Trash Day

Sooner or later, if you maintain an acreage property along a busy road, you get to knock off the inglorious task of trash patrol. It isn't fair and it isn't right, but some folks just seem predisposed toward littering.

Over the years I've found a wide assortment of items. There's the old standards like beer and pop cans and the less frequent items like womens' undies and a full set of men's clothes.

At the base of the power poles, there's always a lot of shattered wine and beer bottles -- debris from some sort of high speed game where the participants hurl empty beverage containers from a fast moving vehicle. The high point must go to the joker who hits the power pole.

There are cigarette packs, too, and cigarette butts -- God help us if one ever starts a range fire. Nails and washers must rattle off construction vehicles, bouncing along the asphalt until they land at the edge of Sweetgrass.

Some items have been keepers, like the huge quartz crystal we scored following a big concert up the road. The event drew people from as far away and New York and Florida -- tie-dyed, sandal-footed, dreadlocked, crystal-packing young 'uns. Occasionally, I can hardly believe my good fortune. Like the time I found a perfect intact crystal glass, one I now use as a vase.

So this morning, my friend, Eric Robles, and I set out to patrol one of the Sweetgrass borders. We were in search of trash and a story. The road did not disappoint.

Our first stop netted an entire bag of tortilla chips (mostly uneaten), two empty cigarette packs, one Marlboro and one Camel, a Sprite pop can, and lots of cigarette butts. As Eric and I bantered back and forth, we began to contruct a profile of the person who had left us their trash.

Further up the road, there was a towel, lots of broken glass, an empty take out box, the remains of a fast food barbecue sauce, various pieces and parts of things mechanical, a sticker package, and some rusted out poultry fencing.

"She's a tortilla-eating, cigarette smoking, bad-to-the-bone granny who dies her hair red using Kool-Aid," I said.

"Yeah, and she likes to dip her tortilla chips in barbecue sauce," Eric added.

"She speeds past Sweetgrass on a motorbike and throw her empties at the power pole."

"The bike has lost a part or two and is decorated with spike-collard Chihuahua stickers. Granny wears black rubber gaskets for rings on her fingers."

"What do you think her name is?"

"I don't know."

"It's gotta be Gert. Gert keeps killer turkeys behind rusted bit of this old poultry fencing."

Trash day. A day where the inglorious task of picking up litter takes on a whole new life.