Compost Bin - An Update

So I've decided to postpone sprucing up my yard this week due to an unusual late-February freeze these last two nights. My procrastination in trimming back dead plants actually paid off this time. Take that homeowner's association community aesthetics subcommittee!! Even so, I am still in the process of building my compost pile. I have decided against using one of those bathroom-receptacle-sized ceramic bins and have, instead, opted to construct a 3X3 foot heap in my backyard. I figured with a mound of compost, I would more efficiently be able to dole out the stuff to my planting beds with a shovel. And who needs to pay for "special" worms, when you can just summon the natural ones! Being that it is a pile of rotting old soil, coffee grinds, produce trimmings, and newspaper, the big question is going to be: where am I going to put this thing? I live in a restriction-laden golf course community. Our home, according to the Architectural Review Committee, is located on this golf course. However, I've had not even a glimpse of said golf course through the 25 foot buffer of 30 foot pine trees and overgrown, cottonmouth-infested underbrush, unless you count the occassional "G*d D@$& it!" or "S&*$!" or, most often, "F@#king F&*@#$%&*!" from the forest-consealed amateurs on the green. Actually, my first experience with these "ghostly" utterances eminating from the woods in our backyard occurred about four months after we moved in. It was April, about 75 degrees outside, and I was approximately five months pregnant. The day was too gorgeous not to spend it outdoors, and our home felt ultra-secluded since we were the only house built so far on our side of the street. I got into my bikini, which I must admit looked more like a woman bodybuilder's competition garb over my very cumbersome body, than the delicate floral string number I had flaunted the prior summer, slung a towel around my neck and poured myself a glass of Pellegrino, before stepping through the patio doors onto our back porch. Surrounded by a peaceful solitude, I tossed around the idea of whether to lie down topless or not. Do you think anyone would see? I asked myself. Who? I responded, construction workers don't work on Sundays. The neighbors across the street cannot see over here. How about someone with binoculars? I wondered. It was while I was engaged in this internal conversation that I heard it:


"What are you waiting for?"

The sun's rays eminated down through the cumulus clouds forming a patchwork of light on the St. Augustine grass as the powerful, resolute voice came from the pines. Huh? That's weird, I thought to myself. Perplexed, but certain all that folic acid intake must finally be getting to me, I shrugged it off.

"Would you just do it already!"

"God?" I whispered hesitantly, as I squinted my eyes and gazed out at the sunlit forest. My conversations with Him had never felt so....um...concrete before now. Plus, who knew He was so preoccupied with my sunbathing practices.

"Stay off the beach! Stay off the beeeeeach! Oh, man! That was a close one!"

No, shit! I whisper to myself. a little offended. Why do you think I'm even here, in my backyard, mulling this whole situation over in my head.

"Aw, come on! You're so close! Why don't you just dive in? You're right on the edge! Damn it!!"

The voice sounded a little deeper this time, and a little more agitated. God doesn't cuss, right? I pondered the possibility. But, then again, wouldn't you be a little irked too if your job was to give advice and guidance to billions of people everyday, that mostly went ignored and less then 10% ever followed through with? Certainly.


So I did it. I laid my towel down on my beach chair, and placed my book, water, clothes, and my bikini top on the grass. Aahhh! I closed my eyes and reveled in the few moments of utter serenity. The only sounds being the creaking of the cypress and pine trees, the rustle of the grassy underbrush, and the chirping of two cardinals chasing each other around a magnolia. There was a light breeze and the wonderful scent of jasmine.

I took a sip of my sparkling water, and as it's crisp bubbles tingled on my tongue, I nearly choked when I heard, "WOOO HOOO! You did it, youS@n of a B&%@H!

I perked my head up, thought for a moment, then smiled as I reclined back into my chair. Yep, I had done it. Liberated from clothing restraints and tan lines, I lie there basking in my newfound freedom.

And, yes, later I eventually figured out the voices were that of a foursome of drunken golfers struggling at the 17th hole. And, yes, had I not been an overly hormonal pregnant woman, I'd surely would have come to that conclusion much sooner.

But, anyway, back to the subject at hand....my compost bin. I've got to find an inconspicuous spot for it in my yard. One far from my house, and out of view from my back windows and those of my neighbors. Again, I am asking for your help....any suggestions would be greatly appreciated.