Well I’ve returned from another Sunday trip to the landfill and the family is starting to gain some interest in the things I’m finding.

I can recall a trip to the landfill with my father when I was about three years old. The appearance of an alien landscape the sweat smell of decay and the excitement of being somewhere new. The thing I recall most of this day was a small metal army vehicle that I had discovered half buried in the clay. It had been driven over and the back wheels were nowhere to be found. This was not a pristine find however I was determined to make it my own. I remember asking my father, “Can I keep it dad? Please!” His reply was something like, “No, you don’t want that piece of junk it’s filthy, and its broken. Throw it back.” I don’t fault my father for this response nor do I see this as a scaring moment that hurts to this day. No, I think my father’s response is very typical of the culture we live in. “It’s broken, then through it out” has replaced the time honored “It’s broken, then fix it”.


Even the boy is enjoying the reclaimed items.

1 comment:
On a visit to our local transfer station- where we take our trash before it goes to the incinerator- I saw a beautiful park bench covered in graffiti. It had AWESOME cast iron sides. It is illegal to take the "trash" and I was being closely watched by the workers there. It made me sick to leave it. Every time I go I get the same sick feeling as I look over the pile of garbage and see all the useful stuff that I actually WANT but cannot have. But I was never as disappointed as that day.
Post a Comment