You know, when you’re going through your deceased husband’s belongings, you find yourself thinking about waste in ways you never expected. I spent months after Robert died in 2019 sorting through forty years of accumulated stuff – boxes of old receipts, duplicate tools, clothes that hadn’t been worn in decades. But it was the bathroom cabinet that really got to me. Shelves full of half-used medications, expired bottles, plastic containers that would all end up in a landfill. Here was this man I’d loved for forty-three years, and his final contribution to the world was going to be more trash.
Around that same time, my granddaughter Emma started talking about something called “humanure composting” in one of her environmental science classes. I’d never heard the term before, but apparently it’s been around for ages – the idea that human waste doesn’t have to be waste at all. That it could be safely composted and turned into soil instead of being flushed away with gallons of clean drinking water. At first I thought she was pulling my leg. “Emma,” I said, “that sounds absolutely disgusting.” But she just rolled her eyes the way fourteen-year-olds do and said, “Grandma, everything in nature gets recycled except what humans touch.”
That comment stuck with me. Made me think about how my mother’s generation handled waste before we had all these modern conveniences. They had outhouses, of course, but they also composted everything organic. Nothing got thrown away that could be used for something else. And somehow they managed to stay healthy and even live longer than a lot of people do now with all our sanitized, disposable everything.
I started reading about this humanure thing, mostly out of curiosity. Turns out there’s actual science behind it, not just some hippie nonsense like I’d assumed. When human waste is composted properly – and that’s the key word, properly – the heat generated by the decomposition process kills off all the dangerous bacteria and parasites. We’re talking temperatures of 130 to 160 degrees Fahrenheit maintained for specific periods of time. It’s the same thermophilic composting process that happens in any good compost pile, just more carefully managed because of what’s going in there.
The whole system depends on getting the right balance of carbon and nitrogen. Human waste is high in nitrogen, so you need to add carbon-rich materials like sawdust or wood chips. The microorganisms that break everything down generate heat as they work, and if you maintain the right conditions – proper moisture, oxygen, temperature – you end up with pathogen-free compost that’s actually more nutritious for plants than what most people buy in bags at the garden center.
Now, I’m not saying I rushed out and built one of these systems in my backyard. Lord knows my neighbors already think I’m eccentric enough with my clothesline and vegetable garden. But I kept reading, partly because it reminded me of how resourceful my mother’s generation was, and partly because the waste from Robert’s final months – all those medical supplies and medications – had really opened my eyes to how much we throw away without thinking.
The more I learned, the more frustrated I got with our current system. We use clean, treated water – the same water we drink – to flush away waste. Then we send it through massive, expensive treatment facilities that use enormous amounts of energy and chemicals. And even after all that processing, the water still contains traces of pharmaceuticals and other contaminants that the systems can’t remove. Meanwhile, we’re stripping topsoil from farmland at alarming rates and buying synthetic fertilizers made from fossil fuels to replace the nutrients we’re literally flushing down the drain.
I found out there are people who’ve been doing humanure composting safely for decades. Not just in developing countries where it’s a necessity, but right here in America. Families in rural areas, intentional communities, even some municipal programs in progressive places. One system I read about in Vermont had been operating for twenty-five years with zero health incidents. They follow strict protocols – monitoring temperatures, aging the compost for two full years, using it only on non-food plants initially – but it works.
The legal situation is complicated, though. Most places don’t have specific laws against composting toilets, but they don’t exactly encourage them either. Health departments get nervous, understandably. Building codes assume you’re connecting to municipal sewer systems. Insurance companies probably wouldn’t know what to do with a claim related to a composting toilet. It’s one of those things that falls through the cracks of our regulatory system, which is set up around the assumption that everyone flushes and forgets.
What really gets me is how squeamish we’ve become about our own bodily functions. I mean, farmers have been using animal manure to fertilize crops for thousands of years. We think nothing of spreading cow manure on gardens. But mention human waste and everyone acts like you’re suggesting something perverted. It’s the same biological process, just with different social taboos attached.
I started talking to some of the other women in my environmental group about this – carefully, because I didn’t want them to think I’d completely lost it. Turns out several of them had heard of composting toilets, mostly in the context of off-grid cabins or RVs. Nobody had seriously considered it for regular residential use, but a couple were intrigued by the resource conservation aspect.
Mary, who’s about my age and lost her husband six years ago, said something that really resonated with me. “You know, Donna, when I think about the legacy our generation is leaving, it’s not a good one environmentally. Maybe it’s time we stopped being so precious about what’s gross and started being more concerned about what’s wasteful.”
The technical aspects aren’t that complicated once you get past the ick factor. The basic principle is the same as any composting system – create conditions where beneficial microorganisms can break down organic matter while generating enough heat to kill pathogens. You need the right carbon-to-nitrogen ratio, adequate moisture, proper aeration, and time. Lots of time. Good humanure systems age the compost for at least a year, often two, before using it.
There are different designs depending on your situation. Simple bucket systems that work for single people or small families. Larger bin systems for communities. Even fancy manufactured units that look more like regular toilets but don’t use any water. Some separate urine from solid waste, which apparently makes the whole process more manageable and less smelly.
The safety protocols are actually more rigorous than most people follow for regular gardening. Temperature monitoring with actual thermometers and logbooks. Strict hygiene practices. Careful site selection away from water sources. Using the finished compost only on ornamental plants, not food crops, at least initially. Hand washing stations. These aren’t casual backyard projects – they require commitment and attention to detail.
I’ve been following some online forums where people share their experiences with different systems. The learning curve is real. People make mistakes, especially early on – not maintaining proper temperatures, inadequate carbon addition, poor site drainage. But the ones who stick with it and follow proper protocols seem genuinely enthusiastic about the results. Rich, dark compost that makes their plants thrive. Dramatic reductions in water usage. A sense of closing the loop on their own waste stream.
Would I actually install one? Honestly, I’m not sure. At my age, taking on a project like this feels like a big commitment. And living alone in a suburban neighborhood, it might be more trouble than it’s worth. The social awkwardness alone would be considerable. Imagine trying to explain to the plumber why you don’t need your toilet connected anymore.
But I think it’s important that we talk about these alternatives, even if they make us uncomfortable. Our current waste management system is unsustainable in multiple ways. The water usage, the energy consumption, the infrastructure costs, the pollution. We can’t keep pretending that flushing something makes it disappear.
My generation grew up thinking technology would solve all our problems. Better living through chemistry, endless growth, unlimited resources. We were wrong about a lot of that. Maybe it’s time to look backward as well as forward for solutions. To remember that our grandparents’ generation managed their waste streams in ways that were actually more sustainable than what we do now.
Emma still brings up humanure composting sometimes when she visits. Last time she was here, she said her college is actually installing composting toilets in one of the new dormitories as part of their sustainability initiative. Students have to attend training sessions on proper use and maintenance. “It’s really not that weird once you understand the science, Grandma,” she told me. “It’s just another form of recycling.”
Maybe she’s right. Maybe the weird thing is that we take perfectly good organic matter, mix it with clean water, and send it away to become someone else’s problem instead of turning it into something useful. When you think about it that way, composting toilets start to seem less crazy and our current system starts to seem pretty wasteful.
I’m not ready to tear out my bathroom and start monitoring compost temperatures just yet. But I’m glad people are experimenting with these systems and proving they can work safely. Because eventually, we’re going to need alternatives to flushing everything away with drinking water. The sooner we get over our cultural squeamishness and start treating waste as a resource, the better off we’ll all be.
