The Hermans Host A Rave

on the basement stairs landing, the Hermans home

hold the tomatoes and onions

mosh pit

the break dancer. hisher name is Herman.

The worm factory was assembled and I left for Florida the next morning – which was probably the very best thing that could have happened to those worms, given my curiosity and maternal feelings. They were able to settle in, dark and damp, undisturbed and unruffled, for an entire week.

Of course, when I got back, the temptation was just too overwhelming. When I opened the basement door, the first thing that hit me was the odor. More specifically, the lack of it. While it’s all well and good to read on every vermicomposting website that there is virtually no odor, we do well to take these claims with a grain of salt. (Much like I lifted my brow incredulously when reading the claim that if I just avoided bananas, I could lose 20 lbs in one week. Who eats that many bananas in the first place?)

Here, the claims were true. There was the faintest wisp of earthiness in the air, a fleeting vapor of a fresh soil smell, but that soon vanished, leaving me to wonder if it was just the basement door being closed for a week – or my imagination. With Tony beside me, we opened the lid on the farm.

It was still full of worms. (Tony headed back up the stairs quickly.) There was a sprinkling of castings on top of the heap of organic material, looking like caraway seeds tossed into the mix. “Just four weeks to get through a tray?” I wondered. It seemed to me that these little girlguys had a great deal to chew through in the three remaining weeks and it also seemed that their pace was not fast enough. “I must have lazy worms,” I sighed. I popped the lid back on, shut off the light and silently urged them not to be slackers, to be real red wigglers and to make me proud.

I waited another two weeks, going to great lengths to ignore the farm sitting on the landing each and every time I went into the basement, never opening the lid. The suspense really was killing me. I longed to check their progress nearly every day. My self-control was astonishing.

I was making myself proud.

Today, three weeks after they were dumped into their new home, full of brussel sprout and shredded paper possibilities, I checked again.

Wow. Slackers they are not. After the initial lull, these worms have put on the full-court press. As light poured into the tray, little heads lifted and swayed back and forth. I could almost sense eyes (if they had any) squinting as they were roused from this bacchanalia, groping for that red solo cup and clutching sore heads. What a party indeed.

Worm castings were flung hither and yon, with a substantial decrease in the size of the original material. The pile has shrunk dramatically. Worms crawled and crept and slithered; some alone, like the weird kid in the kitchen who’s caught going through the cabinets, but most tangled in a heap of slime, like the mosh pit in the living room, all dancing so closely together, bumping and pushing, that they become covered in each other’s sweat (Well, yes, I know it’s a gross thought, but I’m sure it’s happened to you at some point in your life. Unless you were the weird kid in the kitchen).

A smaller worm sat on the edge of the lifted lid, waving hisher tiny body in the air, the break dancer of the group. I could plainly see that they did not like the onions (they did worry about bad breath!) and they have not touched the tomatoes either. Perhaps they are continental and eat their salad last. Wait – this whole thing is salad.

The timing estimated by Uncle Jim’s nephew seems dead on. If they are this far along in three weeks of a non-stop whirlwind of dark, damp indulgence, one more week just ought to do it. I’ll add a new tray of carrot peels, potato peels, broccoli peels, onion peels (we seem to have a great deal of peels, don’t we?) next weekend. The worms will migrate up to the this new tray to continue the party with fresh supplies. They’ll leave behind a pile of poop, tiny bits and pieces of uneaten food and a whole lot of pee.

Kinda reminds me of Jersey Shore. Especially since worms look a lot like Snooki.