I am ovulating today.  I feel the dull ache of my right ovary, ravaged and bruised from the rapid departure of its impetuous wayfarer. I think most women feel sexy and lush when that little egg forcefully pops its way out of the ovary, venturing into fertile ground. Ripe and ready, unconsciously blissed out on that evolutionary, hormonal high they are juicy as a summer peach, light as an ocean breeze. 

Not me. I feel well tilled and sodden. Weighted with the possibility of a tiny seed finding purchase in my soil, charging any visitor with the necessity of wearing the proper mud gear lest they tread off the safe and stable path onto moist, uncertain terrain. Heaven forbid the bare feet of the naturalist, devil-may-care hobo taking his chances with fate. My “No Trespassing” signs come replete with “Beware of Dog” and “Will Shoot First” addendums. And I’ll be red-eyed and vigilant; shotgun slung over my lap until the first frost descends and all chance of weedy invasion is assuredly past.

It’s been quite a week here in Nap Town what with Mercury Retrograde, the darkening moon, spiritual pursuits, and the development of so many new and exciting projects.

The compost toilet has been a success. Everyone is now using it. The kids were slow to warm up to the idea, swearing that they would never poop in a bucket. We just left it low key; answering any questions they had about why we were using the bathroom in the laundry room. In a bucket. One by one they decided they would try it out. Now they are feeling pride at not polluting and Andrew even said that using the compost toilet was “way more fun than the old pot, Mama! It was getting boring turning around to flush. Now I get to scoop this moss stuff over the poop. It’s kinda cool. And it doesn’t even reek.”  So, there you have it. A shining testimonial from a worldly-wise 7 year old.

Jo was the last to be converted. He said the whole idea was ‘sick’ and wanted no part of it until yesterday. He asked me (again) why on earth I was peeing in a bucket and I gently explained how our sewage treatment system works: that basically the water we drink used to be water that was floating in our toilet bowl. His little brows furrowed and he walked away to play. About an hour later I heard him ask Andrew, “Can you show me how to use this thing? I gotta pee.” Victory!

I also started riding my bike to school this week. Dad and Hubby finished putting it back together on Sunday. I decided to take it out for a spin around the neighborhood and promptly crashed into the middle of the street shredding the entire left side of my body. Disgrace. I was so embarrassed but I got up and right back on and tried to play the whole thing off. My dad was appalled. He proceeded to give me a kindergarten level talk on road safety and instructed me on always wearing a helmet. Seems he also pulled Todd aside and told him what a bad idea he thought this all was saying, “She never really was very good at riding a bike.” Like my chubby pre-teen years should be any indication of how well I would  fair as an urbane adult commuter.

Of course there were the bleeding scabby extremities to remind me that I did fall off the horse as soon as I got on. Never mind that, I was confident. So on Monday morning as I sat with my medicine bag and Faery cards I asked for some wise council to prepare me for my new adventure. I drew Death. Yes, the Death card, shrouded, forbidding, scary as hell. I guessed I would probably be run off the road, in a flurry of shame and irony, by some gas-guzzling, soccer-mom-driven SUV, and be left in the ditch for dead as she raced off to pick up Junior from his first day at fencing lessons. I chose not to dwell in that thought and took it instead to mean that I was experiencing the death of my mindless American consumerism and giving birth to my newly liberated, Gaian self. And all went well. I biked from home to school to video store to park to home again in one piece, though a bit winded and with an extremely sore ass. I really did feel as though I had given birth to something new, and my screaming, tender girl-tissues brought this freshly to mind every time I attempted to sit on a hard chair for the remainder of the day.

From Thursday:

 I awoke this morning with visions of compost mulching in my head and Zion’s sweet face waiting expectantly for me to GET UP! His teacher charged all her students with mentally documenting the number of ‘lamb’ versus ‘lion’ days occurring over the break. As we stepped outside to accompany the dog on her morning dump we were greeted with the most glorious ‘lion’ sky: a deep azure with a smattering of ragged clouds ranging all shades of gray. Yet the gentle, warm breath of the lamb lifted my hair and tickled my bare legs. And the grass looked alive, awakened by our garden activities yesterday afternoon, perhaps.

 The new compost bin is loosely cobbled together with some half composted, yellow, plastic twine found under the brush pile. Being only three sided it will need reinforcing soon or the wind will have it down. The ill-conceived brick paths in the garden are slowing being prized up and stacked against the shed awaiting a later fate. Three beds were dug and hoed and one received a beautiful black blanket of compost. Ready to plant. And now I must decide what to grow this year. Tomatoes and strawberries are a must. Jonah, with wistful sigh and longing eye, reminisced fondly about sweet cherry tomatoes and ripe June strawberries fresh from “Mama’s garden” recently. I was floored. I thought for sure that no one was interested in my back yard pursuits save me. Yet, when we were digging compost out of the pile to spread on the garden my surly preteen exclaimed, “It’s so cool that all the crap we save in from our food just turns right back into dirt.” Yep. So cool. So cool that my son gets it; shares a fraction of my enthusiasm, my passion, for this back yard alchemy.

Me-Cycle

There has been a slight snag in the pedal power department. Seems the seat posts we have are too big to fit the seat tube. So now it’s a wild search for the proper seat post somewhere in the attic, probably.

I was driving to school this glorious spring morning and pulled along side a resourceful young chap who had rigged up a large two wheeled Rubbermaid wheelbarrow to the back of his Huffy. I stopped to inquire after and compliment his ingenuity. He thought I was crazy. This is the way he must get around. No choice of Volvo TurboWagon or Huffy with cart when going to the grocery. It’s Huffy or hoofing. Humbling for me, to say the least.

The Poop Scoop

The humanure adventure is heating up. I procured some peat moss and a wooden toilet lid from the hardware store today as well as being gifted (freecycle) three more wood pallets for a second compost bin. I haven’t gotten any sure commitments from anyone else in the family to go along with my crazy scheme but at least I won’t be flushing my precious output down into our municipal drinking water any longer. I think once the hubby sees that it won’t stink up the house he’ll be on board.

BTW: I've lost 3.5 lbs in my first week of induction. That makes me 55.5 lbs lighter since January 2004!