Sunday, August 05, 2007
The Bee's Knees
I haven't really scratched the surface cleaning our house, as we have so many duties over the weekend. It was First Friday. Saturday is pew dusting day, now cut short by 5 o'clock Mass for the lazy. And of course, The Lord's Day.
But I did make a dent in the kitchen. And I found Amelia Earhart. She was in the back of the frig all this time. The shriveled pineapple and a dead aviatrix.
Today's question from our readers:
I am sorry about your worm farm. Is it a total loss? Why do you have a worm farm? Is it for your gardening? How do you manage a worm farm? Do bees kill worms? I hope you are not allergic to bees. Maybe you could become a beekeeper.
I am...or at least, I was...very excited about my worm farm. We have a pesky bug here called "white fly" that is just about impossible to get rid of. We tried praying to St. Dominic Silos, the patron saint against insects, but he was busy with his other patronage, helping with pregnancies. We really felt we had to leave him alone.
Then I read somewhere that worm castings will get rid of white fly. Well, glory hallelujah!
A quart of worm castings costs about $45. Even the Infant of Prague isn't going to spring for worm castings for us. Hence, the worm farm. Now I know why a quart of worm casting is $45. It takes hundreds of worms about a year to come up with...a bag full.
It works! No white fly! Plus, we get rid of garbage that way. In fact, in order to have the worm farm, I had to read a book called, "Worms Eat My Garbage". I can make up for my father causing Global Warming.
It's not really a 'farm'. I'm not out there in overalls from Osh Kosh with a weed hanging out of my mouth. It's a worm casting factory in a layered trash can. It's a worm internment camp. At least they were safe from birds.
I don't know if the bees killed the worms or the worms are just hiding lower in the can, waiting, like the British during the Blitzkrieg. One day while I was away I got a message from Sister St. Aloysius. She said, "I have some bad news. Well...strange news...about the worm farm." I had asked her to be sure and throw some garbage on them, since they hadn't had any trash since I had left. I thought she was going to tell me I had waited too long to remind her, and all the worms had perished.
I wasn't expecting, "The worm farm is a beehive." When Sister St. Aloysius lifted the lid, a cloud of bees blew out. Two chased her into the house.
There are a lot of bees coming and going.
We're going to have to call a bee removal...company? Person? I will not be a bee keeper. Although, when you think about it, I'm pretty much dressed for it already. Nonetheless, I'm not standing out there with a fog machine trying to make the bees leave long enough for me to harvest honey. The Infant of Prague has provided us with enough to get some honey if we really want it.
I miss visiting the worms. I miss throwing garbage at them and shredding newspaper for them to bed down. They are an exercise in not expecting any response or gratitude from those you serve.