Even Master Composters kill their worms

Through a series of unfortunate events, I’ve endured a couple casualties over the past two weeks.  I’ve been worm-sitting for the Glenwood Sunday Market, and am sad to report that not everyone has enjoyed their stay with me…

In short, I killed them.

Ok, well, let me preface that with the fact that many of them are doing just fine, but I crammed them all in close quarters knowing full well that they were too crowded, and a few days later there were dried runaways on the countertop and a not-so-nice smell coming from the bin.

These worms are too crowded, and so were mine.

Then Nancy put the bin outside in really hot weather (she does not have an appreciation for smelly worms).

Then it rained.

All I have to say is, that Darwin guy was pretty smart with the whole natural selection theory, and bravo to the survivors who weathered those storms and are still alive and kickin’.

Moral of this story:

Even Master Composters screw up and kill worms sometimes.  The only difference is that we know why we killed them.  And we’re good at making worm babies to make up for the loss.

Published by

Lauren

Lauren Warnecke is a freelance writer and critic based in Chicago, IL. She is the dance writer and critic for the Chicago Tribune, a culture critic at Chicago Magazine, and has credits with See Chicago Dance, the Windy City Times, Dance Magazine and Pointe, among others. Since 2009, Lauren has blogged about dance in the American midwest at artintercepts.org. She is also a group fitness instructor and part-time faculty member at Loyola University Chicago

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