I have a confession to make. It’s been weighing on my conscience for a while now. I am a worm killer. Well, honestly, it was involuntary wormslaughter. We killed them through sheer neglect (and one heat wave).Â
Things started off okay; the little guys were wriggling away, there was lots of shredded paper and oodles of coffee grounds to keep them busy. Okay, the coffee was in paper pods that we failed to open for them, but still! The big problem was that we failed to read the part of the instructions that told us to keep their living space damp. And it dried out and they fled, en masse, for greener pastures and were fried on the hot cement. We were gone at the time so we missed the carnage. We returned to find many dehydrated worm carcasses all around the worm chalet (worm charnel house might be a better name at this point). We decided to wait a bit and try again with a new batch of worms, hardier stock that hailed from the East Coast. And we thanked the good lord above that we had not taken our friends Carole and Sally up on their offer to give us some of their worms. At least this way we had killed strangers; this to some extent was a comfort.
Anyway, flash forward to a couple of days ago, and the East Coast worms arrived. Chuck consulted several Internet sites, and set about building a more welcoming (and properly damp) environment for this new batch of worms. we plopped them in earlier, and so far so good – they seem like healthy and happy little fellows. But then they don’t know us! The picture you see above is honest to god our new worms and you can see they look fine, healthy, nowhere near death. So far so good!