Yay! I’ve got worms!

OK, not the sort of thing most people rejoice over, but fellow horties might understand. I’ve been thinking of starting a worm bin for months now and I’ve finally just gone and done it. I built the bin last weekend out of two 18-gallon plastic storage tubs, some screen wire and a bunch of shredded newspaper. Then, on Wednesday, I procured a pound of red wigglers from Suzanne Richmond of Funky Chicken Farm in Melbourne and my adventure into vermicompostilization has commenced.

Note the irony in that there's a cartoon cat watching these worms
 from the pages of the shredded newspaper bedding.

There will be lessons learned along the way, I’m sure. There have already been lessons learned. For one thing, they’re quite the escape artists, which is one reason I’m glad this bin is not in the house, even though some of the worm gurus say that’s the best place for them. I’ve got my bin on the lanai, where it’s easy to get to and will hopefully be somewhat buffered from the extremes of weather in the real outdoors. From what I hear, a few escape attempts are normal for a new bin that doesn’t feel quite like home to the worms yet (who knew worms had a sense of “home”?), and will subside within a few days. Meanwhile, though, I’ve got my “assistant” keeping an eye out for rogue wigglers.

Here's how I discovered that I even have an assistant: Last night as I was shutting down for the evening, I went out to the lanai for the usual cat herding session. My four useless felines are typically draped over various tables, shelves and chairs out there just before bed time, hoping that I’ll forget to bring them in and they can watch the armadillo circus that evidently takes place every night in the back yard. (Oreo actually lucked out on that one earlier this week). I always say, in my most authoritative voice, “You must come in now.” What normally happens is that 2 or 3 of them hop right up and come inside. There’s always one trouble-maker who goes completely limp—or maybe deaf—and must be physically lifted from his/her comfy spot and brought in. Last night Calyx, who is normally Mr. Upstanding Cat Citizen, refused to budge. He was sitting upright and perfectly still, like a statue, his gaze fixed upon a spot on the floor. The spot was moving. The spot was a worm. My ever-vigilant fat cat was apparently keeping the escapee under surveillance until I could gain control of the situation. So now Calyx the Worm Watcher is in charge of making sure no more worms run amok on the lanai floor.

I’m sure there will be more fascinating reports on what my worms are up to once they’ve settled in and gotten down to the serious business of devouring my apple peels, egg shells and coffee grounds. I can hardly wait to find my first batch of baby worms or pour off my first jug of worm tea. Seriously, with things like that to look forward to, who wouldn’t say “Yay” to the idea of having worms?