There once lived a man who made fertilizers. He did so, rain or shine, every single day.
He would pay much attention to the raw materials for his fertilizers. Some of them came from far away places all over the world, acquired with great difficulty and cost. And some he grew in his garden with painstaking care.
He would go through great lengths everyday to prepare these raw materials. Cleaning, chopping, grinding, pounding, juicing, fermenting, and even transforming them with fire.
After the tedious preparation, he would feed the materials into his fertilizer machine. This fantastic and elaborate system would first shred and crush the inputs before putting them through a series of composting chambers. Now, these compost chambers are state-of-the-art. Each has its unique solutions and mix of micro-organisms to aid the composting process, all while maintaining the perfect temperature and moisture. The machine works round the clock and tirelessly composts whatever the man feeds it.
In a day or two, the fertilizer would be ready. And because of his daily consistency with the inputs, the machine churned out fertilizers every single day, rain or shine.
The man’s fertilizer was legendary, stuff that plants would kill for. Grandma plants would tell stories of this black gold to their grandkids, and the kids would dream and salivate in their sleep.
To entice him, the flowers would preen themselves and stand at their prettiest. Flirtatiously they would signal, “Sir, come stay for a moment or two. Let your eyes feast on our beauty, and while you are at it, be kind and spare us a bit of your wonderful fertilizer.”
The trees chose a different strategy, bearing sweet juicy fruits or fatty nuts to woo him through his stomach. All sorts of colours and shapes would be dangled within reach, if only he would divert from his usual walking path.
Yet, every single day, rain or shine, the man would bring his fertilizer to a dedicated secret chamber in a corner of his house. Once inside, he would lock the door. With deep concentration and silence, he would then put the fertilizer into a white glossy ceramic bowl. Some times they come in a fast-release nitrogen-rich liquid form, other times they come in a pungent slow-release solid form. After they are all in the bowl, he would pour a generous amount of crystal clear drinking water on to his fertilizer. With a loud swoosh, the water would flow into an outlet, bringing the fertilizer with it. At its new home, the fertilizer would be beyond the reach of all plants, all of whom yearn for a drop of this gold. Contented, the man would leave the secret chamber and tirelessly continue making his fertilizers, every single day, rain or shine.
This is a children’s fable from the future, during an age where humanity has learnt to live harmoniously with the other beings they share their home with. The man’s white glossy ceramic bowl, commonly known as a toilet bowl, will soon be (hopefully) under exhibition at the soon to be built Ecocide Museum.