Tag Archives: compost pile

A Year In The Life Of Scott Smith’s Compost Heap

In Westport’s Barnes & Noble, “Gardening” books sit on one side of the store.

“Nature” volumes are on the other.

So where does Scott Smith’s new book go? “On Compost: A Year in the Life of a Suburban Garden” is all about living sustainably, and with ecological purpose. It’s about gardening and nature.

But it’s also about raising a son. About being part of a neighborhood. And engaging with the world.

“On Compost” defies easy categorization.

Of course, to anyone who knows Smith — a longtime Westporter, journalist and committed global citizen — that’s no surprise.

Scott Smith

Just like his book, Scott Smith moves easily and fluidly from idea to idea. He connects with a variety of people who, on the surface, have little in common with each other.

And just like his compost heap, there’s always more going on beneath Smith’s surface than meets the eye.

Throughout his life — working for non-environmental publications like Business Week, Bon Appetit and Golf Digest, and now as communications director for Friends of Animals — he has loved the outdoors.

“It thrills and nurtures me,” he says. At the same time, he acknowledges enormous challenges like climate change and pollution.

Following the mantra “think globally, act locally,” Smith has spent nearly 2 decades tending a compost heap in the back yard of his small (1/3 acre) property, off Greens Farms Road.

He  began the project after clearing the land of years of neglected overgrowth and invasive species.

Curious at first, his neighbors soon embraced the compost heap. Building it helped him connect with them — and to the land sloping down, less than a mile away to Long Sound.

Scott Smith’s compost heap.

“Before chemical fertilizers, farmers collected seaweed for fertilizer,” Smith explains. They also used “horseshoe crabs, bunker, ground-up shells — even horse manure from New York City.”

The book explores all that, and much more. It started as a “year in the life”-type diary. Smith is keenly attuned to Westport’s 4 seasons, and writes lovingly of the magic of each.

Focusing on a compost pile — as humble as that sounds — allows him to talk about bigger ideas. Smith tackles food waste, modern landscaping, and the effect of modern pesticides and fertilizer on our planet.

When he started his compost heap, it was a “fringe hobby,” he notes. In the years since, Sustainable Westport and the Pollinator Pathway have become important parts of town life.

More and more, residents have learned that their yard does not have to be “sterile.” They’re finding ways to make it “more productive, and beautiful.”

But just as the compost pile grew and evolved, so did his book. Early readers wanted to hear more about Smith’s interactions with his son Cole. That relationship now forms part of the volume’s broad appeal.

Scott Smith’s son Cole, in the garden. He graduated this spring from Williams College.

The audience is “people who want to live more sustainably,” Smith says.

That does not mean, though, that everyone needs to start composting. “Even if you have a garden patio, you can improve the soil,” he notes.

Many new residents of Westport have “grown up without how-to, hands-on knowledge” of the land they now own.

They can pay people to take care of their property. Yet Smith senses an urge among many homeowners to get close to nature, using their yards not just for enjoyment, but to learn about the soil, plants, and cycles of nature.

Many of those newcomers come from Manhattan and Brooklyn. Once they hear about composting, they are intrigued by this “classic Connecticut Yankee way of living.”

“On Compost” is an important book, for environmental stewards across America. But it is a very Westport book — including the back story of its route to publication.

Another view of the garden.

Smith spent years seeking the right publisher. An “06880” story led him to Christmas Lake Press, the Westport-based brainchild of Tom Fiffer and Julie Bobkoff. Smith’s concept was perfect for the company.

And — like the compost pile he writes so lovingly about — the publisher was right in his back yard.

(Click here to order “On Compost,” and to learn more about the book.)

(Help “06880” grow! Please click here, to make a tax-deductible contribution. Thank you so much.)

A Heap O’ Scott Smith

Westporters blog about many things: Work. Kids. “06880.”

Scott Smith blogs about his piles.

Okay, his compost pile. Still, it’s an interesting topic. It’s called “My Pile: A Year in the Life of a Backyard Compost Heap.” He covers fertilizer, leaves and lots of other, um, stuff. Like the compost pile itself, it’s a work in progress.

The other day, Scott sent this story along. He hopes it’s of interest to “06880” readers. Whether or not you compost, I think it will be:

Autumn is my favorite time of year to be a Westporter — especially when the weather gives us such a pleasant run of bright, shiny days to prepare for the dark, cold winter to come.

It’s harvest time. For a backyard gardener like me, that means dealing with our most abundant crop – leaves. Driving along our roads, I’m always gobsmacked to see so many tall brown paper bags stuffed full of leaves stacked along the way. What a lot of fuss!

An autumn sight: bags of leaves awaiting pickup.

An autumn sight: bags of leaves awaiting pickup.

All those leaves – 2 tons per acre, I’ve heard – add up to a hefty load for our town (and our tax dollars). Westport’s Public Works Department doesn’t break down the costs of the annual pickup, but similar towns spend upwards of $370 per mile of road to collect leaves each fall.

Add to that the noisy efforts of squadrons of leaf-blowing crews that suck up and haul away the season’s leaves from many other local yards, and that’s an awful lot of green going to waste (or brown).

My neighbors and I have another, less costly and more sustainable way to dispatch our yearly bounty of leaves — and get something worthwhile in return. We rake, mulch and scooch most of the leaves that fall each season over to the compost pile I keep in the back corner of my yard.

My compost pile is a community in every sense: both in and of itself, and because of how it brings neighbors together. I still have the thank-you card the lady across the street sent after a buddy and I swept her leaves onto an old sheet and dragged them over to my pile.

Topping off a compost pile.

Topping off a compost pile.

My pile is awesome. Beyond generating nice neighborly feelings, the compost heap now takes in the bulk of leaves from nearly 3 acres of suburbia. That’s 4 homes that have largely gone “off the grid” of the town’s fall leaf cleanup.

Abiding by the old saw that a good compost heap is 80 percent dead brown organic material and 20 percent fresh green stuff, my goal each fall is to add a layer of something “green” to every load of leaves I put in my pile.

Easy pickings are grass clippings from the lawn, until they peter out with the waning autumn sun. Filtered coffee grounds from a local shop are loaded with nutrients and often free for the asking, as are bags of shredded paper brought home from the office. My pile also absorbs all the food scraps from my kitchen, and the family next door.

A certain amount of scavenging suits me and my pile. We live near the beach, where I bulk up with the greenest of green for my pile: seaweed.

Searching for seaweed on the shore.

Searching for seaweed on the shore.

I got the idea from a Westport Historical Society exhibit a while ago. “A Bunch of Farmers” detailed the area’s agricultural roots, beginning in the 1830s, which over generations developed richly with the maritime exportation of fish and produce to New York, Boston and beyond. By the Civil War, Westport was the leading onion supplier to the Union army. Onion farmers used nutrient-rich seaweed as fertilizer. There’s a certain symmetry to that, as my neighborhood was once an onion field.

Depending on the season, the weather and the wind, high tide usually leaves a long scraggly line of flotsam, most of it a musty salad of seaweed and raggedy reeds of salt marsh grass. Both are high in nutrients and the trace elements garden plants love.

Caught up in the tidal ebb and flow are dismembered crab legs and carapaces of baby horseshoe crabs. Shells of mussels, clams and oysters dot the mix, and in they go too. I love bringing this bit of the beach back home with me. The bucket smells like part wet swimsuit, part low tide, and all pure summer.

Scott Smith

Scott Smith

The more green I can contribute to my pile in the fall, the hotter it will cook through the winter months. With some turning with a pitchfork, the sooner the mass of leaves and compostable whatnot will boil down into a finished batch of loamy new compost. Last summer I spread 50 wheelbarrows full of fresh compost across my garden beds and lawn. My neighbors always know where they can go to fill up a flower pot or top-dress their tomato garden.

I know that in the greater scheme of things my backyard compost pile doesn’t amount to much more than a hill of beans. But it’s a fun, low-tech hobby that provides me plenty of good ol’-fashioned outdoor exercise, costs next to nothing, and in a modest way allows me to act locally while musing about bigger issues like food waste, sustainability, carbon footprints and global warming.

I highly recommend it to anyone with the time and inclination. Lord knows there’s always plenty of leaves to go around!