drinking at other dinner parties. That's what happens when you go to dinner parties hosted by people working in the finance sector (that is, if they still have jobs).
Conversation was wide-ranging and often extremely funny. We all shared in it, and nobody seemed to be dragging it down or not carrying his or her weight. It was a good group of people. At the end of the evening we had a particularly interesting conversation about gun control. Michæl said he wanted a gun so as to defend himself from home invaders, though Abuti seemed to think he should rely more on the local constabulary for security. For my part I agreed with Michæl's DIY inclinations, though I said that I'd be content with clubbing a home invader over the head. (Gretchen would be horrified if she learned I had a gun.)
For linking purposes this article's URL is:
http://asecular.com/blog.php?100905 feedback
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