Reflection on the First Week of Fall – Surpassing Worm Yuck 

   Red wrigglers usually behave well. Nestled in plastic trays of the worm factory in the shower stall of our basement bathroom, the placid creatures stay under the cover, eat kitchen scraps, and produce rich compost which helps pansies thrive.

   But this week? YUCK. Mucous encased globs of worms writhed in corners atop the worm factory lid Monday and Tuesday. Not wanting to touch the lid either day, I backed away and called Spence for help.

   He lifted the lid, shook the clinging masses into the feeding tray, and set the lid aside. “Maybe they need more food,” he said.

   Indeed. Worms eat their weight in food every day. How many worms were there?

   I climbed to the great room and settled the computer on my lap. The Internet said red wrigglers live two or three years and double in number every sixty days. Setting the computer on the table, I grabbed scratch paper and sketched a chart. Starting in January 2015 with 1000 worms, I doubled the amount every two months until September 2016. One million, twenty-four thousand worms. Sheesh. When would I have a billion? Tired of calculating, I wrote a story problem for the older students at the Learning Center where I volunteer and emailed it to Dan, one of their teachers.

   Knowing how many worms didn't solve my problem. I still needed to manage the expanding worm population. If I put them in the garden, they'd enrich the soil till the temperature dropped below forty degrees and killed them. I didn't want to be a mass murderer. Buy an air conditioner to cool the basement to forty degrees and slow the marathon reproduction? Give them away?

   Wednesday morning I called two bait shops. Neither wanted the worms. The man from the Wilhelm Marina said, “The worms would just sit in my refrigerator.” For him, fishing season ran May through August.

   Would I have to contend with the masses until May?

   After the bait shop calls, I headed downstairs with chopped worm food and cleared my throat to call Spence. No need. Though the worms still wriggled in thick globs, they had tucked themselves under the lid where they belonged. I didn't know why they behaved except for the nonsensical notion that they'd heard the phone call and didn't want to end up on a hook.

   Wednesday after dinner I took a break from worm manager and drove to Homespun Treasures for my quilt guild's fun night. A dozen happily-chatting women gathered to listen to our special guest Kim, who taught us how to make greeting cards with double diamond designs. Delighted with the project and enjoying the women, I still couldn't get worm globs off my mind. I asked the quilters, “Does anyone know fisher people and might want red wrigglers? My worm factory is exploding. I need to get rid of some.”

   A few women chuckled, but Kim said, “I'd like some. People who fish in my ponds are always asking me for worms. With a worm factory, I'd have worms on hand.”

   Before she could change her mind, I gave her directions and arranged to give her a pound, approximately one thousand worms, Saturday.

   Thursday morning, the worms rested on the lid again. I didn't want to deal with them so yelled up to Spence in the kitchen.

   He couldn't hear me because the fan whirred to keep hot pepper scent away from me.

   I took a yoga breath, reached for the knob in the middle of the lid, and tugged. The suction of worm slime kept the lid in place. I pulled harder and harder till the seal broke and the lid popped off. With a thin, two-by-four inch plastic rectangle, I coaxed the wiggling, slimy globs back into the tray, sprinkled food on top of them, and left for the Learning Center.

   I read with the lower elementary and kindergarten classes before heading to the fifth, sixth and seventh grade room. When I opener their door, students bounced on blue and green balls that they used as chairs for their low tables. “Janet!” They beamed at me. “We solved your problem!” I sifted through a stack of papers with impressive amounts of addition, multiplication, and charts. Answers for when I'd have a billion red wrigglers varied from May 2017 to July 2018. I smiled, thanked the youngsters, and decided whichever date was correct for hitting over a billion worms, I needed to find homes for the rapid reproducers.

   Shyly, Ellen, the other classroom teacher said, “We're thinking of starting a worm factory to compost lunch leftovers. Do you think we could have some of your worms?”

   Two thousand down, nine hundred ninety-eight thousand or so left. Maybe I could buy more trays for the factory from Amazon. I only had three, and Mike McGrath on You Bet Your Garden said I could stack seven.

   Friday the worms hid under the lid in thick ropes–easy to scoop for Kim.

   Saturday I felt more in control. After breakfast, I selected a clear plastic quart container, fetched the food scale, and descended the stairs in search of worm globs atop the lid or food layer. Sigh. The worms had buried themselves in the food. I dug through hunting for inch-diameter balls of worms. As if playing pickup sticks, I pulled shredded paper, bean tips, and aging zucchini slivers away from the agitated worms then dumped them into the plastic container. Repeating the process again and again, I collected over a pound of worms with some food and lots of slime. I put the container in a paper bag to keep the worms in their preferred dark.

   Kim arrived around 11:00. We went to a lovely quilt show at New Vernon Grange, and I gave her a tour of the log house complete with discussions of the quilts on the beds. When she was ready to go home, I picked up the paper bag and pulled out the worm container. Red wrigglers clung to the sides in long stripes.

   Kim said, “Ew,” and covered her mouth.

   I quickly slipped the plastic container back into the bag. “Your husband can dump them out for you.”

   I had overcome the yuck–mostly, calculated numbers, and figured a couple ways to manage the sexual proclivity of the red wrigglers.

   Kim is still at the yuck stage. Given time, she'll learn to manage like me.