When I was growing up I often spent muggy afternoons with my grandmother after school tucked away in the back of her garden, cutting twigs into small pieces for the compost pile. I never grasped the importance of what we were doing as a kid but loved chatting with her until the sun dipped below the horizon. As I grew older, I grew to appreciate my grandmother's productive garden. Her hydrangeas always bloomed, her plump tomatoes grew on sturdy vines, and weeds were never a problem. The secret to her success was the compost we made from those twigs, plus garden clippings, leaves and food scraps.
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