When Laughter is More Important
Copyright 2026 by Lori-Ann Willey
For those who’ve known us since we bought camp in
2004, you know we’re on our second Sun‑Mar composting toilet system. The first
one was the Sun‑Mar 1000, and that lasted a dozen‑or‑so years, right up until
Paul went to “turn” the drum while it was still frozen one late spring day, and
snapped off a few necessary components. Liking the system, we replaced it with
the Sun‑Mar 2000.
The setup is simple. It has an above‑floor toilet at handicap height. Beneath the camp, everything falls, plops, drips, and runs into a large drum that holds it all.
Every few days, we “turn” (rotate) the contents to keep it loose instead of caking up, so it’ll compost. The company suggests its own additives to help keep things loose and break down faster. We tried a few variants, but ultimately went with our own additives — some of which I make — and that’s been a blessing. No more “too soupy,” “too dry,” “stinky,” or “fly‑infested” issues. The end-product is nicely composted poops that I wheelbarrow off to age for a couple of years before using it as manure in the gardens. Aging two years lets any harmful pathogens break down into safeness. Ideally, it’s ready after the first year, but I like to age it two to three. If I didn’t make so much compost otherwise, I
may use the humanure sooner, but I’m in no hurry to.
When we “turn the toilet,” it aerates everything, and every few weeks we empty the tray until the drum is nearly emptied, leaving some good microbes behind to start the next batch. So that’s how that works.
Now, let me hone in a little further. The last six‑ish inches of the drum handle don’t fix in place. If you let go, it drops straight down like in the picture on the right. There isn’t much room down there to turn the thing in a comfortable position, so having a flippy‑floppy handle that drops out of the way is great when you’re not using it. But that doesn’t mean flippy‑floppy is the easiest to use while turning toilet poops in an enclosed area to protect it from the elements.
Before the rains came, I went outside to do the deed. I settled in and was ready to talk as I recorded the process for those who wanted to see it firsthand. Well, once I got situated, I was too close to show anything, so after ten seconds all you’d hear was noise. I said “frig that,” set my phone down, and commenced the turning. I can show another day
without a video.
It takes six revolutions for the barrel to make one full turn. To mix things thoroughly, it needs six full turns — so, thirty‑six revolutions of that awkward handle and awkward body position. There’s no stink, and I can’t smell anyway, so that’s a non‑issue. I turned six times until I heard the click that means one full turn. Then I stopped to reposition my knees for a better angle.
Well, that “better angle” wasn’t better at all.
My hair was in a long ponytail, and when I started feeling a slight tug, release, tug again motion, I figured maybe my hair pinched between my hand and the composting toilet container, so, I kept going — until the ponytail started pulling my head closer. I reached up to move it out of the way and it wouldn’t budge. I knew exactly what happened. Flashback to when my hair got stuck in a Walmart cart
wheel. If you haven’t read that
story, lemme know. I’ll repost.
Instinctively, I gave a gentle pull, thinking, “Okay, my hair is wound up, so I should be able to pull it free, and it’ll unwind all smooth‑like.” It didn’t. I quickly turned the handle in the opposite direction to unwind. Gave another gentle pull. Still stuck. So I reversed a few more times before my ponytail finally flopped into my face. PHEW!
Jeepahs. That could’ve turned out bad for my hair. I was already looking around for something sharp to cut it. I’d’ve been fine with a crew cut for the summer, actually. My hair gets sooo hot. Paul was inside already, in bed with suppah and watching TV, so I could’ve been down there a while if the reverse turn hadn’t worked. I’m lucky it did.
In the end, I had to laugh — even though the mosquitoes were feasting on every inch of my body. When I came back inside and told Paul what happened, he was up getting a second serving of suppah. Stitched‑up gut and all, I thought he’d rip everything open trying not to laugh. He scrunched is belly up so small. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him bend over that far to avoid incision pain just so he could laugh.
Life off the grid keeps life interesting.
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