Stick a fork in it...

We're working on filling the raised bed garden, but realize it's going to be pricey to purchase bagged soil and compost. Then, we remembered that we have this huge pile of grass clippings, dried mulched leaves and a few veggie/fruit table scraps and including some coffee grounds and egg shells, it's an official compost pile. We started filling it (two families) a couple of years ago, but really never even looked at it, because our desire was to build our own three section compost bin,but these two working moms have no time or energy to do so. Purchasing a bin was an option, but we've yet to get around to actually doing that. Anyhow, I digress.

If we have to fill the garden, why not see if we have any compost made in the pile? Of course, we haven't turned or watered it, and it's under the shade of my giant silver maple tree, so I'm sure it's not getting hot enough to break down sufficiently the organic matter within. But, you would think, it's been a few years of adding to the pile, there must be something worthwhile underneath it all, right?

Jen picked up the pitchfork and started to dig, since the week before I tried to do that and snapped my hamstring and writhed in deep pain for a couple of days. Now, about 10 days later, the leg is bruised and tender, but not terrible. So, we begin again. She dug in and turned it to a new pile, and I added water and some organic stuff  (compost maker) that helps to speed the break-down process. We were hoping to find amazing stuff,  but were a little stumped by the large black plastic bag left near the pile, and whatever other non-natural things we'd find in there and have to pull out, such as candy wrappers, plastic plant tags, and toys.

Jen stepped away to grab the wheel barrow, hoping we'd have enough to fill it, and I picked up the pitch fork. As I poked around and "stabbed" at the pile before digging in, I heard a surprising "squeek, squeek, squeek, squeek, squeek, squeek, squeek, squeek, squeek, squeek, squeek, squeek, squeek"...OMG, I let out a shrill shreik and jumped away from the pile. (Yes, I was wearing flip flops, and yes I know it could have been much worse.) I never did see the mouse, and we joked around about only hearing it and not seeing it that maybe it's a ventriloquist mouse or a DJ mouse with a scratching vinyl record sound that was making the squeeks. HA! The laughter helped, and we heard it a bit more as I dug deeper into the pile. I still cringe at the thought that it might have been a nest in there. Alas, no mouse seen by me.  Jen saw the mouse toward the end of our project, but neither of us wanted to know where it was going or if we injured it in some way.  Ick.

Not as much beautiful black gold as I would have hoped for in that first time digging in.We're hoping for much more of this stuff as we keep digging.