The Riveter | Farm To Travel
There were worse days in Colombia than the one I spent collecting horse manure. I ran around an equestrian military base in the southwest of Colombia, wearing striped pants gifted to me by a clown, with a Chilean guy, an Argentinian guy and some local farmers. We picked up dry, grassy clumps of dung to put into our deliciously rotting compost.
“Alejandra, over here!” Juan, the Argentinian, shouted, “It’s fresh!”