logo
Composting helps the planet. This is how to do it, no matter where you live

Composting helps the planet. This is how to do it, no matter where you live

Independent4 days ago
Most of what goes into U.S. landfills is organic waste, ranging from household food scraps to yard trimmings. That's a problem because in that environment, organic waste is deprived of oxygen, which helps break material down.
The result: the release of a lot of methane, a potent greenhouse gas that contributes to global warming.
Consumers can curb their environmental impact by composting, which helps break material down in ways that reduce the release of methane. This can be done whether someone lives in a home with a yard or in an apartment without outside space. Composting also alleviates pressure on landfill space and results in a nutrient-rich substance that help soil.
Robert Reed, with the recycling and composting company Recology, said that applying compost makes soil better at retaining moisture, which makes it resilient against droughts, wildfires and erosion.
For people who want someone else to compost their food scraps, some local governments offer curbside pickup. Otherwise, nonprofits, farmers markets and community gardens often fill that gap. Companies in some areas also will pick up the food waste to be taken away for composting for a fee.
For those who want to try composting at home, here's how to get started.
If you've got a yard
Composting doesn't necessarily require much space. Even 4 square feet — roughly the size of a standard office desk — can do the trick. Common receptacles include open wooden bins or large barrel-shaped tumblers that you can rotate on a metal rod. Free-standing piles also work.
Some people follow a strict schedule of turning the pile, often with a hoe or shovel, or adding to it regularly. Backyard composting typically relies on microbes to break down the waste, which can bring a pile's temperature up to 130-160 degrees Fahrenheit (54-71 degrees Celsius). Others follow a more passive approach.
Experts break the composting recipe down into four main ingredients: water, oxygen, nitrogen-rich 'greens' (food scraps, grass clippings) and carbon-rich 'browns' (cardboard, dead leaves, shredded paper). Typically compost has two or three times as much 'brown' material as 'green.'
The Environmental Protection Agency recommends against meat, bones, dairy, fats and oils in backyard compost piles because they typically don't get hot enough to fully break them down, and because they're more likely to attract pests. The agency also says to steer clear of treated wood, glossy paper, pet waste and compostable dishware or bags.
Experts say composters can experiment with what works and what doesn't. Rodale Institute Senior Farm Director Rick Carr said he's tried animal products and just about everything in his household. Hair from the hair brush and fully cotton swabs break down great. Cotton T-shirts? Not at all.
'If you're unsure if it'll break down, put it in there and you'll find out,' he said.
The bacteria and fungi feed on the pile of organic waste and turn it into compost. The finished product looks like moist, dark soil. The EPA says a well-tended pile can produce finished compost in three to five months, while a more passive pile that doesn't reach high temperatures may take up to a year.
Bob Shaffer, who owns a company called Soil Culture Consulting, said that for him, the process can take closer to nine months, but it's easy to tell when it's finished.
"When you look at compost, what you should not be able to see is, oh, there's a leaf. There's that carrot top that I put in there 10 months ago. You shouldn't be able to discern what the material is," he said.
Common pitfalls
Most composting problems happen when the ingredients get out of whack.
One way to make sure you've got the right balance of 'greens' and 'browns' is a 'squeeze test,' by reaching into the pile and grabbing a handful then letting it go, said Nora Goldstein, editor of the organics recycling magazine, Biocycle.
'If it just kind of crumbles off your hand, it's too dry. If you squeeze and get a little bit of drips, it's a little wet. But what you want is to squeeze it, let it go, and have kind of a coating on your hand.'
When the pile gets too dry, the composting process slows down or stops. The answer: Hose it down or add more food scraps.
Another common problem is the opposite: there isn't enough air, or there are too many nitrogen-rich 'greens.' The first sign of trouble is when the compost pile smells. That typically means the microorganisms are dying and the pile is releasing methane, like in a landfill. The solution: stir the pile to get more air inside and allow it to cool down. Then add some cardboard or paper. A pile that's too wet can also attract flies, maggots and rodents.
'As long as you're mixing in enough amendment or browns, you'll stay out of trouble,' Goldstein said.
If you lack outdoor space
Composting indoors is possible through what's known as vermicomposting, a process that relies on worms. People can buy premade worm bins, make their own out of untreated wood or use plastic storage bins with a few modifications, according to the EPA. The containers should have tight-fitting lids and keep out the light. Only certain types of worms will work, and they can be obtained from a worm grower or a neighbor who's already started vermicomposting.
Goldstein said that the process isn't always easy: 'You really have to know what you're doing.'
Instead of relying on microbes, worms feed on the carbon- and nitrogen-rich organic matter. They poop out almost-black castings. That's the finished product. The EPA says it takes about three to six months, which can be faster than backyard composting. They can create a more nutritious end product than in traditional compost.
But Goldstein said that it can be tricky to ensure conditions are right for the worms.
'You want to make sure those worms are very happy, because if they're not, they will leave the bin. And they're not harmful, it's just a little freaky," said Goldstein.
Traditional composting, whether indoors or outdoors, is typically a process that takes place over months, not days, Goldstein said. Electric countertop devices that promise to break down food in hours or days don't use the same process. Goldstein said those devices produce material that can be used in gardens, but it's 'not completely broken down' and should be mixed with soil.
___
The Associated Press' climate and environmental coverage receives financial support from multiple private foundations. AP is solely responsible for all content. Find AP's standards for working with philanthropies, a list of supporters and funded coverage areas at AP.org.
Orange background

Try Our AI Features

Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:

Comments

No comments yet...

Related Articles

Large great white shark spotted swimming close to Santa Monica pier
Large great white shark spotted swimming close to Santa Monica pier

The Independent

time2 hours ago

  • The Independent

Large great white shark spotted swimming close to Santa Monica pier

A large, 15-foot great white shark was spotted last week off the coast of Santa Monica – sparking real-life Jaws fears for California beach goers as the predator usually stays further off the coast. Photographer Carlos Guana sent out a drone to capture footage of the shark on Thursday after hearing reports that some Great White sharks had been breaching, or launching themselves out of the water and into the air, he told the Los Angeles Times. Video shared to YouTube shows the massive white shark swimming near someone on a paddleboard who appears completely unaware of its presence. When Guana heard there were great white sharks in the area, he assumed they were juveniles, which are smaller and known to frequent the area as they are attracted to near-shore warm waters. However, when Guana reviewed his drone footage, he was surprised to see an adult great white, which usually opt for colder, deeper waters, swimming near the surface, about 50 yards off the coast. 'The Santa Monica Bay is known as a nursery ground for juveniles,' Gauna told the LA Times. 'But this was no juvenile. This is the real deal.' Guana said he told a local lifeguard as a precaution, as encounters with violent sharks, like the great white, are rather uncommon in California. According to the California Fish and Wildlife, about 200 incidents involving great white sharks have occurred in the state's waters from 1950 to 2021. Of those encounters, 107 have resulted in injuries and 16 in deaths. Attacks from great whites are also incredibly rare. Fish and Wildlife officials say that while the sharks don't usually prey on humans, they may pose a threat to humans if they find them on their 'turf,' or near them in the water. The sighting was more awe-inspiring than scary for Guana, who took the chance encounter as a reminder of what wonderful wildlife exists just off California's beaches. 'It's a good reminder of how a great ecosystem exists next to one of the busiest cities in America,' he told the paper. 'And just how rare a shark attack here really is!' The sighting also comes after the largest great white shark ever was tagged off the coast of Massachusetts last month. Contender, a mature male shark measuring 13.8 feet and weighing around 1,653 pounds, emerged near Nantucket on July 18. The shark's tag pinged around 100 miles south of Boston and 30 miles from Cape Cod – a popular tourist destination. The powerful animal had been tagged in January, around 45 miles off the coast of Florida and Georgia, in order to help researchers and conservationists. Shark Week 2025, an annual programming block from Discovery, coincidentally began two days later on July 20.

I've moved 28 times in my lifetime. This is the story of a new America
I've moved 28 times in my lifetime. This is the story of a new America

The Guardian

time13 hours ago

  • The Guardian

I've moved 28 times in my lifetime. This is the story of a new America

My special talent: I can survey any room in a house and accurately estimate how many cardboard boxes and spools of bubble wrap are needed to efficiently contain its contents. I wish it wasn't a personal point of distinction, but I can't escape it: I've lived in 28 homes in 46 years. In my middle-class midwestern family, two rules reigned: you never questioned going to Catholic Mass on Sundays, and you never asked why we kept moving – the only answer was always the same: 'It's for your dad's job.' And so we followed him, the car-top carrier on our wood-trimmed station wagon bursting with clothing, mix tapes and soccer cleats as our eyes fixed on passing cornfields. Being jostled between addresses became the defining characteristic of my coming-of-age 1990s girlhood. I'm now 46, and I can't seem to stay in one home longer than a handful of years. That same geographical stability I craved as a child has become an emotional confinement. I'm terrified to make an offer on another house; it would signal permanence in a body pulsating with restlessness. I used to think our constant moves were just a quirk of my family – but we were part of something bigger. In the 1970s and 1980s, Americans were on the move. A shifting economy, two-income pressures, and corporate relocations made motion feel like progress. We weren't just packing boxes – we were absorbing a national ethos that told us movement was advancement, even if it left us unmoored. My story started in seventh grade. I was a target for bullies with a pimpled face and thick, frizzy hair. Puberty shot me into a frame like my grandma's – 5ft9in, solid bones, size 10 shoes – so when my parents sat us down on the couch for a 'family meeting' the summer before eighth grade and said we were moving from rural Missouri to suburban Chicago, I was excited to escape the ridicule of the popular boys. Mom was a homemaker and Dad the breadwinner; she didn't put up a fuss about the move. My parents married days after they graduated from Ohio State because Dad had a job offer in Baltimore and Mom couldn't go unless they wed. They never had time for wanderlust, and I now sometimes wonder if she wanted an adventure or loathed it. As I started in my new school, my parents blessed me with prescription-strength face cream and let me throw a party in our basement. I invited all 59 kids in the eighth grade class – branding myself the 'fun new girl'. It worked and soon I found myself singing Soul Asylum lyrics into a hairbrush along with my new besties at a sleepover. Meanwhile, my mom became obsessed with our new neighborhood in Naperville, an idyllic suburb of Chicago. She raved about the riverwalk and every other upper-middle class touch we hadn't experienced previously. I loved it too. I started high school the following year with a large contingent of friends, playing basketball and soccer. Then, the summer before sophomore year: another family meeting. We were moving back to Missouri. I sobbed for weeks, devastated to leave the first life that felt like mine. I still remember looking out the back window of our minivan as my mom blasted Carole King's Tapestry as we headed south on I-55. The cumulative stress of relocating during critical developmental stages can impact kids later in life, according to a 2024 study published by JAMA Psychiatry. People who moved more than once between the ages of 10 and 15 were 61% more likely to experience depression in adulthood. This data wasn't just inked in journals; it lived in me. And like a suitcase full of unresolved attachment issues, at 14 I carried these experiences with cramped hands. It informed my understanding of permanence: that true safety was an illusion, that stability was always conditional, that the only reliable way to cope with discomfort was to disappear from it. The day before senior year started, I walked into the house to my mom frantically packing boxes. After two years of trying desperately to get us back to Naperville, my dad had a new job there and we needed to leave later that day – in time for my brother to start his freshman year of high school in the morning. I can still feel myself hyperventilating between the kitchen table and the bay window, wedging myself metaphorically into that house during an epic meltdown. But, the family motto, though never stated, was clear: keep moving. Between ages 13 and 18, I went to five schools in five years and lived in even more houses. My reality was a microcosm of a broader psychological truth: that instability during formative years can shape how we see ourselves long after the packing tape is ripped off the last box. Other longterm studies have found similar links to lower life satisfaction. Beyond being more prone to depression, a study published in the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology found that people who moved frequently as children tended to have lower life satisfaction and poorer psychological well-being as adults. The research, which followed over 7,000 American adults for 10 years, found a direct link between the number of childhood moves and lower reported well-being, even when accounting for other factors like age and education. In young adulthood, my instincts gravitated toward fierce friendships – the chosen family that defined my college years and early 20s. Earning an entry-level wage I expected impermanence in the big city, although while scraping together rent with my friends, my singular dream was a husband, kids, and the white picket fence I never claimed in youth. I was determined to affix myself to a permanent address. I married the first man who asked at age 29. I bought us a condo in 2007, six months before we got divorced and a minute before the infamous 'big short' caused the housing market to burst. Everyone had said real estate was a sure-fire investment for the long term, but living in my one-bedroom marital condo alone felt like PTSD. I eventually saved enough to sell in 2014, bringing money to the closing table just to get out of the 'investment' meant to be a stepping stone to suburbia. By the early 2000s, job transfers and economic instability had made geographic permanence feel almost quaint. Raised on the promise of 'Home Sweet Home,' my generation entered adulthood expecting sanctuary and instead dodged stereotypical landmines of economic precarity and unbalanced cognitive labor. According to Harvard's Joint Center for Housing Studies, homebuying rates for Gen X and older millennials have lagged behind previous generations, squeezed today by high interest rates and low desirable inventory. The dual-income household, framed as a pragmatic necessity, has metastasized into a common storyline on a TV series – one where home functions less as a haven and more as a finely-tuned productivity engine, but with an abundance of decorative throw pillows for aesthetics. It's not that the dream of the stable home disappeared – it just started charging an untenable monthly rent. In my mid-30s I faced the unstable market by renting a no-frills, fourth-floor walk-up whose memory still charms. My second husband wooed me away four years later, and this time to the state of nirvana I'd always wanted: the 'forever' home in the suburban cul-de-sac perfectly perched up on that hill. So, we overpaid, and I affixed his kids' artwork to the fridge with magnets that boasted 'Home Sweet Home' and 'family forever'. The marriage wouldn't last. Within three years the 'for sale' sign erected in the front yard would again be a marker that I failed to do the one thing in life I wanted more than anything: to stay. I didn't know how to pack the feeling of loss, so I took it with me after draining my savings account once more for an unfavorable sale to a new family. I inked a deal in 2018 on a condo in downtown Chicago, on the same street of my former favorite apartment. But the pandemic, losing my cat, getting laid off, and miscarrying the one successful pregnancy I ever had all within six months led me to sell the condo I had mortgaged at a sub-3% interest rate so I could lower my expenses. Today I live in a dark, garden-level apartment, contemplating what Sigmund Freud called 'repetition compulsion' – the tendency to unconsciously repeat traumatic events or patterns of behavior from the past even if they are unfulfilling. I seem to be pining for a life I can't materialize. It is my pre-move childhood: the stale smell of the rarely-washed couch blanket we all used, the sound of my friends bouncing a basketball on the driveway, the waft of cigarette smoke from the kitchen when my parents had their friends over for cards. If the walls had veins they'd pulse to the energy of pizza night, intermittent shouts of 'Uno!' and that indescribable chaos when the only thing that outnumbers the dishwasher cycles are the friends and neighbors stepping through the foyer. But every attempt to find this pulls me further away from settling into the present. I can't imagine how to create a happy life for myself without that feeling of family I've been trying to replicate. I've lost tens of thousands of dollars on real estate and even more in self-assurance. My body carries every goodbye out a minivan window more acutely than my conscious mind. If I do emotionally commit again to an address, it might be ripped away. I want to know that true belonging isn't a myth. I often wonder what affixing my restless energy to another permanent address will do to the animal living inside of me – all she knows how to do is advance! advance! advance! What if, like motherhood, I simply missed out on the American dream? Is home ownership another childhood entitlement I need to blow into an imaginary balloon and watch gently float above my open hand? As I face a housing market with low inventory at high prices and outrageous interest rates, I consider the paradox of my packing talent. It's easy for me to stow things away, but I need courage for an internal move – to fully unpack where I am right now and finally just build a life already.

Broken altimeter, ignored warnings: Hearings reveal what went wrong in DC crash that killed 67
Broken altimeter, ignored warnings: Hearings reveal what went wrong in DC crash that killed 67

The Independent

time16 hours ago

  • The Independent

Broken altimeter, ignored warnings: Hearings reveal what went wrong in DC crash that killed 67

Over three days of sometimes contentious hearings this week, the National Transportation Safety Board interrogated Federal Aviation Administration and Army officials about a list of things that went wrong and contributed to a Black Hawk helicopter and a passenger jet colliding over Washington, D.C., killing 67 people. The biggest revelations: The helicopter's altimeter gauge was broken, and controllers warned the FAA years earlier about the dangers that helicopters presented. At one point NTSB Chairwoman Jennifer Homendy scolded the FAA for not addressing safety concerns. 'Are you kidding me? Sixty-seven people are dead! How do you explain that? Our bureaucratic process?' she said. 'Fix it. Do better.' Victims of the January crash included a group of elite young figure skaters, their parents and coaches and four union steamfitters from the Washington area. Here is a look at the major takeaways from the hearings about the collision, which alarmed travelers before a string of other crashes and close calls this year added to their worries about flying: The helicopter's altimeter was wrong The helicopter was flying at 278 feet (85 meters) — well above the 200-foot (61-meter) ceiling on that route — when it collided with the airliner. But investigators said the pilots might not have realized that because the barometric altimeter they were relying on was reading 80 to 100 feet (24 to 30 meters) lower than the altitude registered by the flight data recorder. The NTSB subsequently found similar discrepancies in the altimeters of three other helicopters from the same unit. An expert with Sikorsky, which makes the Black Hawks, said the one that crashed was an older model that lacked the air data computers that make for more accurate altitude readings in newer versions. Army Chief Warrant Officer Kylene Lewis told the board that an 80- to 100-foot (24- to 30-meter) discrepancy between the different altimeters on a helicopter would not be alarming, because at lower altitudes she would be relying more on the radar altimeter than the barometric altimeter. Plus Army pilots strive to stay within 100 feet (30 meters) of target altitude on flights, so they could still do that even with their altimeters that far off. But Rick Dressler of medevac operator Metro Aviation told the NTSB that imprecision would not fly with his helicopters. When a helicopter route like the one the Black Hawk was flying that night includes an altitude limit, Dressler said, his pilots consider that a hard ceiling. FAA and Army defend actions, shift blame Both tried to deflect responsibility for the crash, but the testimony highlighted plenty of things that might have been done differently. The NTSB's final report will be done next year, but there likely will not be one single cause identified for the crash. 'I think it was a week of reckoning for the FAA and the U.S. Army in this accident,' aviation safety consultant and former crash investigator Jeff Guzzetti said. Army officials said the greater concern is that the FAA approved routes around Ronald Reagan International Airport with separation distances as small as 75 feet (23 meters) between helicopters and planes when planes are landing on a certain runway at Reagan. 'The fact that we have less than 500-foot separation is a concern for me,' said Scott Rosengren, chief engineer in the office that manages the Army's utility helicopters. Army Chief Warrant Officer David Van Vechten said he was surprised the air traffic controller let the helicopter proceed while the airliner was circling to land at Reagan's secondary runway, which is used when traffic for the main runway stacks up and accounts for about 5% of flights. Van Vechten said he was never allowed to fly under a landing plane as the Black Hawk did, but only a handful of the hundreds of times he flew that route involved planes landing on that runway. Other pilots in the unit told crash investigators it was routine to be directed to fly under landing planes, and they believed that was safe if they stuck to the approved route. Frank McIntosh, the head of the FAA's air traffic control organization, said he thinks controllers at Reagan 'were really dependent upon the use of visual separation' to keep traffic moving through the busy airspace. The NTSB said controllers repeatedly said they would just 'make it work.' They sometimes used 'squeeze plays' to land planes with minimal separation. On the night of the crash, a controller twice asked the helicopter pilots whether they had the jet in sight, and the pilots said they did and asked for visual separation approval so they could use their own eyes to maintain distance. Testimony at the hearing raised serious questions about how well the crew could spot the plane while wearing night vision goggles and whether the pilots were even looking in the right spot. The controller acknowledged in an interview that the plane's pilots were never warned when the helicopter was on a collision path, but controllers did not think telling the plane would have made a difference at that point. The plane was descending to land and tried to pull up at the last second after getting a warning in the cockpit, but it was too late. FAA was warned about the dangers of helicopter traffic in D.C. An FAA working group tried to get a warning added to helicopter charts back in 2022 urging pilots to use caution whenever the secondary runway was in use, but the agency refused. The working group said 'helicopter operations are occurring in a proximity that has triggered safety events. These events have been trending in the wrong direction and increasing year over year.' Separately, a different group at the airport discussed moving the helicopter route, but those discussions did not go anywhere. And a manager at a regional radar facility in the area urged the FAA in writing to reduce the number of planes taking off and landing at Reagan because of safety concerns. The NTSB has also said the FAA failed to recognize a troubling history of 85 near misses around Reagan in the three years before the collision, NTSB Chairwoman Jennifer Homendy said 'every sign was there that there was a safety risk and the tower was telling you that.' But after the accident, the FAA transferred managers out of the airport instead of acknowledging that they had been warned. 'What you did is you transferred people out instead of taking ownership over the fact that everybody in FAA in the tower was saying there was a problem,' Homendy said. 'But you guys are pointing out, 'Welp, our bureaucratic process. Somebody should have brought it up at some other symposium.'' ___

DOWNLOAD THE APP

Get Started Now: Download the App

Ready to dive into a world of global content with local flavor? Download Daily8 app today from your preferred app store and start exploring.
app-storeplay-store