Showing Francine the 3-storey worm condo, I was dismayed not to find a swarming colony of worms amidst the recent veg arrivals where they usually are, and almost none in the lower layer, where the chocolate brown mix has decomposed and given hope to a few albino seedlets.
Where were the millions? In a thick broth on the collecting basin at the bottom. Vermicelli. Fragrant! Were they all dead? There weren’t moving. Maybe they were in a religious trance.
Everything, it was clear, was too goopy, partly because of all the rain (the condo has recently been moved to a less sheltered space) and partly because I’ve gotten careless with how I feed stuff in.
Inside I tore financial statements from Schwab into strips to add to the mix to help dry and air it out. It didn’t seem then, like it does now, a nutty idea.