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Yep, that’s a picture of my compost bin. Well, it’s not much of a bin, more like a compost palace, but you get the idea. It’s big. It’s composty. It’s poopy. But, I am proud of my compost bin palace whatever you want to call it. I like it.

I’m surprised as to how much is in there. Each time I clean the barn out, I toss it all in the compost bin, and Dad turns it. There’s two bales of straw laying on the bottom of the barn. I’ve cleaned the barn four times since then, so there’s eight straw bales of dirty, well, poopy, mess. Plus leaves, maybe grass clippings, various piles of bunny dumps, and old food. But I still love it.

Dear Mom says it’s gross and it stinks, but it doesn’t stink, and I do so believe it’s beautiful. A strange thought for a 16 year old. Beautiful compost. All of the colors mix together to look like impressionism. Dots and dashes of bright red, yellow, and blue stand out from the brown.

What something looks like isn’t always what it us. Underneath the slightly grubby outside is dark, earthy compost, waiting to be used on a garden. It’s waiting, waiting, waiting. And of course, it’s not just poop.

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