But, despite these successes in growing tasty vegetables, it seems the thing we can produce best here is: dirt. The composter I bought for my birthday several years ago is just a little soil factory. We keep it filled with grass clippings, leaves, chopped watermelon rinds, egg shells, lettuce that went bad in the fridge, potato peelings, etc. Then, add a little moisture, turn it once a day, and the microbes do their stuff. I know it is hot here, but the center of the compost in that tumbler is is steaming hot from the breakdown of organic matter. It's weirdly fun to observe. It never smells bad, in fact, it is the pleasant odor of dirt.
I chose this tool because I didn't really have a good place in my smallish yard to build a pile. This unit keeps all the untidiness contained and also keeps out any critters that might think a heap of leavings from the kitchen is just a Vegas Buffet for Bugs. (or mice, rats, or pigeons.) Also, if I'm gone for an extended period, and not adding anything to it, nor turning the handle, it just sits there quietly and awaits my return without creating a fuss or a mess. Add water, turn, and it starts right up where it left off. In the desert climate, the main concern with keeping a composter composting is moisture.
So far, we've "harvested" three big garbage cans of dirt. We used up one can when we changed the look around the pool, and planted ornamental grasses and ground cover. I've used almost all of a second one enriching my garden. We've still got the front yard to landscape with desert plantings, and by the time we've saved up the money to do it, we'll have plenty of rich new dirt to use for the transplants. We make great dirt here!
If you look carefully in the very center of this photo, you will see a tiny sign that says "Sea Level". As a visitor stands reading the information on the signs that overlook a vast white playa identified as Badwater, many other visitors are walking as they follow the boardwalk to its end out onto the saltbed. One of the instructions on the visitor information plaque is to look over your shoulder. There, high up the cliffs opposite of where you've parked your car is this sign that is easier to read standing there, than in my photo. It points out how high up the cliff you must go to get to sea level. You are standing at the lowest point in the contiguous United States: Badwater Basin--282 feet below sea level. Cool.
It would have been very daunting to stumble into this valley thinking you were almost to the ocean, or at least in the part of California where you could mine gold and have some neighbors, too. But some people finally found something to mine--borax--and while I don't know if it made anyone wealthy, it does make your laundry nice.
