Worm Farming 101 . . .
Written and Illustrated by Michele Roldán-Shaw
hen Mary Connor first told me about her operation, I honestly didn’t know what the heck she was talking about.
A well-respected and certified organic farmer, Mary is a treasure trove of knowledge about sustainable agricultural practices, and she’s constantly finding ways to share this information with her fellow Blufftonians. Catch her at the Farmer’s Market on Thursday afternoons and she will gladly answer any question you may have about growing and preparing food; visit her at Three Sisters Farm and she will show you how she puts it all into action.
One day, she and I were taking a leisurely stroll around her garden to clip, pull and dig up the produce I would be purchasing, when I decided to ask what all she grew. Over the next several minutes, she tried to remember everything she produced, season by season: kale, collards, mustard greens, swiss chard, peas, broccoli, onions, garlic, salad greens, tomatoes, cucumbers, turnips, beets, radishes, potatoes, sweet potatoes, okra and on and on. Plus, there were the chicken eggs.
Some time later, when that particular strain of conversation seemed to have already died out, she said, “Oh, and I have worms.” I was a little taken aback that she would share such personal information; after all, her health issues were her business. Moreover, wasn’t she worried that such a revelation might make potential customers think twice before consuming her farm-fresh produce? As my brain was still trying to process this information, she asked, “Do you want to see them?”
“Ah, no, that’s okay,” I said politely. And then all of a sudden it hit me. She wasn’t talking about tape worms, hook worms or heart worms...she was talking about earthworms!
“Actually, maybe I will have a look,” I said, feeling relieved that the misunderstanding had been cleared up. She led me to a plastic bin filled with kitchen waste and old newspaper, which she said the worms would eat. I watched as she removed the lid, stuck her hand in and began sifting through the pulpy, composting mess in search of her babies. “Here they are,” she announced, and pulled up a handful of thin, wriggling pink creatures. Like any good country girl, I know that wherever you find earthworms you have healthy soil. But apparently I was a little behind the times when it came to understanding the purpose of keeping a big tub o’ worms out back.
“In California, the government actually has a recycling program that will give you free worm bins,” said Mary, her usual measured tone rising just a bit in excitement. “If you want, I can give you some starter worms.”
I thanked her for the offer and promised to give it some consideration, but admittedly I was still a little hazy about the whole thing. Just what sort of potential did worm farming really have? Over the next few weeks, I wasn’t conscious of giving earthworms much thought, but apparently the notion was marinating somewhere in my brain because by the time spring arrived full tilt, I was openly discussing plans for my new venture. Maybe it was spring fever and the desire to fertilize some hot peppers I’d planted, since I assumed that worm bins must generate some sort of organic, nutrient-rich product. Maybe it was my resolution to go fishing for my supper all summer long and the need for accessible bait. Maybe it was a tantalizing comment Mary had made regarding some man she’d read about on the internet whose wife laughed at him for taking up “vermiculture”—as I learned worm farming is called—until he started making piles of money at it. Or perhaps it was just a touch of insanity brought on by a tough economic climate—and the inevitable surplus of free time that comes along with it—which caused me to believe that keeping worms might really be the next big thing for me.
Whatever it was that led me to this point, I’m here now so I might as well dig in. Mary loaned me a highly informative book called Worms Eat My Garbage, by Mary Appelhof, a woman often referred to as the “worm guru.” In it, I learned some of the basics, which I will gladly break down for readers here. season by season:
The idea: Worms amount to a sort of living garbage disposal. They eat (recycle) a lot of waste—including newspapers, coffee grounds, tea bags, produce scraps, egg shells, moldy leftovers, etc.—eventually converting them into a potent fertilizer known as “worm castings” which can be applied to your garden or potted plants. Although they will consume meat, most people don’t put that in their worm bins because it just gets too nasty. A properly maintained worm bin is far less stinky than your average trash can; in fact, vermiculture is such an effective, nearly odorless method of composting that many people actually keep worm bins in the kitchen! (I figured I would go ahead and do mine outside.)
The bin: There are various models of commercial worm bins available for purchase, while some people like to get fancy by building their own out of wood, perhaps combining it with a functional furniture design to create worm bin window seats, worm bin coffee tables, and other such oddities. But all you really need is a common plastic storage tub with a few holes drilled into it for ventilation. (I got mine for about $6 at Target.) The size depends on the amount of kitchen waste your household produces—Appelhof says to plan on one square foot of surface area for every pound of garbage per week. Though the shape doesn’t really matter, shallower tends to be better because it keeps the bottom layers from getting too packed down and suffocating the worms. The bin is then filled with “bedding,” generally shredded newspaper because it provides a good carbon source for the worms while being free and readily available. (Particularly gratifying to me as I set up my worm bin was shredding the newsprint pages of my 2008 Income Tax instruction booklet, which I took care to fish out of my recycle box so the worms could destroy it forever.) Other types of bedding include manure, leaf mould, and wood chips. Food waste is then buried periodically in the bedding. The worms’ environment should be kept moist, slightly but not excessively acidic, and within the optimal temperature range of 59°-77°.
The worms: You would think all earthworms were basically the same, but turns out this is not the case; just digging up some random creepy-crawlies in your yard and tossing them in a bin probably won’t put you on the fast track to vermiculture success. What you need are redworms (Eisenia fetida), easily ordered from commercial vermiculturalists and shipped through the mail. Or, in my case, obtained directly from a friendly local grower. These are composting worms which live in places like manure and piles of decaying leaves; they would not survive long in regular soil. In the controlled environment of a worm bin, they reproduce quickly, process high volumes of food waste and are hearty enough to withstand confinement. The amount of worms you need depends on the amount of food waste you produce, but Appelhof recommends starting with at least a pound of them.
The method: Once you have set up your bin and acquired your worms, the system becomes pretty low maintenance. Just bury your food scraps every few days, or even as sporadically as every couple weeks if you go out of town or something. Periodically, you might add fresh bedding. You also need to make sure the bin stays moist, but not too wet; any standing water is definitely a sign that something is amiss. When it comes time to harvest either your worm castings or your vermicompost—a less broken-down version of the finely processed castings—the method you choose and the frequency with which you perform the task depends upon a lot of factors. Basically, you can either quit feeding the worms so that after a few weeks they will process everything in the bin down to fine castings before phasing themselves out; or, if you don’t want to sacrifice your entire population, you can hand sort the worms from the compost and place them in fresh bedding, while using the vermicompost in your garden. Plenty of more detailed information about this is available on the internet, or in books such as Worms Eat My Garbage. You can also visit Mary at the Farmer’s Market and ask her about it.
So at last I had all my info and my worm bin was set up. All that remained now was to bring home the new babies. I rode my bike to Mary’s house and, since she was busy in the kitchen, she sent her son out to the worm bin to dig up some specimens for me. He grabbed a small spade and threw back the lid of the wooden bin, which was set up on cinderblocks against one wall of the garage. 
This revealed a mass of castings, newspaper and intact peanut shells—apparently not a food of choice for the worms. There was also a huge anthill inside the bin, and I wondered whether or not this was considered a serious problem; my mind instantly displayed a picture of several dozen fire ants swarming all over an earthworm as it writhed in mortal pain. Mary, however, didn’t seem concerned. She came to check on us as we picked out the little worms, one by one, from where they were balled together in a bottom corner of the bin.
“I think I need to harvest the castings and start over soon,” she said, with the tone of one who just has too many projects on their hands. “I’m a bad worm mother.” And with that she rushed off to her Organic Growers meeting.
Me, I grabbed my plastic shopping bag of worms and pedaled home to release the creatures into their new environment. “There you go little wormies,” I said affectionately, as I deposited two weeks worth of stinky food waste that I had been saving into their bedding. Then I carried the bin over to one side of the house and set it under the shade of a huge magnolia, up on two chunks of concrete I salvaged from a corner of my yard. Now I could officially call myself a worm farmer! What caliber of worm farmer remains to be seen. 
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