“Heat emanated from the pile.Kate studied the mound. “It doesn’t smell as bad as I thought it would.”Clint stabbed his fork into the ground. “We turn it with the tractor fork twice a week. That helps the mixture get enough oxygen to decompose. Also, it’s important to move material from the outside of the pile to the center, where it’s hot enough to kill bacteria, bugs, weed seeds—stuff like that.”Tanner, a short man with broad, muscular shoulders, looked at Clint. “How do you want to tackle this...?” He adjusted the brim of his hat.Clint pointed at two wheelbarrows propped against the barn. “How about you and Darryl load up the wheelbarrows. You can dump the compost randomly in the garden. Kate and I will spread it around.”Tanner raised his eyebrows. “You and Kate, huh?”Darryl grunted. “He and Rusty get all the broads.”Kate studied Darryl. He was a scrawny kid, probably not more than eighteen or nineteen years old. She’d been called worse names—far worse names, but something in his voice said he didn’t have a high regard for women.Clint squinted at Darryl.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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