How to Be Somebody

In springtime, a middle-aged writer's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of... roadside cleanup.

The snows, such as they were, have receded.  The forsythia is in bud; daffodils are poking their heads up, dotting the woods with little golden suns; the creeping myrtle is forming a purple carpet.  And every time I drive home, I look out my car window and my pleasure in the glory of springtime is diminished by the dismaying sight of  the  fugly mess next to the road.  Bottles.  Cans.  Plastic bags.  Bits of smashed car mirror. Plastic flower pots.  Bicycle tires.  Paper.  Candy wrappers. Fast food debris.  It's pretty disgusting.  Every time I've looked at it, I've thought, "Somebody ought to pick that crap up."

Well, you can only think that so many times before it dawns on you.

"Hey - I'm somebody."

Today I decided to be the somebody who does something about the trash, instead of somebody who only complains about it and blames those badly-brought-up hooligans who threw it there.  Should whoever tossed that plastic Dunkin' Donuts Iced Coffee cup with the straw still in it out of their car window come back and pick it up?  Yeah, no doubt.  But what do you think the chances are that it's going to happen?  Yeah, that's what I think, too.

So I suited up and showed up.  In my case, that meant jeans, rubber boots, a long-sleeved sweatshirt, gardening gloves with rubber palms, and a clasp to keep my hair out of my face.  Equipment: A bunch of heavy-duty black garbage bags, a large plastic bucket that formerly held spackle (now suitable for mopping, or for collecting garbage from far back in the woods where you don't want your plastic bag to snag on a bramble and rip open), and a couple of clear recycling bags for intact bottles and cans that aren't too dirty to recycle.

I parked my car on a safe pull-off on one of the strips of road that has annoyed me most.  This is a patch of municipal land that has a lot of NO TRESPASSING signs - something to do with the water company.  Naturally, it is a favorite place for beer parties.  Naturally, if you're going to ignore the NO TRESPASSING signs, chances are you will also ignore everything you've been taught about being a good citizen and taking your garbage with you when you leave.  Especially when you've had a lot of beer.  I can tell you with some authority that Coors is the preferred brand of the underage litterbug.

I found some interesting stuff.  Among other things, I found two debit cards and a state-issued ID, all belonging to the same woman, right next to the highway. My guess? Somebody boosted a wallet and tossed everything they didn't want out the window at 60 mph. I also found 6 cents and a little green Monopoly house.  But mostly what I found was beverage containers of all kinds.  Lots of plastic. Lots of glass. A couple of extra-nasty finds were the Poland Spring bottles filled with sloshy yellow liquid. Really?  You couldn't wait till you got home to throw your kid's pee bottle away?

The thing I found that made me happiest about the fact that I had decided to undertake this task, however, was the broken glass.   Most of it was a little further into the woods, generally in an area where there had obviously been a campfire and some drinking games.  A lot of it was next to rocks.  Apparently, getting drunk and throwing your bottles at a rock to hear the jolly, jolly smash is a thing.

Only, what I was thinking was, it's not so jolly if you happen to be an animal running around in the woods.

We have lived here two years. In that time, I have seen: Foxes, raccoons, opossums, squirrels, chipmunks, deer, groundhogs, coyotes, geese, ducks, wild turkeys, and not a few outdoor cats.

None of these animals is going to think about slowing down to look for broken glass if it happens to be running.  None of these animals is going to have on stout work boots to protect its feet.  An animal that cuts itself on shards of broken glass is going to be in pain and will suffer horribly for no other reason than that a human being was careless, selfish and irresponsible in that animal's natural habitat.  At best, it will limp along, hurting, while the wound slowly heals, and hopefully it will not be so badly injured that it can't forage for food.  At worst, the cut will get infected and the animal will die a slow, agonizing death, or, if it's lucky, maybe only (only!) lose the limb.  It doesn't have the option of going to the local Urgent Care facility, griping about the high deductible it has to pay under Obamacare.

So it was with immense satisfaction that I picked up every glittering dagger of broken green, brown, clear glass I found twinkling like diamonds in the rich, loamy earth.

The Jewish sage Maimonides posited that one of the highest levels of charity is to "give without knowing to whom one gives, and without the recipient knowing from who he received. For this is performing a mitzvah solely for the sake of Heaven."  I will never know which animals I saved from coming to grievous harm by picking up all that broken glass today.  And they will never know that they were even in danger, much less that one human being went out of her way to make their habitat a little bit safer.  And this is exactly how it should be.

I started working at 11:00 a.m., and by the time I got home, ravenous for lunch and leaving four enormous black trash bags that were too heavy to move by the side of the road (I had called the Highway Department earlier and was told that a work order to pick up the bags would be issued if I would call in to tell them where I'd left them, so that's what I did) it was 2:00 p.m.  I called the Highway Department, and also the Police Department (ah, you'd forgotten all about those debit cards, hadn't you?)  The Police Department, upon hearing that I'd been Good Citizening away, obligingly sent a squad car to my house to pick up the cards when I said I was too tired and grubby to bring them to the precinct till after I'd cleaned up and had a bite to eat.  (Incidentally, I was not too tired to notice that we have some very good-looking police officers around here. I'm talking Central Casting.) After I handed over the cards, in the hope that the lady they belong to will be glad to get them back,  I sat down, put my feet up, and enjoyed a salad the size of my head and an extra strong cup of coffee.

I felt I had earned it.