Returning to the Cycle of Life: How Composting is an Act of Advocacy

By Dori Edwards

“One of the saddest things we see is leaves in trash bags,” says Executive Director of Compost Colorado, Noah Kaplan. “‘These trees worked so hard to make these leaves and then we put them in a trash bag, take them from the earth, and they never get back.’”

Composting—what we’ve most commonly come to know as a human act—is, at its heart, an ancient process between earth, nature, and countless wild organisms. Long before we gave it a name, decomposition was happening all around us: when plants and animal life die, bacteria, fungi, and other microorganisms in the soil organically break them down and, in the process, release nutrients back into the ecosystem. This natural alchemy creates humus, a nutrient-rich soil essential for the foundation of life and the next generation of wild things to come. The transmutative essence of composting provides a critical threshold, an essential spoke in the wheel of everything, as it transforms death into a birthplace.

But somewhere along the way, we interrupted this circle.

Organic matter—food scraps, fallen leaves, plant trimmings—needs moisture and oxygen to complete the cycle. When we place this material into plastic bags and send it to landfills, we remove oxygen from the equation entirely. Without oxygen, the dying material ferments instead of decomposing, producing methane gas—one of the most potent greenhouse emissions we face today. In fact, landfills create more methane than the airline industry. It is staggering to consider how something as small and everyday as throwing away a bag of leaves can ripple out into the atmosphere.

And yet, this is how systems built on extraction operate. They normalize disconnection. We see evidence of this habit etched across landscapes: toxic lakes, empty mines, clear-cut forests where there was once prolific aliveness. Even the belief that fallen leaves are a nuisance rather than nourishment reflects a deeper wound—a societal forgetting of our place in the earth’s rhythmic universe. These scars are symptoms of a relationship founded upon taking. Taking, taking, and more taking. But it’s not only the planet we have taken from. We have also inadvertently taken ourselves and our belonging from the nutrient cycle of life, building walls inside a system that was once easeful, efficient, and genius in its design. And we’ve managed to do this with something as thin and malleable as plastic.

Robin Wall Kimmerer often speaks about returning to a reciprocal relationship with the earth—one where we show gratitude through action, and recognize that as participants in the web of everything, we have the power to give back to what gives so freely to us. “Return” might be the most hopeful word here. For, we have done this before, which means we can do it again. It’s not about perfection; it’s about remembering and reconnecting.

Noah Kaplan agrees that compost is one of the clearest ways we can enact this reciprocity. “Compost shows that we value plants, because plants can’t grow in diluted soil, and when we grow plants, we are talking about habitats and the wellbeing of birds and rodents and larger animals. The foundation of life is soil,” he says.

At Compost Colorado, they say: “We complete the cycle.” And it’s true. The simple, accessible act of composting is one of the most tangible ways we can rejoin the circle of life we’ve unintentionally stepped out of—a removal caused not by personal choice, but by systems that have long felt too big to change. The hopeful news is this: compost is something we can change. It’s small, doable, and deeply impactful. It is kitchen-sink activism with planetary-level consequences. It is a practice that proves our individual actions matter, and that climate solutions are not always grand or distant—they can be humble, daily, and deeply human.

So, what can we do—right now, this holiday season and beyond?

Start your own composting bin.
Do a bit of research about what works best in your environment, whether that is a backyard pile, a tumbler, or an indoor system.

Work with organizations like CoCo.
For homes, businesses, and communities, Compost Colorado offers a variety of compost totes they’ll pick up from your curb or at designated drop-off sites. They transport your food waste to a facility where it is helped back into soil—soil they return to members in the spring, completing the loop in a way that mirrors life’s own cycle.

Leave the leaves and organic matter in your yard.
These bits of life are not a mess; they are meals and shelter for fungi, insects, birds, and so many others.

Consider leaving dead trees and stumps.
Woodpeckers rely on dying trunks to excavate cavities, creating miniature ecosystems that countless species depend on.

Listen to the most recent episode of our podcast- The Curious Bird

In the episode, we speak with Noah Kaplan and take a deep dive into the realities and possibilities of compost! 

Every one of these acts—small, accessible, grounded in everyday life—helps repair the circle. As Noah said, “We need to take an active role as human beings who have really colonized the natural world. We have to steward the earth. And it starts with soil and making sure that food waste goes back to where it belongs.”

This is hopeful work. This is empowering work. And it begins right on the Earth where we stand.