This is my kitchen compost. It lives in the corner of the side yard garden, is turned maybe once a month, and is full of detritus eaters. I use it around the flower garden. My neighbor hates it, she says it stinks up the air underneath her window. But that happens to be where she keeps her three trash pails. Sometimes we drop anaerobic stink in the pile, but I always bury it, so that it dissipates rather rapidly. Otherwise, the stuff smells like sweet earth.
Three weeks ago I was at the beach farm and an old Bronco, 80's vintage, pulls up. Inside are three young ladies, clipboards in hands, sunglasses, hats, casual earthy wear. They exit the over sized vehicle, and beeline for the "compost" bins. They take notes. Afterward, they mosey over to me, ask if I am someone I am not, and then I ask what they are, I mean, as a group, what is this group? They inform me that they work for the Department of Sanitation as inspectors of community garden composting and intend to teach proper composting skills.
Then I think: just cause you're all excited about compost, doesn't make it something brand new. Realizing that my ego is too big to allow a bunch of youngins to teach me how to do anything I didn't ask to learn, I inform them that we don't compost properly at this site for several reasons, but maybe they would like to talk to another gentleman, over there, who's worked this acre for many more years than I. I cannot imagine what was said between them, however they departed shortly after, but not before I asked if they found what they were looking for. To which they replied that they would be back, maybe this fall, to teach us how to compost properly.