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The other morning I poked my head out the back door and spying the blue garbage bag I'd left out there the night before, I noticed something strange.

A hole had been torn into the side, and beside the hole were the half-dozen popsicle sticks I'd thrown in the bag the night before after bulldozing last year's frozen treats out of the bottom of the deep freeze.

The strange thing was they'd been all different colours when I threw them in there, stained purple, orange and red from popsicle juice.

Now, however, they were as clean as a whistle and arranged in a neat little pile beside the bag, as if a meticulous little pair of hands had carefully placed them there.

And now let us go back in time a few weeks, to Canada Day morning when I served a brunch to Wife No. 1 and our two darling teenaged Brats, all of whom dined on their usual pile of raw vegetables (yum yum) and barely-buttered toast while I nibbled delicately on my usual neat little pile of bacon-wrapped sausages.

Not to worry, I was eating healthy too, at least for dessert, which consisted of a perfect little mound of bright red strawberries taken from our own garden.

Which was also strange, because I've never planted strawberries.

As it happened I was out weeding the garden that very morning and had discovered the cluster of berries that ended up topping off our breakfast. They shone like a hidden treasure of rubies under a leafy shoot of basil.

I was appropriately amazed until I recalled that I had fertilized this year's garden entirely from the compost I maintain behind our garden shed. I must have thrown some overripe strawberries onto the pile a year or two earlier and a seed must have survived, producing a plant that eventually produced in turn a bumper crop of beautiful, organically grown berries.

Forgive me for labouring this long to get to the point, but the fact is these two strange events are related. Composting is great for the environment, great for your health and even brings some surprises.

However not all of them are pleasant surprises like the strawberries.

Although I'm careful never to throw meat or dairy products into the compost, I was surprised to learn that even fruit will attract the occasional critter.

I camped out on the back deck the night after the garbage bag raid.

And I caught a young raccoon in the act of inspecting the same bag again, no doubt in hopes of finding another delicious pile of popsicle sticks.

No doubt also that he was attracted to our yard in the first place because of the fruit I'd thrown atop the compost a few days earlier; at least that's where he appeared from the following night.

Since the neighbours are unlikely to welcome our little raider -- in fact in conversation with some of them recently it seems we are getting more wildlife than usual in the neighbourhood this summer -- I've taken to burying fruit and any other potential treats whenever I throw them on the pile.

It seems to have solved the problem, except it has created a new one.

Now I miss the little devil.

n City Views appears daily, written by various members of our staff. Rod Allen is an assistant managing editor with The Times & Transcript.