Coffee grounds, eggshells, apple cores, asparagus ends, strawberry tops, the bruised parts of pears, carrot peels. My husband puts these in a pen enclosed by chicken wire—our new compost. He adds leaves and grass clippings, pours in the water from the corn we cooked for dinner. “What are we going to use it for?” I ask as he churns his stew. I tuck my brown thumbs in my pockets. Our plants, like our grown children, understand the importance of self-sufficiency. He says “everything” and I nod, having raised enough life to know that he is the one being grown.
Christina Kapp lives in New Jersey. Her writing has appeared in Gargoyle, Passages North, and The MacGuffin. “Compost” is the winner of our RIPE contest, part of our 2026 Micromemoir Marathon.