VERY COOL! A Personal Submarine!

A gentleman named Graham Hawkes has designed and built a commercially-available personal submarine.


Mr. Hawkes owns a company that specializes in this kind of craft.

Such boats have been around for a while, but by all accounts, this version is very simple to operate and highly maneuverable - and great-looking. However, I'd give my eye teeth to see one in really good steampunk design. (Here's a description of steampunk, and here's one of my favorite websites about steampunk craft.)

I suppose my admiration for the boat is a vestige of my years in the U.S. Naval Submarine Force. I wish all of you could spend a week or so at sea aboard a sub. They are truly remarkable specimens of science and engineering. And the crew members are pretty interesting, too. I know I was (and still am - ask anyone who knows me.)

I'm Still Here. . .

. . .but life is filled with surprises. Stay with me. I'll be back soon.

Favorite Tools: The Stanley #45 Combination Plane

In my woodworking, I use old hand tools as often as I can. Some of my favorites are a pair of great old Disston hand saws (rip and cross-cut), and several wood-bodied and transitional planes. But I especially enjoy using my 1918 Stanley #45 Combination Plane, seen below:

It's made of nickel-plated cast iron, and the handle, knob, and fence are of beautiful rosewood. This tool has great "presence" in the hand; the handle is easy to grip, one's hand fits nicely between the fence bars to help guide the tool through its paces, and it's hefty. By the way, the knob is purely decorative. No one I know uses it, as it sits too high to provide control of the tool. But it's pretty.

With this tool, I can plow (cutting a groove along the length of a board), rabbet (or rebate, as our British friends say; cutting a "step" along the edge of a board), dado (cutting a groove across the grain), make several types of beads (sort of a rounded corner with a groove underneath it), and make tongue-and-groove joints for edge gluing boards. It's a truly handy tool to have, and they can still be obtained on Ebay and from antique tool dealers.

Newcomers to handtools might be intimidated by all the adjustment knobs, screws, and knurled nuts. But it's easy to learn what they all do, and doing so gives you an appreciation for the genius that went into designing the #45 and its elegant brother, the Stanley #55.

I'm currently making a set of Barrister's Bookcases, and I used my #45 to cut the dados that will guide the doors when I open them.

The tool performed perfectly:

If you have the chance to lay hold of a Stanley #45, then I highly recommend that you do. It's an historic tool that was designed and made in an age when quality and craftsmanship reigned. Once you master its use (it's not difficult), you'll feel a fellowship with men from another time, men who could transform a pile of wood into a beautiful desk, table, blanket chest, bookcase, shelf, or whatever, without assistance from the electrical grid.

Update

Hey, Folks,

I'm still here, but am dealing with the cruel vicissitudes of life. I'll be posting more Comedy of Errors commentary in a day or so (you can do so, too), and I'll start a series on crystal radio (xtal) construction. I plan on showing you how to build probably 7 - 10 different xtal sets, and then we'll move into regenerative (shortwave) construction. (Believe me - you CAN do it, and you'll enjoy it.) More woodworking is on the way, too. I just have to take care of some emergent items before I give our projects the attention they deserve.

See you then!

The Comedy of Errors, Act 2, Scene 1

Summary

The scene opens at the home of Antipholus E., where his wife Adriana (I love that name) is upset that her husband is not home, and her sister Luciana is trying to console her. Luciana’s take on the situation is that Adriana needs to understand that a man’s domain is outside the home, in the large world, where his sphere is broad and his concerns are many. This is in accordance with the example of nature, and Adriana should content herself to serve her husband so he can fulfill his ordained station. Adriana says her sister, unmarried, has no standing to make such and assertion.

Dromio E. enters, and explains that he delivered Adriana’s message to her husband (who was not her husband), and was beaten for his troubles. Adriana orders Dromio E. back to her husband to fetch him home. He refuses, as he doesn’t want to endure another whoopin’ at the hand of Antipholus. Adriana is angered, and administers the whoopin’ he had hoped to avoid. He exercises the only defense available to him – he puts distance between himself and her.

Adriana admits to Luciana that she is insecure in her marriage, fearing that her looks have faded and thus driven her husband to the company of other women.


Commentary

This scene is full. It is philosophical, comical, and touching. Adriana feels detached from her husband, as she is ignorant of his activities. Dromio E.’s report only heightens her pain. Who can blame her for thinking that perhaps her husband has drifted into unfaithfulness? And while Luciana’s argument is commendable, she is indeed speaking from ignorance; she can not know what Adriana is going through. Still, her speech is lovely, and if a man knew that his wife felt that way about him, then he would be moved to greater affection for her, unless he be heartless. There is nothing wrong with what Luciana says – although I can easily imagine latter-day feminazis savaging her.

Ignorance is the most prominent element of this play. Adriana is ignorant of her husband's activities; Luciana is ignorant of Adriana's situation; everyone is ignorant that two sets of twins are in the same location; and everyone is ignorant of Egeon's presence.

Some of my favorite lines in this scene:

“Why, headstrong liberty is lashed with woe.” (2.1.15)

“Ere I learn love, I’ll practice to obey.” (2.1.29)

“Patience unmoved! No marvel, though she pause;
They can be meek that have no other cause.
A wretched soul, bruised with adversity,
We bid be quiet when we hear it cry.
But were we burdened with like weight of pain,
As much or more we should ourselves complain.” (2.1.32-37)

I also like Adriana’s speeches in 86-100 and 102-114. This poor woman is suffering. Finally, I appreciate how Shakespeare has Adriana and Luciana speak to each other in rhymes. To me, it’s a beautiful mark of their sisterhood.

This scene is a skillfully contrived set-up for the next. It's as though the action could not have run any other course. Such inevitability is one of the marks of superb writing, and is a hallmark of Shakespeare's genius. Be proud of him, my kin, and be proud of yourselves, for you are of the same root and stock as Shakespeare.

Fretless Mountain Banjo, Part 2

You can see I've made some changes to the banjo neck. I did so to experiment with simplifying construction.

Instead of making a 15° cut and attaching the headstock with a scarf joint, I've extended the neck laminations to form the headstock.

I was correct - it greatly simplifies construction. So if the scarf joint scared you away from making a banjo for yourself, now you have no excuse for not making one. I encourage you to give it a try. I'll help you along.

I also changed the headstock design from the double radius style to a "slab" style, a la Martin guitars. I much prefer this style to the previous one, as I think it complements the rustic appeal of the banjo.

I have to make and attach the nut (the part at the base of the headstock that guides the strings), make the bridge and tailpiece, drill the tuning peg holes, make the tuning pegs, and make the metal ring over which the skin will be stretched.

At this point, the instrument is "in the white." I like the sound of that. But it means that it's unstained and un-topcoated. I wish you could see it in person, because it's pretty. Mrs. Smith wants me to stain it, but I'm considering simply applying a few coats of clear varnish. Over time, the maple wood will turn a brownish color, especially if I expose it to sunlight. It's a beautiful, rich, mellow color that you can't buy in a can. Offer your opinion on the subject, if you care to.

I corresponded with several men who make mountain banjos, about my plan of extending the neck laminations to form the headstock. I respect those men, because they create beautiful instruments, and have been doing so for a long time. But, to a man, they disdained what I've done. All of them are of the school that bandsaws the neck and headstock from a solid piece. As I wrote in Part 1, I think that's wasteful. Besides, when you saw the angled headstock from a solid block, you're reducing the grain length, and thus weakening the headstock. Now, I admit that I've never heard of a bandsawn headstock failing or breaking. But why take a chance, when a simple change will ensure its structural integrity without affecting the sound, while simplifying construction? I see nothing wrong with my design, which I copied from electric guitars. Also, the men with whom I corresponded are all of the opinion that they are the true heirs of the Stanley Hicks design and method. They're like psychiatrists who compete with each other for ideological proximity to Sigmund Freud: "I was analyzed by Dr. Marvin Goldberg, who was analyzed by Dr. Abraham Cohenstein, who was analyzed Dr. Schlomo Rosenheim, who was analyzed by Dr. Freud." When it comes to selling mountain banjos, the closer you claim to be to Stanley Hicks, the more money you believe you can charge for your instruments. I don't give a rodent's backside about such political jockeying nonsense. Let them play their silly little banjo-genealogy games. You just start making an instrument for yourself, and look forward to learning to play it like our noble ancestors did.

The BBC Shakespeare Collection

Here you'll find many of the productions in the BBC Shakespeare Collection. (Too bad for us, no The Comedy of Errors.)

The Comedy of Errors, Act 1, Scene 2

Note: I should have posted this last week, but I didn't, so what the hey. If anyone else wants to post a synopsis, then be my guest. The point is that we read the plays. Also, I should have pointed out that Solinus giving Egeon until sunset to raise his ransom makes this story a "race against the clock." How exciting, eh?

The scene is still in Ephesus. Antipholus of Syracuse (the twin that Egeon raised; we’ll call him Antipholus S.) is talking with a merchant who is also his friend. The merchant tells Antipholus that on that very day another Syracusian merchant has been arrested and sentenced to die at sunset, in accordance with the law of the land. The merchant advises Antipholus to say that he is from Epidamnum, and he gives Antipholus some money (a thousand gold marks, oddly enough). Antipholus gives the money to his servant, Dromio of Syracuse (henceforth Dromio S.) and tells him to take it and their luggage to the Centaur Inn and to wait for him their, while he tours the city. When Dromio leaves, Antipholus praises him, and invites the merchant join him on his tour and to have dinner with him. The merchant declines the tour, but tells Antipholus that he’ll join him for dinner, and takes his leave saying, “Sir, I commend you to thy content.” The valedictory causes Dromio to meditate upon and bemoan his unhappiness at being unable to find his mother and brother:

“He that commends me to me to mine own content
Commends me to the thing I cannot get. . .
So I, to find a mother and a brother,
In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself.”
(1.2.33-34, 39-40)

While he meditates, Dromio of Ephesus (Dromio E.) appears. Of course, Antipholus thinks him to be his own servant, and he marvels and exclaims that Dromio has so quickly – and so carelessly – returned from the Centaur Inn, leaving unattended their belongings and the thousand gold marks. Dromio explains that he is there to fetch Antipholus home for supper, as his mistress is angry over his rudeness. Antipholus wants to know where the money is. Dromio thinks he is talking about sixpence that Antipholus gave him some days earlier to pay for repairs to his mistress’s saddle. Antipholus becomes angry, and soon begins to wail away on poor Dromio, who flees to avoid any other wrath to come. With Dromio gone, Antipholus is reminded that Ephesus is a known haven for “dark-working sorcerers that change the mind” and “soul-killing witches that deform the body”, and one of them must have hexed Dromio. (1.2.99-100). “If it be so, I will be gone the sooner.” (1.2.103)

With that, he hurries to the Centaur Inn to check on his possessions, and to confront Dromio.

1.2.33 gives us a bit of a language lesson. The phrase “mine own” might seem archaic, but it is a correct construction. Language theory says that spoken language should flow smoothly. Today, we use the phrase “my own,” which has a slight break between the words. That break is called a “hiatus,” or a rest. “Mine own” prevents hiatus and allows the speech to flow smoothly. A more common example of hiatus and the prevention thereof is the phrase “an historical event”: Most people, including “professional” communicators such broadcast news reporters, will mistakenly say “a historical event.” (Look in your writer’s guide or style guide for “articles and determiners.” It’ll explain how to avoid hiatus.)

There is a wonderful paradox in 1.2.39-40. Antipholus has implied that he will lose himself - in his search for his mother and brother - in order to find himself. Paradox is a prominent Shakespearean element, and we’ll see it again in The Comedy of Errors.

The BBC production of The Comedy of Errors casts Roger Daltry of The Who in the role of Dromio. He did a superb job, much better than he did in the title role of Tommy. If you have the means to lay hold of the BBC’s Shakespeare collection, then I recommend them to you. They’re very good.

Online Shakespeare Lexicon

I've located an online Shakespeare lexicon. I think it'll be a great help with our little project. Enjoy!

The Comedy of Errors, Act 1, Scene 1

The Comedy of Errors is one of Shakespeare’s earliest works, if not the earliest. Like most young playwrights of his day, Shakespeare looked to the classics for inspiration and instruction. In this case, he borrowed heavily, almost directly, from the Roman playwright Plautus’s work The Menaechmi, a play about the mistaken identities of twin sons from Epidamnus and Syracuse. While the similarities are obvious, Shakespeare added his own elements, such as an extra set of twins and a subplot, and he excluded or diminished many of Plautus’s elements, such as Plautus’s making almost every character symbolic of a Roman god (while avoiding direct theological examination). Shakespeare’s method was to take a classical Roman play and infuse it with Britishness. Whereas Plautus’s play was intended to instruct the audience (as most Roman plays were), Shakespeare’s play was intended to entertain the audience (as most Elizabethan plays were).

Act 1, Scene 1

The play opens in Ephesus, with Solinus, the Duke of Ephesus, leading Egeon, a merchant of Syracuse, to jail. Solinus explains to Egeon that he is being jailed in preparation for execution, because he has violated the well-known no-immigration law between Ephesus and Syracuse. Solinus gives Egeon a chance to explain why he is in Ephesus. Egeon tells his tale: He was born in Syracuse, married, and prospered, thanks to his trade with nearby Epidamnum. He journeyed to Epidamnum to administer his business there after his local agent died. His pregnant wife travelled with him. En route, she gave birth to twin sons. On the same ship at the same time, a poor woman gave birth to twin sons. Egeon purchased the poor woman’s sons, and decided that he would raise them as bondslaves to his sons. As they returned to Ephesus, a violent storm arose. Egeon and his wife each took one of their own sons and one of the slave sons, and lashed themselves to masts at different ends of the ship. After the storm, the ship was damaged and drifting. Soon, two other ships, one from Epidaurus and the other from Corinth, approached the floundering ship. The damaged ship was split in two when it struck a rock. The Epidaurian ship rescued the Egeon’s wife and the two boys with her, and the Corinthian ship rescued Egeon and the two boys with him. Thus, the family was separated. When the son that grew up with Egeon became a man, he set off with his slave to find his mother and brother. Egeon took on the same mission, which eventually took him to Ephesus, where he was willing risk his life to reunify his family.

The story touches Solinus’s heart, but he can not violate Ephesian law. However, he offers Egeon the chance to go into the town and try to raise a ransom of a thousand marks, which would spare his life. Egeon thinks the task impossible, but he takes up Solinus’s offer.

The Means at Your Disposal

I'd been avoiding working on the lawn mower, though it badly needed servicing. To be honest with you, I don't like working on internal combustion engines. I'll work on most anything - household appliances, plumbing, electrical, central air conditioning, home dentistry, furniture, gardening, whatever. But please don't ask me to try to fix an internal combustion engine. I don't know why I'm the way I am in this matter; I just am. Love me nonetheless.

Anyhow, I'd run out of excuses by which to bamboozle the longsuffering Mrs. Smith about the lawn mower. I think she became suspicious of me when I told her the problem was the flux capacitor not getting the 1.21 gigawatts it needed to operate properly. So, I decided to fiddle with the mower just long enough to get my hands dirty, at which point I'd tell Mrs. Smith we needed a new mower. Well, when I rehearsed my plan, and I got to the "we need a new mower" part, I knew I had outraged my true nature: I buy nothing new, if 1) there's the slightest hope I can repair the old one, or 2) I can build a new one. I highly resolved that though it slay me, I was gonna fix that #!%*@~ mower.

I started taking the thing apart, and I was pretty sure I'd found the general area where the problem resided. But I had no idea how to explain what was going on with it, or what parts I would need. I knew that the place from which I usually buy hardware automatically charges a $30 bench fee to diagnose lawn mower problems, in addition to the parts and labor costs required to fix it. Ouch! Un-friggin'-acceptable! So, rather than haul the mower to them, I decided to break out my digital camera and use it to video record the action of the mechanism that I figured was the source of the problem. I took the camera to the store and played the video for the lawn mower repair guy. He immediately knew what the problem was. He then brought me the parts I needed to fix it, along with an exploded diagram of the mower section I'd be working on.

About an hour and $9 later, my mower was purring like a kitten. I felt like such a he-man.

My point in all this is to encourage you to use the means at your disposal to get the results you want. In this case, I used my digital camera to get an expert to look at my mower, without having to pay him to "really" look at my mower. And by doing so, I saved some serious coin AND gained some good experience.

You can, too.

Begin Reading. . .

. . .William Shakespeare's The Comedy of Errors, Act 1.

Remember - just one act per week. It's easy.

Enjoy!

An Invitation

On Monday, 27April2009, I will begin reading the works of William Shakespeare, and I request the pleasure of your company as I do. The program will be easy - I'll/we'll read and comment upon the Bard's works at the leisurely rate of one act per week. When we finish one play, we'll take a break for a week of so, then start reading another one (or perhaps a sonnet). This will not be a "gotta get it done ASAP" sort of thing. Speed isn't the point. The goal is to simply read the works of the greatest writer and keenest observer to ever grace the literary world, who is also one of our kinsman. It's our duty and our privilege.

So, come Monday the 27th, join me in reading William Shakespeare's The Comedy of Errors.

Four Words. . .

FREE DAVID DUKE NOW.

Fretless Mountain Banjo, Part 1

For decades, I've loved working wood using my old hand tools: wood-bodied planes, handsaws, chisels, brace-and-bit, etc. But time and three surgeries on my right wrist are demanding that I begin to mechanize my woodshop, and I'll soon be doing so, but I'll do so my way. My next big project will be a shop-built table saw. I'm gathering materials, making plans, and figuring out how to do it on the cheap. I don't know when I'll get started on it, so check back here occasionally. I know I can do it, and I mean to prove to you that you can, too.

Until then, I've decided to build another fretless mountain banjo. I gave my old one to a gentleman who had played long ago. The years have not diminished his love for the music of his people, nor his excellent frailing technique. I feel ashamed to call myself a banjo player, as he's one of those men about whom it can be said, "He's forgotten more about it than I'll ever know." He liked the way I had built the instrument, and it brought it so much pleasure to play it that it was my pleasure to give him custodianship of it.

Of course, I still want to practice my frailing, so I'm building another banjo. As you can see, this one is already well underway. (It didn't cross my mind to document this one for you, until Wheeler MacPherson reminded my stroke-ravaged brain that I have this here blog.)

I'm following the pattern of the Stanley Hicks banjo in the Foxfire 3 book. It's by far the most copied pattern for fretless mountain banjos. Different makers use different woods. Black Walnut and Oak are popular. I'm using Maple I salvaged from crates that were going to be thrown away. When it's over with, I'll have a great instrument that cost me less than $20 (depending on the cost of the skin). Of course, you can always order one from a maker; it'll cost you at least a few hundred bucks.

I've fitted together the major assemblies, and I've just started shaping the neck. The shaping is done with the simple tools you see on my bench, below: chisel, spokeshave, drawknife, and corncob pipe.

Shaping the neck is satisfying work. I encourage you to give it a try. Perhaps I'll start another banjo soon, so you can follow along step-by-step. All you need are some sharp tools, a little patience, and love for your people (more about this later).

Below, you see I've started shaping the heel. I think I'll take it down a little more to make the banjo a little lighter, but not too much lighter; this joint is unglued and will be under a lot of stress from the tension of the strings, so it needs to be kind of beefy.

Below is the headstock. Most mountain banjo makers make the neck by bandsawing it from a large block of wood. To me, that seems like a waste of wood. So, I laminated the long portion of the neck, cut the headstock end at 15°, and attached the fall-off to the back of the neck. I then glued a veneer to hide the end grain. It's a technique I borrowed from traditional classical guitar making. Using it on a mountain banjo really classes-up the technique.

I'll keep you posted on the progress.

Building this style of banjo is easy, satisfying, and a lot of fun. If you've ever had a notion of learning to play the banjo, then you should seriously consider making one. You CAN do it. If you want, I'll help you.

There's a myth that the banjo (the "gourd banjar") is a Negro invention, and it came to America with Negro slaves. The implication us that our beautiful Appalachian and Bluegrass music is the child of Africa. B******T! In the first place, instruments like the banjo - strings over a stretched hide - have been in China, non-Negroid Egypt, the Caucasus, Near Asia, and many other places for thousands of years. Negro Africans may have developed such an instrument (highly improbable), but they didn't "invent" it. In the second place, the banjo existed in regions of Appalachia long before our excellent mountain kin folk had ever laid eyes on a Negro. Thirdly, if Negros invented it, then why did they abandon it? (It reminds me of the stupid cliché that "Africa is the birthplace of civilization." It's odd how the creatures who supposedly "invented" civilization have somehow forgotten how to maintain it.) When you think of Negros and the banjo, you automatically think of the old Negro Minstrelsy - something most Africans in America want purged from American history, claiming it's an offensive, racist stereotype. This says a lot about Africans in America. It says that there's an historical fact that they don't like, so they want it expunged from the historical record; that is, they prefer a false history of themselves - such as an history that says, "Africa is the birthplace of civilization." No wonder Africans in America are so wretched: They believe a false history of themselves. And since a wise nation plans its future with reference to its past, then it follows that a false past can make only a faulty future. (Learn about more myths of Negro inventions here.)

My lovely kin, the banjo is OUR instrument. Our noble and beautiful ancestors danced the Virginia Reel and other wonderful contras to tunes provided by White frailers and their banjos. Hard, sinewy White men wearing butternut around campfires let their weary minds drift back to peaceful porches and joyous gatherings while a White brother in arms gently frailed away in the darkness. And these days, the warm, intimate sound of a mountain banjo can stir your White heart to "come back, if one can, to one's own/a world almost lost. . ."

The banjo is our instrument, for our people.

Compost, Part 2

Well, after a couple o' days, the compost didn't heat up as I had hoped, which means one thing - my little microorganistic buddies are waning from hunger. I had to find them some food! That's no problem. I just mowed the lawn, raked up some of the grass clippings, and mixed it in. The nice lady made me some lunch, and we chatted for a while. About an hour and a half later, I read the tale of the temperature:

123° F! My microscopic friends were partying away, and I could hear them thanking me for bringing the nitrogenous hors d' oeuvres. I'll check it again, maybe tomorrow, and give the batch a turn to keep it nice and aerated.

For sister Laurel's compostic edification, I brought out my low-tech, low-co$t compost tumbler and started another batch:

You might not be able to see the dozens of holes I drilled into the thing, but they're there. The bungee cords are 24" long - long enough to secure the lid, but short enough that putting them on isn't difficult. Here's how to operate the tumbler:

1) Set the tumbler on its side, and place one of your feet upon the tumbler, see Figure 1:

Figure 1 - Set the tumbler on its side, postion your foot

2) Push the tumbler with your foot to make it roll, see Figure 2:

Figure 2 - Roll the tumbler

3) Repeat steps 1 and 2 until you're confident the contents are well-mixed.

4) Either leave the tumbler on its side, or return it to its upright position.

5) Enjoy!

Pretty dog-gone sweet, eh! An inexpensive, varmint-proof, and effective homemade compost tumbler. You can make one, too!

Nefertiti Unveiled

The more we find out about the great ancient civilizations, the Whiter they look. Take Nefertiti, for instance. A CT scan of the famous bust shows a very Caucasoid lady who looks nothing like what Negro revisionists wish she looked like.

Be proud, my beloved kin. We were at the beginning of all the great civilizations. And we can repeat that greatness.

A Composition About Decomposition

Mrs. Smith and the Smith children have started planning their typically ambitious gardening goals for this season. As long as those plans include a bountiful harvest of Bradley tomatoes, then I'm fine with whatever they want to do. But other than eating the fruits of the labor, my part in the effort is limited to turning the beds (with a shovel and hoe), making the compost, and visiting vengeance upon any caterpillars foolish enough to cast a destructive eye toward my Bradleys.

Gardening is good. Even city-folk can set up a few planters and other containers and raise a satisfying micro-crop of good veggies. And there are other benefits that accompany even the most modest and humble back-porch Eden; the smell and feel of the dirt, the pleasure of watching the progress of the things you plant, the satisfaction of knowing that you did something, eating food that you raised, certain spiritual rewards of the process, and so on. And for us Kinists and White Nationalists, there's another VERY important reason to grow a garden, and you can read about it here and here. I say again, gardening is good.

For able-bodied folk, there's just no excuse for failing to raise a few basic veggies for a salad. It's simple, satisfying, and cheap. Pry yourself away from these blogs and anything else that has a screen, get off your arse, and grow some food. Make a list of some of your favorite salad makin's, go to a local garden center, and ask an associate to help get you started. Or ask for help from a friend who raises a garden. There is certainly someone you know who will be glad to share the joy with you. Or get a book. You can do it.

A few days ago, I began helping a nice lady start a little garden, and I decided to set her up with a compost bin. Compost is gardening gold, and I'm proud to be proficient in the manufacture of the stuff. Yes, I know, you can just start throwing kitchen scraps into some dirt that you've turned and make compost. But it will be slow going, and varmints are likely to make off with the scraps. A little extra effort on your part can produce superior compost that's garden-ready in as little as two weeks. And doing so adds an extra dimension of joy and satisfaction to your urban agrarian efforts. There are a lot of books about making compost, and it's a very interesting study for OCDweebs like me, who simply must know everything about everything down to the sub-atomic level. But most folks will simply fade out when confronted with discussions on the minutiae of carbon/nitrogen ratios, ammonia ppm's, the Indore method, biodynamicism, inoculation, anaerobic/aerobic, etc. The nice lady who I'm helping certainly did. After a few minutes of my talking about such things, I gathered that she was sorry she had asked me about it and was ready to hang herself. So, I told her I'd show up at her house the next day with the necessary materials and no discourse. She thanked me.

Here's what I did for that nice lady: I bought one of those coffin-sized plastic containers, drilled a few dozen holes into the sides, top, and bottom (I think I used a 5/16 drill bit), and I filled it with equal measures of horse manure (from a nearby public stable) and detritus/humus I gathered from a nearby wooded area. I used a garden fork (a.k.a. "spading fork") to mix and turn it, while occasionally misting it with water so that it was like a damp sponge. Here's what it looked like:

Beautiful, eh? I truly think so.

I put the lid on it, asked the Ever-Living One to bless the effort, and began looking forward to posting regular progress updates. I told the nice lady to put all her kitchen scraps (except for meat products) into the bin. I also told her to rake up some grass clippings and save it for me after the kid who mows her lawn finishes the job; I'll use the grass clippings for another batch of compost. I'll turn the material every couple of days for her, making certain it stays moist (but not wet), and I'll check the temperature. (Like I said, I'm an OCDweeb about such things. I think it was Kelvin who said, "If you can not measure it, you can not improve it." Words to live by.) I'm looking for it to heat up to between 120° F - 140° F, proof that the little microorganisms are doing their noble work. I love thinking about what goes on in a compost heap. By the way, a properly-made compost heap or bin doesn't stink, and in fact has an sweet, earthy odor.

Well, there it is. It was pleasant work, physically, mentally, socially, and spiritually. I highly recommend it.