The Worm Wigwam bin is big if it's in your dining room, like mine is. Have I mentioned that my husband is a saint?
(For scale, see left. Wigwam on right, Can-o-Worms on left, low-ball of scotch on the rocks on top. Low-ball for scale only. Heh. Click to bigg-ify.)
The Wigwam is semi-industrial. Designed for restaurants and schools. The maximum output of castings, when it's up and humming, is about 75 pounds per week. That's a whole lotta worm poop for a home-scale worm farmer.
Today, on this Groundhog's Day (six more weeks of winter, according to Phil in Punxsutawney), I face two challenges- heat and odor. I woke up at 2am with a stink in my nose. Got up, stumbled eyeglasses-less towards the bin, and discovered that the interior temperature of the bin is 95F. That's bad. It could cook my worms, and I've heard tell that cooked worms is a smell you do not want to smell. Luckily, the worms are congregating towards the outer, upper, cooler edges. Smart little fellows.
Keeping the lid off helps to lower the temperature, but then there is this... odor. It's not exactly a rotten smell, although it's vaguely mildewy. This must be why the first bedding to go in (according to provided instructions) should have been finished compost. But, it's deep winter, in Michigan, in Detroit. Compost comes from, where? This time of year? In Michigan?