Dealing With Our Own Crap

Braving the Compost Toilet

Since moving into our off grid home at the start of the pandemic, we have had to deal with our own crap, both literally and figuratively. The first thing we did before we even moved in, was to install a toilet. We opted for a compost toilet over one with a water tank. Since water is limited in the desert and our property is too small for a septic tank, the compost toilet seemed like the right choice. A compost toilet relies on bacteria to transform feces into fertilized soil and requires no water. As in all things with our new home, we knew it would be an experiment and we opened our minds to the idea of turning (literally) our poop into compost. Our biggest concern at the time was that it would smell. Unfortunately, that has been the least of our problems.

Our compost toilet did stink for the first six weeks. We were not too worried about it because based on the instructions, we concluded that it would take time for the humanure to become compost. We were relieved at the end of that introductory phase that the smell dissipated. Only one time did it return, when we had to empty the entirety of the compost barrel because it was too dry. The composted manure, having been turned regularly in it's barrel along with the suggested Sun-Mar mulch, had transformed into hard giant balls. These balls were too big to be released into the drawer below where the compost was supposed to rest for three weeks before being dispersed outside under some shrubs.

Now, if talking about poop makes you feel sick, stop here. In order to excavate the giant balls of shit-compost from our toilet, I had to roll up my sleeves and reach down elbow deep into our compost toilet and pull those monsters out. Sometimes I had to hack them first with a pole to break them up so they could fit through the toilet hole. Since I didn't want to have to do it ever again, I was thorough and emptied the whole barrel. Afterward, I asked my husband who had been standing by to help if he respected me more or less. When he said, "More," I knew I had married the right man. It smelled again for a few weeks after. I wish I could tell you that this is the worst of it. In order to compensate for this disaster, we began adding water to the toilet. However, at the same time, we changed our mulch to strictly peat moss. Things got much worse.

While I was dealing with the crap from the compost toilet, I was also dealing with my own crap. A lot of psychological discomfort came up for me during the pandemic. The pandemic basically put an end to our social life. Suddenly, we were home all the time with each other. This included our daughter, entering 7th grade, who has since August been attending school online. We could not go shopping, go the movie theaters, go out to restaurants or cafes. We could not meet our friends at the bar or go dancing. And worst of all for us, we could not travel. There were none of the usual community joys to look forward and that meant no distractions. We were stuck at home, just like everyone else.

To be honest, at the start of the pandemic, I didn't mind much the isolation. I am a hermit by nature and I loved having everything canceled. I loved the simplicity of being unscheduled. I didn't want to go anywhere anyway. But as time progressed, I would get urges. First, I wanted to shop. Since I couldn't go to stores, I went online. I bought clothes that I still haven't worn because if they aren't pajamas or active wear, there's no where to wear them. I recognize that my strong need to shop as a means of self-fulfillment is in conflict with my minimalism and anti-materialism. Does it make it any better that I want to go thrift store shopping? Perhaps. But it's still some deep crap that needs to be examined. It has taken me months to fight the urge to shop online whenever I feel bored. Sometimes, I still do, but I try not to actually purchase anything. But on my best days, when I feel the need to shop, I create art or go for a walk or read or scroll Pinterest for inspo. I'm composting my crap. It takes time.

Another aspect of the pandemic that I struggled with was the lack of socialization. I kept wanting to make plans with friends. Mostly we went on hikes, sometimes bonfires. We were safe and distanced and wore masks, but of course each contact was a risk, though minimal. For Halloween, I went to two mini parties, both outside, but there was enough drinking that I kept my mask off. We even went to a drive-up rave once, which was probably one of the safest social events we went to. At one point, I had to talk myself out of making plans with people. I had to lean into my loneliness and be okay with not being social. This was a constant struggle. Every time I came up with a great plan to get my friends together, I had to squash my excitement and let it go. This was some deep crap probably stemming, as all internalized crap does, from a need to be loved, important, worthy, etc. Once I was able to excavate my need for organizing events and making plans, I suddenly became a complete misanthrope. I started being annoyed by everyone around me. I'm highly sensitive and became even more so to people after being away from them so much. I was so sensitive to everyone's energy and felt like I had lost my ability to be compassionate or to block it out. I no longer wanted to hang out with anyone. I went from one crappy end of the pendulum to the other. I'm only now finding a happy medium.

Meanwhile, our compost toilet got even grosser. With the addition of water and a mulch of fine peat moss, our compost toilet went from giant straw balls to poop soup. (Don't say I didn't warn you.) The bottom of our toilet became a cesspool of liquid shit. This time I had to scoop in out of the bottom with a plastic cup until my husband had the brilliant idea to add wood pellets (we have a pellet stove) to absorb the liquid and then I was able to scoop out the more manageable bulk. You will notice that somehow, just as all chores tend to fall to one person, the job of poop management fell to me. I'm not sure why since I'm the one with weak gag reflexes and I am never the one charged with cleaning up vomit. All along I never really saw it as poop, I saw it as compost. 

Both figuratively and literally, if we look at our crap as compost, something that needs to be attended to and ventilated, it's not all that disgusting and scary. We live in a culture where we prefer to ignore our own shit, flush it down with drinking water and pretend it doesn't exist. But it doesn't go away. A poorly maintained septic tank can be leaking contaminants into your drinking water or nearby watersheds. Flushing toilets waste potable water while millions go without drinking water. One toilet flushed five times a day will use 2,336 gallons of water per year. They also use a whole lot of energy while they're at it. In the US, waste-water treatment accounts for about 3% of the national electricity load. Many waste-water treatment plants produce methane a harmful greenhouse gas. Also, just as in our psyche, improperly treated sewage will spread sickness. ​

Most recently while we were cleaning out the toilet drawer, my husband began to complain about how gross it was. I said to him sternly and mercilessly, "I don't want to hear it. Shut up and put on your big boy pants," or something to that extent. Sometimes, you just have to deal with the crap. ​

The pandemic isn't over yet. I'm still dealing with my figurative crap on the daily. Sniffing it out, processing it as best I can and letting it go. I still watch too much TV and eat too much junk food. There's always more crap to suss out. The compost toilet continues to be an experiment. We have adjusted the mulch to be more robust and it seems to have begun to eliminate the excess liquid issue. I don't know if we'll ever have a perfect system. The compost toilet means we have to deal with our own crap. But that's life. 

Our second bathroom