Dealing with SH#!%&@T

                                   

                                 (OR The taboo about poo)

I find it a good idea as a general rule to start at the bottom and work one’s way up.  Nature is the perfect metaphor that reflects this pervasive and universal pattern, so I’ll go with it. That makes the topic of dealing with one’s sh@!#%t a suitable place to start writing about life at Jessam, reflecting on the foibles and quirks of smallholding life.

    Rules observed from nature:

        when shit will come, shit must come

        that is lesson number one

     (that's not a bad lesson to apply to much in life! The wisdom of mother nature)

The easily overlooked septic tank in the neglected corner gets on with its job in the dark recesses, underground and out of sight, processing waste remarkably efficiently by way of busy little micro-bugs. Until –horrors!-  a blockage sets in or the system springs a leak, clamouring for attention.   

Most often this occurs at an inconsiderate moment when the house is full of  guests, the weather inclement and household demands are high.  A chance trip to the bathroom finds the tide suspiciously high in the lavatory bowl, and the shower outlet flowing in rather than out.... all signs to don the overalls, roll on gloves, abandon plans, make excuses and set out to tackle the problem. It does not just sort itself out, that much I have learnt!

I am heartened to read that the Chinese regarded night- soil as a valuable commodity, paying handsomely for bucketfuls of the stuff.  ‘Night-soil’ conjures up images of dark mulchy manure, an excellent growing medium.  Interesting, too, that toilets are a common subject in dreams, commonly symbolising the processing of one’s crap and the need to dump burdens.

At particularly sore points in my life, I recall vivid dreams about my very own septic tank here at Jessam: an innocent little girl I know perches precariously on the edge of the open pit, dangling her legs dangerously close to the deep contents. At the time, this evoked caution while attending to real and painful life issues.  

 Over the years a hands-on working relationship with the sewerage system at Jessam has evolved; mine is best tended and checked regularly.  Every system is different of course, with habits and idiosyncrasies of its own. It gives me much satisfaction to manually manage the muck on my property, turning it into rich compost that nourishes the plot.  The chickens gleefully celebrate a Christmas feast on that day!

 The chore reflects an array of life truths for me, and leaves me mulling over the bottom-end status that sewerage generally receives in modern societies.  I wonder whether what is now relegated as ‘waste’ will one day be valued for its inherent bounty and  wealth?
 ( See https://www.positive.news/2017/society/28114/rage-against-the-latrine-safer-sustainable-loo-changing-lives/ )

Having grown up in a town, I recall scant community awareness about the subterranean network of sewerage pipes underlying most human settlements, towns, dorpies and neighbourhoods, carting away our sluiced affairs.  I wonder if this puts us out of touch with our more basic, elemental self?  And, conversely,  I wonder if a more hands-on approach gives rise to a grounded, healthy attitude to many life issues?   

It is interesting to note how much psychological terminology describing common people problems contain references  to sewerage....anal retentive; constipated;  when the shit flies;  smooth passage; dealing with crap; attending therapy to offload; regular healthy habits.

Everyday nature, and dreams, offers this encouraging message to all people from all walks of life, all ages, all cultures, all status – no-one excluded:  pay due attention to our crap, deal with the scary ordure as it arises, make friends with our own dumping ground and not only will it serve us well, but become our best ally.

               Septic tank  - poem by me 

                  Shovelling the shit

                  Digging up the past 

                         I see gold
    
                   

                             


Poem on my loo wall  (borrowed, changed and adapted from unknown source)

To all of you with cause to use this humble water closet,

Comes this sage advice regarding that which you deposit:

For this is not a city loo – that undiscerning beast -

Consuming all your rubbish like a savage at a feast.

It has a septic tank, you see, where micro-cells endeavour

To eat your tasty waste with grace –this cycle goes forever.

So sanitaries and orange peels and goodness-only-knows

Will break this fragile system down, for they don’t decompose.

Reflect on this request whilst sitting here and taking stock,

Lest your passing indiscretions cause a choc-a-block gridlock!

Liz Campbell is the sole writer and composer of all the published material on this blogsite, unless otherwise stated.

She has further blogsites:

   songs for children http://connectsongdance.blogspot.com/

   a collection of songs, poems and prose on the experience of loss, grief and recovery 

                       https://epitaph-lost-found.blogspot.com/