I felt restless, unable to connect with the life around me, so I trekked home, planning to bring gloves and a sack next time.
That brings me to Thursday. No sun, on this day before a storm, but I went to the woods anyway. I filled one sack just at the opening of the trail. A chain keeps cars out, so the persons who toss their single-shot bottles of Lord Calvert, super-charged caffeine drink cans, cigarette butts, and fast food containers around the trail head are folks who don't want to be separated from the anonymity of their cars.
With the green glass -- at least what I had found of it -- safely in my sack, I sat on the hummock to enjoy the scene. The edge of the wetland was less dramatic, now, with the spring flood waters receded almost out of sight. Before long, the high-pitched "yap, yip yap" of three tiny, bouncy dogs announced the arrival of more humans. This mother and daughter team told me that they often pick up trash on Wayland's woods trails. One time they collected enough that the town agreed to come pick up the pile. The mom said it is a specialty of certain young citizens to insert broken beer bottles, jagged edge up, in the dirt of a trail. Why? Who dares to guess. But the practice does make life much less pleasant for dogs and owners.
Having cleaned up one entrance, I left by another. I saved half of one bag to pick up trash along my own road. The wildlife refuge woods by the river seems just as vulnerable to litterbugs. I was tired by the time I reached home. See the results of my first trash pick-up below. But not to leave you on that downer note, I'll add another photo, that of one of the noble beech trees in my beauty spot.
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| One day's collection -- and a partial one at that. |
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| Beech trees, with their spectacular roots, seem related to elephants. |
1 comment:
Hello Sara!
Your litter incident reminds me of a day we took my Mom out and about. Melody has such fond memories of this day (as do I!) It was the day that I posted all those photos on Facebook, with the video of Melody pumping water in Cornish.
We had gone to see Colcord Pond, because someone at Richards work told him it had dried up- which of course was the FARTHEST thing from the truth. We soon ventured our way over to the Covered Bridge in Porter, where our bottle pickin extravaganza ensued.
We decided to take the old dirt road back to Cornish, which is prime opportunity to peruse for returnables.
Richard was at the helm of our minivan, poised and ready to hit the brakes at a moments notice. I was riding shotgun. Melody and Mom were in the back. All eyes focused on the ditches. Once one was spotted, Mom would get out and retrieve the bounty, (unless it was in the woods, then the torch was handed to Melody)! We had such fun that day!
I have since concluded, if I'm going to take my Mom anywhere, we'd better bring something to put her collections in, because no Earth-bound beverage receptacle stands a chance when Mom is on the loose! And I see THAT Apple doesn't fall far from the tree!
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