As I was wandering around the blog world, I came across this one on compost. Compost, one of my earliest garden memories is the compost pit that my
father built in our backyard. The pit was in the corner that was the
farthest away from the backdoor. It was about six feet long, 3 feet
wide and 2-3 feet deep. It ran along the fence that separated our
backyard from the Corbett’s. When the pit was first dug, we had only
one neighbour and that was the Sandfords.

Mr. Sandford was a gardener. There was no lawn in his backyard only a
vegetable garden that blossomed every year. I have vague recollections
of the carrots and cabbages he used to hand over the fence that stood
between our places. It was a friendly fence only 3 feet high. Easy to
see over, to have a chat with a neighbour over and to pass over
vegetables for our dinner table. You could grow morning glories and
other vines along it.

My parents also loved gardening, at least when I was young. My mother loved her flowers, irises, tulips, roses and hollyhocks. Dad grew tomatoes. I can still taste the beefsteak tomatoes he grew.
One slice made a sandwich. We only had fresh tomatoes in the late
Summer and Fall, off our own vines.

The growing concern for food quality has brought composting and organic gardening back into the spotlight. The best guarantee that we have that our food is fresh and healthy is to grow it ourselves naturally. Compost plays an important role.