(Ok, Barbara, you asked for this…)
Warning: Worms were harmed in the making of this story.
The year was 1990-something. Janie and I were doing a garden study with our Pre-K class. It was Worm Week. I had read about a great experiment. Fill a jar with soil, place some worms on top, cover (with air holes), and wrap the jar in dark paper. By the end of the week we would remove the paper and be able to see that the worms had created tunnels all over the jar. On Monday of Worm Week, we made two such jars, and set them in the window and began our wait.
It was such a fun week! We dug for worms and began a worm bin out by the garden. We demonstrated how worms make compost by putting loops of tape all over the kids' bodies and let them wiggle through the recycling, mixing and moving the papers in a giant pile. They pretended to be baby birds as Janie and I "flew" to each of them with pieces of licorice dangling from our mouths to feed the chirping hatchlings. There was the great snack of chocolate pudding, with crushed Oreos on top and hidden gummy worms inside. We sang that Muppet song about the strange sound made by worms.
And then it was Friday, time for the unveiling of the worm tunnels. Before the students arrived I took a peek, and found the most disgusting stinky moldy mess of dirt and decomposing worms you've ever seen. They had been baked and melted by the sun in the window. We frantically cleaned the jars out, got fresh dirt, dug up new worms to put into the fake tunnels we made with pencils, and later "oohed" and "aahed" in amazement with the children.
But we knew the truth, I was a worm murderer.