I write this from my death bed, decomposers. Ok not really, but I did get completely laid out by a nasty virus. And nothing but time can mend me, which is frustrating. It’s keeping me from my beloved compost bins. But it also got me thinking about time and patience and what composting teaches us about both.

Last week, a scratch appeared in my throat. Immediately I began begging the universe for it to just be seasonal allergies. Annoying but manageable.

‘Twas not allergies. I found myself fighting through a 102 degree fever for the next two days until I broke out into a full body rash from my scalp to the bottom of my feet.

My partner took me to the hospital where I was put into isolation with a measles scare. After hours of needles, x-rays, and a full body photo shoot while looking my worst, I was sent home. It was a virus. And they could make me more comfortable with magic mouthwash and extra strength ibuprofen…that was it…it was time.

Time was all that I could rely on for recovery.

My fingers were itching, unusable for days. I stressed over how I would write this blog. But today, I can bend my fingers (still no feeling in my fingertips but I’m doing my best) and this came to me.

Composting is a time game. Just like a virus.

The process is sacred and must run its course. We cannot rush composting. You could apply heat, moisture, air, and scraps. But at the end of the day, the process of composting is on its own timeline.

So let’s compare composting to the life of a virus. The universe knows I have the time, I’m still on mandatory bedrest. Composting moves through clear stages and each one has a name, a temperature range, and a pace.

First is the mesophilic stage. We start a fresh batch. Bins empty, hearts full. (The bin is our body, just roll with me.) This is the fresh pile. Temps sit around 50 to 104°F. It lasts a couple of days. Bacteria wake up and start breaking down sugars and simple compounds. Everything still looks recognizable, just chopped.

Our recipe is a ratio, two browns to one greens. This recipe ensures our compost is moist and inviting for our decomposer bugs.

As the batch grows, the heat rises. (Like a fever!)

Then it shifts fast into the thermophilic stage. This is the hot phase, around 113 to 158°F. It can last anywhere from a few days to a few weeks depending on how you manage it. This is peak activity. Proteins, fats, and tougher material start breaking down. You will feel the heat when you turn it and it may even steam. (Cute little free facial.)

After that, the pile cools back into a second mesophilic phase. (Like your body breaking a fever!) Temps drop below 104°F and keep falling. This can last several weeks, even months. Fungi and larger organisms move in and continue the breakdown at a slower pace.

Last is curing or maturation. Temps are close to ambient. This stage takes one to three months or more. The compost stabilizes, darkens, and becomes uniform and usable. This is our recovery. The surrender to the process, the hardest part. The patience after the battle.

And this is the part no one talks about enough. Curing looks like nothing is happening. No heat, no drama, no visible change day to day. But beneath the surface, everything is refining. (That’s what I’m telling myself about my skin.) The compost is finding its balance. It is becoming safe, stable, and ready to give back.

That is the part I am in right now. Not the fever, not the chaos. The quiet stretch after. The slow return. The part where you stop forcing and start trusting.

We love the active stages. The visible progress. The heat. The transformation we can point to and say look, it is working. But the real magic is in the patience that follows. Letting it sit. Letting it finish. Not digging it up too early just because we are ready to be done. (Or pulling scabs off our face before they’ve healed, but I digress.)

Good compost is not rushed. Neither is healing.

So I will stay here a little longer. Let things settle. Let my system do what it knows how to do. And when I am ready, when it is ready, I will be back at the bins.

With grit & gratitude,

Jess Frost, Master Composter

Co-Coordinator, MSCG Communication Committee

Trusting the Curing Process