Wiggle Power – Worms and the Underground Heroes of Rewilding

Before we dive into the squishy science and garden know-how, I thought I’d level with you—worms give me the ick.

Always have. Ever since I was a kid, those pale, wiggly bodies have made my stomach turn just a little. It’s nothing personal (though they do insist on showing up exactly where my hands are going during gardening). That boneless squirming? It’s not for me. I’ve never run screaming or stood on a chair clutching my pearls, but I have perfected the subtle recoil.

And yet, here I am, writing an entire blog about them.

Why? Because now I’m a dad. And I’ve realised I don’t want my daughter to inherit my wormy aversions. I want her to see these little soil noodles for what they really are—eco-heroes with squishy superpowers. So, I’m trying to lead by example. If a worm’s stranded on the patio, I’ll scoop it up. If she wants to name one Wiggles and keep it as a best friend for the afternoon, I’ll nod approvingly. Do I still shudder a bit inside? Absolutely. But that’s the price of progress.

So, in honour of the critters I’m learning to appreciate—and in the hopes that the next generation greets them with curiosity instead of revulsion—I’m kicking things off not with cold facts, but with a tribute. Because worms don’t get the slow-mo wildlife documentary treatment or their faces on tea towels… but they absolutely deserve a verse or two.

Ode to the Unsung Wigglers

(A Muddy Little Poem by Greg)

They don’t flutter like butterflies, graceful and neat,

Or buzz round the blossoms on summer-slick feet.

They don’t screech like the bats when the moon's on patrol,

Or dazzle on screens in a David Attenborough role.

You won’t find them stitched on a cute kitchen towel,

Or starring in books where the bright animals howl.

No plush toys, no stickers, no glittering fame

Just life in the dirt, where they work all the same.

They’re the wrigglers beneath, out of mind, out of sight,

Shovelling compost from morning till night.

No selfies, no sponsors, no big BBC deal,

Just munching through mulch with their unflashy zeal.

Through rainstorms and droughts, through frostbitten ground,

They’re grafting away without making a sound.

No moaning, no meetings, no union demands

Just silently bettering all of our lands.

So next time you dig and you spot one on show,

Give it a nod and a respectful "Hello."

For under your boots in that dark, muddy lair,

Is a hero at work with not one single care.

These unassuming little tubes of muscle are constantly breaking down dead stuff, mixing it into the soil, and engineering a healthy home for everything else. Without them, the whole system would slowly grind to a soggy, compacted halt. Plants would struggle. Insects would dwindle. Birds would move on. And your veg patch? Not a chance.

Yes its AI generated, I can't draw my ideas too well

In fact, if rewilding was a rock band, worms would be the bass players—down low, laying down the rhythm, keeping everything in time, and holding the whole thing together without ever demanding the spotlight. Not glamorous, but absolutely essential.

So today, we’re diving headfirst into the mud to give these underground legends the appreciation they deserve—and to find out how to turn your patch of earth into a proper wormy wonderland.

Because if rewilding is about making space for nature, it’s time we stopped ignoring the team working the graveyard shift… beneath our boots.

Life of a Worm: It’s Not All Dirt and Glory

 Let’s be honest—on the surface (literally), the life of a worm doesn’t seem that exciting. They don’t build nests, sing songs, or flap majestically into the sunset. But down in the soil, there’s a whole world of wormy wonder going on.

The UK is home to around 27 species of earthworm, and while they all look like slightly damp overcooked spaghetti, they’ve each got their own roles in the great underground orchestra.

They’re usually sorted into three broad groups:

• Surface dwellers (epigeic) – These are the party animals of the worm world. They hang out just under the leaf litter, munching through decomposing plant matter and breaking it down into nutrients for the soil. They’re small, red, and surprisingly fast (for a worm). You’ll find them in compost heaps and under logs, living their best mulchy lives.

• Topsoil dwellers (endogeic) – These pale, unassuming worms tunnel horizontally through the top few inches of soil, rarely showing their faces. They’re the behind-the-scenes crew, mixing organic matter into the soil and helping it stay loose and breathable. Basically, the backstage roadies of the garden ecosystem.

• Deep burrowers (anecic) – These are the real heavy lifters. Often large and dark in colour, they dig deep, vertical burrows and pull leaves down into their lairs like little muddy hoarders. You’ll rarely see them unless you’re digging, but they’re essential for deep aeration and water flow.

Now for a ‘fun’ bit of worm trivia: earthworms are hermaphrodites, which means every single worm has both male and female reproductive organs. No gender politics here—just efficient evolution. When they mate, two worms line up head-to-tail and swap sperm, then each one goes off to lay its own fertilised eggs in little lemon-shaped cocoons. A few weeks later, out pop a handful of mini worms, ready to start digging, wriggling, and generally improving the soil from day one.

Worms don’t raise their young or sing lullabies. No pushchairs, no school runs—just quiet growth and ceaseless tunnelling in the unending dark. Most species reach maturity in a couple of months and can live for several years, depending on conditions. That’s a long life for something with no eyes, no lungs, and a brain the size of a pinhead.

And what exactly are they doing down there all this time?

Well, as it turns out, quite a lot. Let’s talk about the real reason these little legends deserve our admiration (and maybe a free pass next time they turn up in the salad bed)...

What Worms Do (AKA: Why We Owe Them So Much)

 Earthworms are the architects, engineers, janitors, and waste management officers of the underground. They work unpaid overtime, never call in sick, and quietly keep the entire garden ecosystem ticking along like clockwork—all without a fuss.

Without worms, your compost heap would take forever to break down, your flower beds would start acting like concrete slabs, and your veg patch would be gasping for breath.

 Here’s how worms earn their keep:

• They aerate the soil – As worms wriggle their way through the earth, they create tiny tunnels that allow air, water, and nutrients to flow more freely. Think of it as natural tilling—with none of the backache. These passageways also help prevent soil compaction, meaning roots can stretch out comfortably instead of trying to punch through a brick.

• They recycle nutrients – Worms are the ultimate recyclers. They devour dead leaves, rotting roots, grass cuttings, and all the gubbins we’d rather not think about. What comes out the other end (called castings, if you want to sound posh) is basically supercharged compost—rich in nitrogen, phosphorus, potassium, and trace minerals that plants absolutely love.

• They help plants grow stronger – It’s not just anecdotal, either. Studies have shown that soils with active worm populations can boost plant growth by 25% or more. That’s thanks to the improved structure, drainage, and nutrient availability their presence brings. If worms ran a garden centre, they’d be raking it in.

• They support biodiversity – Those tunnels they dig? They’re not just handy for worms. Lots of other creatures take advantage of them—soil-dwelling beetles, fungi, bacteria, even the odd amphibian. Plus, worms themselves are an important food source for everything from robins and blackbirds to badgers and hedgehogs.

In short: take worms out the garden and it’s like a cuppa without milk—bleak, bitter, and one step away from emotional (and environmental) instability.

So now that we know worms are basically the unsung legends of the garden—quietly saving the day while we potter about watering our tomatoes—the real question is: how do we get more of them?

How to Encourage More Worms in Your Garden

 Want to turn your patch into a five-star resort for worms? Rolling out the red carpet doesn’t take much—just a few simple changes, a bit of patience, and a willingness to embrace a slightly scruffier garden. Your underground guests will love you for it.

Here’s how to make your garden worm-friendly:

• Ditch the chemicals – Worms aren’t keen on chemical cocktails. Pesticides, fungicides, and artificial fertilisers can mess with their squishy little systems or wipe out the microbes they feed on. Keep things natural, and your worms (and everything else) will thrive.

• Add mulch and compost – Think of organic matter as an all-you-can-eat buffet. A regular topping-up of leaf litter, grass clippings, shredded veg, or homemade compost gives worms both dinner and duvet. It also helps regulate soil temperature and moisture—a win-win.

• Let it rot – Got a scruffy corner with fallen leaves or a neglected pile of twigs? Perfect. What looks like mess to you is haute cuisine to a worm. Resist the urge to tidy everything. A little organised chaos goes a long way underground.

• Keep the soil moist – Worms breathe through their skin, which means they need damp conditions to survive. Dry soil = wheezy worms. Water your garden during heatwaves and droughts or lay down mulch to lock in that lovely moisture.

• Go easy on the digging – Every time you plunge a spade into the soil, there’s a chance you’re slicing through a worm or wrecking their underground handiwork. And no—despite playground rumours, cutting a worm in half doesn’t give you two worms. It just gives you one very bad day for a worm. If you can, embrace no-dig gardening. It’s kinder to the soil, gentler on the worms, and a lot easier on your spine too.

• Create a worm-friendly compost heap – If you don’t already have a compost pile, now’s the time. It acts like a magnet for surface and topsoil worms, providing food, shelter, and warmth in spades (but not the digging kind).

Aaaaand just like that, AI creates something to haunt my dreams... Great...

Give worms what they want—shelter, food, moisture, and peace—and they’ll pay you back in the richest, most fertile soil you’ve ever had. And they’ll do it quietly, too. How very British of them.

Compost Worms: Your Kitchen Waste Dream Team

 If you really want to go full worm-whisperer, let’s talk wormeries. Think of them as boutique hotels for a special breed of compost-hungry worms—Eisenia fetida, or as they’re more affectionately known, tiger worms or red wigglers. These little wrigglers aren’t into tunnelling like your average garden worm. No, they’re all about food. Kitchen scraps. A never-ending buffet of peelings, tea bags, and soggy paper towels.

A wormery is essentially a deluxe, self-contained compost palace. Perfect for patios, shady corners, or anywhere a traditional compost heap might attract too much local wildlife. Set one up properly and you’ll get a smell-free, mess-free little engine turning scraps into nutrient-rich vermicompost (fancy word for worm poo) faster than you can say “banana skin.”

It’s like magic. The compost that comes out the other end is crammed full of nutrients—rocket fuel for your veg beds, potted plants, and even houseplants if you’re feeling generous. And for kids, a wormery is basically a wiggly science lesson that doesn’t need batteries.

Building one isn’t rocket science either. Grab a plastic box with a lid (black ones are best as worms prefer it dark), drill a few holes for airflow and drainage, and add a second container underneath to catch the worm wee (or “leachate” if you want to sound like you wear a lab coat). Toss in some damp bedding—shredded paper, cardboard, or compost—and you’re ready to welcome your guests.

Tiger worms are the stars here—don’t just dig up garden worms; they’ll pack their bags. You can buy tiger worms online or nab some from a wormy friend. Introduce them gently, add a small handful of food scraps, and cover the lot with damp newspaper or an old hessian sack to keep it moist and cosy.

Pop the whole thing somewhere cool and shaded. Then, feed little and often—small bits chopped up work best. Skip the meat, dairy, citrus, and onion unless you want to be nose-punched every time you open the lid. If it gets too wet, add dry paper. Too dry? Give it a light mist.

Done right, a wormery is low-effort, low-cost, and oddly satisfying. It’s the ultimate proof that even your potato peelings can have a glamorous second act.

And honestly, who doesn’t love a good comeback story?

Here’s a good video on the process:

Final Wiggle: Confessions of a Worm Convert (Sort Of)

If you’d told me a few years ago I’d end up writing a love letter to worms, I’d have laughed (politely, of course), then quietly turned to my wife and mouthed, "There’s a strange person in our house making bizarre predictions—should we call someone?"

Worms have always given me the ick. There’s something about them that just triggers a deep, primal “no thanks” in my brain. They’re not scary, they’re not slimy, they’re just… unsettling. As I mentioned at the beginning of this blog post, I’ve got a daughter and this is her world now. It’s a strange concept that we’re not the main characters in our own lives. Everything around us, everything we do is for the generations after us. Or at least that should be how it is. I think a lot of people forget this…

The last thing I want is for her to pick up my preconceived shallow opinions on certain bugs and hate on these wonderous little critters for no reason other than “Dad finds them gross.” So, I’m faking it ‘til I make it. Scooping them up with as much dignity as I can muster and offering cheerful commentary like, “Look, squeak! He’s tilling the soil! Isn’t that brilliant?” while internally doing the psychological equivalent of dry heaving.

But honestly? The more I learn, the less I recoil. The more I focus on what they do instead of how they look, the more I realise they’ve been here all along, quietly working their magic under our boots while we fuss over bees and butterflies.

And that’s what this blog—and the whole Rewilding Rainford thing—is about: making space for the overlooked and underappreciated bits of nature.

So if, like me, you’ve ever side-eyed a worm and thought “ugh,” take this as your invitation to give them another look. Not just as garden gristle, but as the wiggly foundations of a thriving world.

They may not be pretty. They may not have merch. But they’ve got grit (and a surprising amount of charm once you get past the wiggling). And if I can learn to appreciate them, trust me… you absolutely can too.

Here's to the quiet ones, the soil-stirrers, the humble heroes of rewilding.

Let’s keep giving them room to wiggle. 🐛

P.S. Every Monday, I now post a simple rewilding challenge for parents and kids in our Rainford’s Rewilders group. It might be building a bug hotel, spotting bats at dusk, or yes—even going on a worm hunt. It’s all about tiny acts that build a bigger picture. Helping kids see magic where we might only see mud.