Worms: I don’t get them

They eat everything I give them. How do those little red wrigglers do it? What the heck does their digestive system look like, anyway, all knives and sharp edges? Maybe a rotary blade tucked in somewhere? Okay, so they don’t like the thin papery garlic skin or the layers of onion skins. And they pass up orange and grapefruit rinds. But the tough center of the cabbage? Gone. The stout carrot end? Disappeared. Eggshells? Finished. Celery stalk? Pineapple rind? Eyes of a potato? History. Green pepper seeds, banana peels, butternut squash stalks? Chewed up and spit out. The garden fork is my compass. I move it 90 degrees clockwise every few days, indicating where I last buried their treasure. Too bad I don’t fish.worms

Pea-picker: who knew?

You never know what you might see at a farmers market: newborns, dogs, hula-hoop artists, break-dancers, men in togas selling Italian bread, and this, a new way (to me), to shell peas, especially helpful when the pods, like crowder peas or pigeon peas, are so small. It reminds me of a pencil sharpener. (Remember pencils?). ¬†Unlike what the Internet says, the peas don’t just pop out. I kind of like sitting and shelling though. As analog as this may be, I think I’ll stick to my hands. Who has room for one more gadget, anyway?

A time-saver (I guess)