Worms in the Big Apple
When I first embarked on my zero waste journey, I had a burning desire to try vermicomposting. What's vermicomposting? Science calls it “stabilizing active organic materials and converting them into a valuable soil amendment.” I call it worm shit fertilizer. Translation: you feed your leftovers to worms, and their poop becomes gold for your plants.
I was so into the idea I put a worm bin on my vision board and years later manifested it into reality and bought the Uncle Jim’s Worm Farm “Hot Frog” indoor composter. If you’re unfamiliar with the setup, it’s a stack of plastic trays with holes in the bottom. You toss in food scraps, the worms eat, poop, and climb to the next tray. Gross to some, very cool to me.
But here’s the thing about romanticizing worm composting: nobody talks about the fruit flies. Dude, the fruit flies. Within weeks, I was vacuuming swarms of them out of the air like it was a biblical plague. I tried everything—diatomaceous earth, neem oil, prayer—but nothing worked. And then I realized I had a vacation coming up and the thought of leaving my apartment unattended in that state was horrifying, so I made the tough call to start over.
The worms, however, got a happy ending. I rehomed all 200 of them to a woman named Dana, who I found on a compost-sharing app (RIP to that app, gone but not forgotten). I offered her the worms for free if she cleaned the bin, and frankly, it felt like a power move on my part.
When I came back from vacation, I started over with a fresh bin and a new approach. Turns out, I’d been sabotaging myself by not cutting the food scraps small enough. Bigger scraps meant slower breakdown, which meant a full-on fruit fly rave in my kitchen. Lesson learned. I learned to chop those scraps with the precision of a Michelin-star chef, and my apartment was fly-free ever since.
To Worm or Not to Worm? That is the Question…
Fast forward to 2024. I’m in NYC now, and the worm bin made the move—but the worms did not. (Let’s be real, they weren’t surviving a cross-country tour.) They were set free in my friends garden before the big move and I’m currently using the empty bin as a chair while I slowly furnish my apartment. Now I’m debating whether to start the whole thing over again.
On one hand, sustainability is half my personality, so it feels like a no-brainer. On the other hand, NYC comes with its own unique brand of bugs: cockroaches. Before you judge, let me clarify: my apartment is clean. Immaculate, even. But this is New York, where the roaches and rats have unionized. I’m nervous that my worm composting efforts will inadvertently turn into a roach sanctuary. I love bugs, so I’m kind of into the idea of keeping them as pets, but my boyfriend is avidly against it for some reason.
So here I am, stuck in this existential crisis: Do I go back to being a #WormMom and risk the roach-pocalypse, or do I sit this one out and let my food scraps meet their untimely end in the city’s industrial trash bins?
After much deliberation (and several roach-related meditations), I’ve decided to hold off on restarting my worm bin—for now. While sustainability is important to me, so is maintaining a roach-free home and my relationship, I guess. In the meantime, I’ll let the city handle my scraps.
The worm bin may stay in its current role as chair/conversation piece, but I like to think of it as a placeholder for the day I’m ready to give vermicomposting another go—hopefully in a roach-less, fruit fly-free future.
