W e l c o m e t o T h e F i e l d L a b
"What's in a name? that which we call a rose
by any other name would smell as sweet..."
A story goes that in this line Shakespeare was also making a joke at the expense of the Rose Theatre. The Rose was a local rival to his Globe Theatre and is reputed to have had less than effective sanitary arrangements. The story goes that this was a coy joke about the smell.
What matters is what something is, not what it is called.
Shit happens....and guess what? I no longer flush my shit down with a couple of gallons of fresh water. Here in the desert, water is at a premium and so is my shit. Why dispose of two such precious commodities? I save every drop of water for drinking, cooking, and washing only. What goes "down the drain" from these efforts is called gray water and is recycled for immediate use in irrigation. Each lovely bowel movement is no longer flushed away - but composted to eventually supplement the barren desert soil for growing food. Perhaps pootatoes and poomatoes.
In this day and age you have less chance of getting sick from eating food grown in you own correctly composted shit than you do from eating vegetables from the FDA regulated food chain.