The Yeas and Neighs of Spreading Horse Manure
Not long ago I was invited to dinner at the home of friends who, like me, are animal lovers. They have two horses and a dog--and a cat that sleeps in a drawer.
I had never seen a cat that slept in a drawer. I still haven’t, though I saw several inches of smoke-colored fur protruding from a chest of drawers.
But I saw the horses. They stood at the railing of a stable yard that could have won the Good Horsekeeping seal of approval. My host and I leaned on the rail (immaculate) and stared at the powerful animals (also immaculate) that loomed before us in the dusk, and I realized that we were not seeing the same thing at all. We were looking at the same thing, but where he saw two splendid, sleek, silken-nosed creatures with rippling muscles and rhythmically heaving flanks, I saw two vast manure machines.
As he waited for me to absorb the sheer beauty of the moment, I turned to him and asked in a hushed voice: “What do you do with all the manure?”
Spreading It Around
There was a pause. “Would you like some for your garden?” he offered.
Of course I would! Did I stop to consider that the people who brag to me about the fantastic qualities of horse manure usually turn out to have about 60 acres or so to spread it over? Certainly not. Did I have any idea of how to prepare it for use--or even that it required preparation? Of course I didn’t.
The upshot of it was that after dinner, about 50 pounds of manure was packed tidily into plastic leaf bags “for Margaret’s garden.”
After I got them home, the sacks sat lumpily beside the woodpile for two days, during which time my dogs expressed their interest in several ways, none of which socially acceptable. Finally, I had the gardener empty the sacks in a heap behind the tool house, where the telephone lineman inadvertently descended into it.
I explained to him that I was leaving it there only until it had dried out. Then I was going to use it for “manure tea.” The telephone man stared at me as he scraped the bottoms of his cleated boots, then clumped rapidly away, shaking his head and muttering.
Delicate Designation
“Manure tea” pops up in various gardening books, sometimes with the more delicate designation of “liquid manure.” The “tea” derives from the fact that in the old days, boiling water was poured over the stuff. Today, most people use cold water; after that, the brew is stirred frequently and in due course assumes the color of strong tea.
My 1957 copy of the Practical Encyclopedia of Gardening, edited by Norman Taylor, points out that “other manures, such as guano or hen manure, may be used, but usually they are not so easy to procure as cow or horse manure.” Well, actually there seems to be a shortage of all of these in my neighborhood, although last year, to my intense surprise, I did see a rooster standing on the corner of Wilshire and Rimpau. He didn’t look lost, so I supposed he was somebody’s pet out for a stroll.
Taylor’s gives the following formulas for the nourishment of house plants:
Cow Manure: half bushel to 50 gallons of water.
Horse Manure: half bushel to 40 gallons of water.
Guano or Hen Manure: 10 pounds to 50 gallons of water.
Naturally, you won’t need that much if all you have is two kalanchoes and a creeping Charlie.
Enthusiasm Lacking
I asked Ruth Gorss, a volunteer consultant at the Los Angeles County Arboretum, if she could give me a “recipe” for manure tea in smaller quantities. I couldn’t get enthusiastic over weighing up half a bushel of horse manure.
Gorss approached the subject with good-humored practicality: “First it should be leached (watered down) to wash out the excess salt content. Then spread it out to dry on a sheet of plastic or on pavement.”
“Odor may be a problem,” she conceded, “so you may want to cover it.”
She gave me these simple directions: In a large bucket, put manure to a depth of about two inches. Fill the bucket with cold water. Stir thoroughly, to break up lumps, then let it stand until the brew is a dark mahogany color. This can be a matter of a few hours, or overnight, but don’t let it stand too long. To use, dilute the liquid with equal parts of water. This is important, because a strong solution can burn tender roots, as well as leaves.
“Epiphyllums thrive on it,” Gorss said, “because they don’t need a lot of nitrogen--horse manure is low in nitrogen content.”
A Lot of Trouble
“It seems like a lot of trouble,” I said doubtfully, “considering that I don’t have any epiphyllums.”
“Rabbit manure!” she said promptly. “A couple of rabbits will supply all you need. A friend of mine gave me some rabbit droppings for my strawberry bed and I never had such a crop before!”
I’m checking around to find someone among my friends and neighbors who has pet rabbits. No more neigh-saying for me; I plan to get the job done as neatly and rabbitly as possible.
