FINDING A RHYTHM

I'm not sure anyone sets out to learn how to grow food knowing they're about to develop a relationship with compost. Yet that investment in time and energy got me reconsidering my rhythms and daily practices in such a way, that like many things in growing, it takes time and effort, both worthwhile. Those daily, weekly and monthly actions slowly shifted into a lifestyle. Changing the soil surface set off a wave of difference into also nourishing my own health.

It's almost four years ago that I spent my first day as a permaculture volunteer. "What is it you would like to learn?" I was asked, and I still remember my very first interest being in compost. How to turn plant waste into a valuable living resource was my goal. For health reasons I didn't want to use fertilizers, but also for the safety of my family, environmental and financial costs related to their use. I was inspired by regenerative farming practices, and wished to discover more about their principles. The importance of soil life and ecology had grabbed my attention. How organisms in the soil in our own gardens could create a growing environment that mimics wider natural processes, supports the functions of water storage, heat generation, and return of nutrients into the food I ate, it all fascinated me. I was in a place of beginners mind, wishing to learn more, however I look back and realise I was at the early stages of personal and emotional change too, unknowingly about to turn unloved parts of myself into something valuable.

To get to a point where I grew a percentage of my own food was a hope for myself, still is really. The old cliché around how learning never ends couldn't be more true with natural processes and growing. A constant lesson in letting go, flexibility and acceptance of change and challenges. I hoped to grow nutrient rich, chemical free food, that reflected the capacity and rhythm of my everyday life. It was no use elbowing new ideas and behaviours into an already busy life as a Mother, if I desired a new focus and future for myself, it needed to grow slowly and compassionately. I had so much to learn ahead of me, about plants, relationships, functions, designing, and what I wished for most was an understanding of the soil.

We began by doing, straight into the practical. "Ok, well, if you want to learn about compost, let's go make some". Hands in the earth, watching and then trying myself. The discomfort in making mistakes quickly appeared, and has been settled over time, in relationship with tasks in nature. There's no better way for me than learning by doing, absorbing information best when I can see it in action and have a go myself. We spent time outside together, we would simply talk, I would ask questions, the learning growing with me in time. We cut, we gathered, we layered, I observed, I reflected, I asked again, and again, and gradually my confidence grew. "Next year you'll be doing the composting session" he said smiling recently as I worked independently on my own space. The biggest compliment I could have received.

It's not only about the fertility and nutrients needed for growth, it's how a value placed on time, effort and a little knowledge can create a life skill. One that I hope can continue to nourish the little patches of land and ecosystems I care for, my body, my family health, and in time the relationships I become part of in the world of growing and designing. The act of creating compost, for me anyway, provides hope in it's passing forward of skills, shared for the future, particularly at a time the world needs it. All beginning in a friendship between two people, and a spark of interest. Those early sparks of learning and curiosity are golden, deep and meaningful, to be cherished.

The application of all this learning began on my allotment space. I inherited a plot, overgrown some might say, heavily shared with couch grass I now understand. It's less about competing with plants, and more about partnering with them for me, and my question has evolved into asking myself, how do I partner with couch grass that is so well established and also share that space to grow food? The new adventure was exciting, I was bouncing with enthusiasm. The beds were already in place, not raised but wavy beds, and I had heard previous tenants had gathered an abundant crop from the land. So off I went, some tidying, path laying, no dig focussed, and planted.

That first growing season I thought I would be learning mostly about sowing, nurturing vegetables, yet what came my way was foundational, the soil needed my care. It was an intensely hot Summer, and what quickly became noticeable was just how much energy I needed to put in to water my plants. Being a short car ride away, that was not as easy at it first seemed. My plants weren't growing particularly strongly, and suffered quickly, in the heat. I had just finished reading English Pastoral by James Rebanks and began to observe all the issues he spoke of on a much smaller scale. The unlabelled tubs and containers I had cleared it seemed likely contained fertilizers or weed killer, as the soil was devoid of life. I could hold it in my hands and it felt like sand, no insects, no worms, no moisture. I would water the soil and started to observe more closely. The water would quickly run over the top layer and down the sides of the beds, very little penetrated into the soil layers. I asked to learn about compost, and here it was, life offering me the most hands on, in the soil, practical experience.

I got to work, I created a composting space on my plot, the plastic bins were already available, easy to move, and worth a try as an opportunity to learn with what I had. I layered green and brown, cutting into chunks to aid the decomposition process, and learned how to make hot compost. The heat and speed at which I was able to do this has been incredible, completely breaking down previously held ideas about compost taking months to make, weeks in my case is possible. It looks different to the heat treated compost available commercially, it's chunky and imperfect, I'm ok with that. The compost I make has broken down to the point where it provides my growing beds with nutrients, a structure for root growth, it holds water beautifully, and I never tire of saying "hello" to the worms. It provides a top layer, that is healthy, nutrient-rich, and it makes me happy. Overtime I can only imagine how this will continue to be beneficial.

So far this year, and I know we've had new changes in weather with cold spells and rain, yet even during those hotter weeks there are noticeable differences compared to last year. The number of visits to the plot reduced, the plants are growing well, they seem healthy, the soil is holding the moisture, and the weeds are increasingly manageable. My daily home routines have also shifted. I keep a metal bowl in my kitchen, collect raw food waste through each day, and take it to designated buckets by my back door each evening. Every couple of days I take those buckets to the compost bin, and the rhythm continues. I cut back, I weed, I chop into chunks, I layer, and the whole cycle begins again. I hand chop what goes into my bins, which may seem time consuming to some, yet for me it's precisely the point. The filling of another compost bin has a process to it, one that reminds me to slow down, take care of what's in front of me, and that meaningful moment has results I'm proud of, and is a little piece of me going into the ground. The foundation that sustains it all.

Being a beginner at anything can be overwhelming, yet it's also a unique moment, one filled with so much promise. I've decided to step beyond my own fears around not knowing enough, and share what I've learned so far. It would be a joy to share the skills a friend passed on to me, and to gather together. If you're interested in how to get started with your own kitchen rhythms and routines, where to begin to return waste into much loved compost, send me an email and maybe, just maybe, we'll find a group of people who also fall in love with soil in the way that I have.