The couple that built the house we live in is no longer living, but they had amazing foresight. Everywhere we look, we can see signs of commitment to excellence.
For instance, the electrical breaker box has every switch labeled. Puzzling for months over the one switch labeled “Worm House”, we searched until we figured out the worm house was actually the chicken house/woodshed.
We knew the worm tables were down there, but we hardly guessed what they were. The industrious ones who built two houses on this property and maintained an enormous garden, were human after all. They fished. They loved having their own source for worms. Or they sold worms. What work went into their lives for a bit of pleasure or a few extra dollars!
The worm tables, consisting of framed, 1/2″ mesh wire, were for sifting out worms, I guess. I know the soil under these tables is uncommonly rich and free of the usual rocks from around here. It makes very good garden dirt and a great side-dressing for those plants that seem to need extra nutrition.
I can imagine a grandchild’s wonder as he watches a shovelful of soil reveal its inhabitants. I can imagine the child’s taking all this culture for granted, walking in such luxury of self-sufficiency, hardly guessing all the work others have put into this place.
A little like I tend to do, myself.
I say, “Oh, good, a chicken house,” and forget all the work in those rough-hewn boards. I stroll around a pond and never think that someone had to bulldoze it. I retrieve canned goodies from the basement without realizing all the engineering it takes to perch a house over a hole in the ground.
But I want to remember, to think, to realize. I want to be thankful for someone’s foresight, for those who went before and built for those who would come after.
2 thoughts on “It’s a Worm Table!”
Well, thank you for a new thought! I never thought of the previous inhabitants of my home before except that I knew they were the neighbors-across-the-street’s grandparents and that the home was built in the early 20th century before our road existed. We have found bits of their existence — bits of glass and iron in the ground when we went to dig up a garden plot. And there was three sheds on the place which all had to be torn down because they were leaning like the tower of pisa. Once a elm tree blew down during a microburst and the newspaper reporter who came to take a picture said the tree was at least 150 years old. They were amazed that it was the playhouse that got took out and not our cottage. I thank God for that too!
I guess I’m getting old, but I constantly feel the work that went into building this place. The calm and consistent attention to detail around here still amazes me. And I recently found the sister of the original builder, who promises to show me the meaning of some of the mysteries around here, such as a rectangle of concrete out in the pasture…