The biggest losers…

Posted on May 18, 2013 by Dave Bradley in Uncategorized // 0 Comments

Most days I do some silent, presumptive accusations about who’s responsible for most of the trash I pick up. The real onus falls on the tosser, of course, but the only name to be attached is that of the brand. Losers, they are adjudged.

The temptation is to the label object or the moron who threw it away as the biggest losers. In truth, it's the rest of us who have lost the most. We have lost another bit of a clean environment and a path that is

This morning’s take of trash plucked from the wayside along the sidewalks of my route. The temptation is to label the object or the moron who threw it away as the biggest losers. In truth, it’s the rest of us who have lost the most. The discards cost us another bit of a clean environment and the visual serenity of an uncluttered path.

One day it might be McDonalds, Burger King the next, Wendy’s on occasion. On the bottle and can side, it’s either Coke or Bud Light, perhaps Miller Lite. To single out a few.

But to paraphrase Pogo (with apologies), ‘we have met the losers, and it is us.’

About Dave Bradley (264 Articles)

I was a writer by trade so one would think letters would come easily for me. It is so now, but wasn't always that way. Indeed, the first letter was written the Monday after Ellen started her freshman year in college. For years I've wondered - with no good answers - why I swiveled my office chair toward my computer screen to fire up a word processing document for that first letter. I just don't know. I just did. Perhaps it was the angst of separation or wanting to say things that had gone unsaid at that moment when we parted ways in front of her college dormitory. What was a one-off became habitual. When her brother Reid enrolled in the same college, his name was added to the salutation line. They were kids then and are adults now. No matter. The letter writing habit remains so today. I live in Brevard, North Carolina. I'm well away from where they live and don't see them nearly as often as I'd like. That's why letters, at least to me, fill the void of distance. The pages give me something to say and the space to say it. There is no assurance they read the letters; indeed, I have never asked if they do so. With the pace of their busy lives who could blame them for letting a letter sit unopened? Over time, it has dawned on me that the letters are both communicative - and cathartic. By nature, letters are about the writer; the writer can only write about their situation. Perhaps that is as it should be. It's all about the here and now from one person's perspective.

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I don’t know how many bags of junk I’ve picked up and photographed. 600?

One of the banes of our existence: plastic in its many forms.

Even car wrecks contribute to plastic pollution.

Mini-bits of polystyrene college like snow.

The sheer volume is mind boggling … and this was the day after I’d already picked up another bagful on the same path.

How is it that fungi like the banks of a polluted stream?

Bob has a valid point. People don’t care or they would take some sort of action. I don’t know how to sway people in that direction other than to keep doing what me and others are doing – picking up after others.

I don’t blame people for not carrying a bag along with them. But I do know this – all it takes is removal of one plastic bottle or chunk of styrofoam to feel better about things.

This bag of weekend trash does not include plastic seen, but uncollected, along the banks of McMullen Creek. One day soon you’ll see a picture of that refuse sitting on my driveway.

There may be no connection between the floating mass of debris and this dead sea bird. Perhaps there is a connection. Given the volume of junk in the water, there may well be.

The number of pieces of plastic spotted floating by me in five or 10 minutes was beyond count. This is so disappointing to see. So disappointing.

How money finds the street and curb beats the hell out of me, but it’s all sitting in a cigar box right now.

In some ways, it’s merciful that Sherry didn’t get out of her car to shoot a close up. Then again, she could’ve parked a few blocks – or a mile away – and pretty much captured the same putrid scene.

Here’s what two bags look like in all their glory. Not eve my anger about this morning’s haul were enough to keep me warm.

Here’s this morning’s grotesque haul – about 10 lbs. of someone else’s junk.

My Saturday haul was typical by my standards. But given the sheer volume of trash along Hwy. 9 west of Lancaster, SC, this wouldn’t even be a good start.

Sherry is right: I’m not in this alone. There are others – you, maybe? – who are part of the movement to simply keep our paths/roadsides a little cleaner.

Quite the Christmas trove of trash. Not the best of gifts for Mother Earth.

I didn’t dare empty this bag, lest the peanuts blow away in the wind.

I ruined the good samaritan’s holiday surprise but I’ll try to recapture their intent with a replacement bag.

It’s no longer a stretch for me to envision this junk in the Atlantic Ocean. This litter may try to escape containment, but not on my watch.

Hey, it wouldn’t be a blog on litter if there wasn’t at least one photo: here’s one week’s worth of junk set out for the recycling truck.

Sherry has seen slobbery first hand on more than one road/street in South Carolina.

Post-dump on driveway. If records were kept, this would be it.

Pre-dump on driveway. No way this bag could hold another thing.

I suppose one reason to give thanks is that this junk has a new home in my recycle bin.

This precise contents of this morning’s three bag bounty won’t be known until it is strew across my driveway for the usual photo op.

I worked my buns off in the cold for this morning’s gigantic stash of trash. But a promise is a promise to my path, to the environment, to me, and to you, too.

It’s not about the volume of trash, it’s that it’s there at all … as Sherry shows us.

Given this morning’s temps, it was a cold hands-warm heart kind of effort. Cold weather or not, it’s still the best time of the week for me.

I’ve been derelict about recycling this week’s trove of trash. Time to get down and dirty.

Your photos can be one-offs like this abandoned water bottle. Most anything you send will be welcome.

Stonewall Street in Uptown Charlotte is a popular gathering place for junk.

The corridor along I-77 collects more than its share of little and junk.

Trash is an a-political issue. It knows no sides, no ideology. It shouldn’t be where it is, and I’m damned committed to getting it the hell out of the way.

Recycling bins are only a few short feet away along the Light Rail tracks in Uptown.

The residue of the post-dumping. What started out as a celebratory walk was tempered by the sheer volume of what was along my route.

This morning’s full bag before the ceremonial dumping out on the driveway.

The sounds – but not the sights – of my litter pick up efforts will be broadcast tomorrow on WFAE.

It’s too wet this morning to dump the bag’s contents onto the driveway. That will wait for drier conditions.

No doubt some of the junk seen here is produced by the companies hoping to see some of that refuse recycled and reused.

Charlotte’s going to do even less than it was doing to pick up litter. They’ll scale back to sweeping streets only on weekends. Alas, my duty is at least six days a week.

Tonight’s haul seemed to be overwhelming tilted toward plastic. Maybe I’m just dreaming that up. How’s that different from any other day?

There’s a simple answer to why the residue of my daily walk always ends up unceremoniously dumped on my driveway: Because this junk shouldn’t have to be picked up in the first place.

You gotta help me understand what goes through the minds of idiots who would flick this junk aside. My guess of what they think about: no much.

We all have our weak points. I guess I’ve made a persistent habit of pointing out the faults of others.

This morning’s lurid pile of junk was a little sweeter, thanks to Erik from the Marathon station.

Two bags full this morning leaves me to wonder about a lot of things.

Today’s two bins of recycled materials don’t impact the bees and butterflies – but one would suppose it’s all part of the larger environmental picture, don’t you think?

Beyond the turtle and the owl, not much was memorable about today’s trek. This bagful of junk isn’t worth remembering.

Here it is – the residue of seven days in May. But I goofed when it comes to picking up after goofs – I should have spread the pile out to capture the true scope of this one-path disaster.

Seven bags in seven days. It’s an easy 20 lbs. of garbage.

This isn’t today’s haul. It’s from an excursion last week when my modo was far better. There would be no pictures today as I recovered from my snit.

Bags don’t get much fuller than this. I’m saving up a week’s worth of bags to see what seven days in May will look like when dumped out onto my driveway. Yikes!

To be honest, I had second thoughts about venturing out on Christmas morning. But every piece that ends up in my hands won’t end up in the stomach of another creature.

It didn’t take long to find out what killed this whale – and other whales before it. We are the culprits.

Carelessness apparently isn’t a seasonal thing.

Lots of bags, mostly filled with polystyrene. F-bombs when I picked it up, F-bombs when I dropped it off at home.

No doubt the chain link fence is intended to keep materials in – but not the smallish pieces of easily disintegrated polystyrene. I’ve been the de facto clean up force.

This could be a normal sight if this was Minnesota in December. But this is North Carolina on a 50F day. Polystyrene blows freely and collects in these wretched mini-drifts.

Then there is the usual and sundry suspects. A fairly typical weekend morning haul.

This wreckage means someone didn’t have a very good day. My Saturday, though, was pretty good: it means more plastic was taken out of circulation.

I may make it a practice to bag the litter of others, but I have my own environmental baggage, too.

Even in the dark hours, my 2.5 mile route is still worth a bagful of litter.

Three days of walked wrapped up in a plastic bag. I’m not sure you want to see the individual items. Suffice to say, it’s just one hell of a mess.

Pollution is pollution is pollution. We either rein it in or eventually fall prey to it. And to think I once voted for some Republicans. Never again.

Here’s the depressing inventory of my morning’s effort. It never cease to amaze me how slovenly Americans can be.

How is it that one 2.5 mile path can fill two bags to capacity?

It’s all too common for me to spy junk to be picked up from my car long before my daily walk commences.

The plastic Simply Orange bottle sits to the left in this picture. I’ll always pick up the pace for plastic (even if it kills my ankles).

Some welcome home. A solid bag and a half full of refuse.

It was a bag buster this morning, but of special import were the items pulled from the brink of storm drains. That is the apex of trash retrieval for me.

The bushy mound behind the green at Renaissance Park is the top portion of a landfill that completely filled a valley floor. The land was reclaimed as a golf course. Will there be further reclaiming in future years for this municipal golf course?

Bob made good on his intent to rid his path of junk. One item removed is still significant.

Despite the signage, the earth is not ‘for rent’. We’re merely borrowing it.

Unifi takes discarded bottles such as this one rescued from the brink of being washed down a storm drain and recycles them by the tens of millions and spins its magic into fabrics for warm clothing and auto upholstery, among other uses.

Unifi takes discarded bottles like this, recycles them by the tens of millions and spins its magic into fabrics for warm clothing and auto upholstery, among other uses.

The offending bottle that sparked a :15 mini-war of words.

A good week’s haul of trash removed from my path. It feels good to see the recycling man pick this up every Wednesday.

This isn’t today’s haul. Still too dark for a photo but it will be cataloged in this space soon enough.

This ones for you, Koch Brothers. As they say, some people are so poor, all they have is money. I’m talking to you, dudes.

Plastic – the bane of our existence. Useful purposes, yes, but unmanaged, it’s a threat to our water and, eventually, to us.

This is the gateway for much of the junk that ends up in McMullen Creek.

Lots of Miller Lite and Coors Light bottles and cans this morning. Disgusting but utterly predictable. A boozy Friday night removes common sense from those who ought to know better.

Okay, most of this junk was on the curb; if it rained hard, what is the possibility that all of this goes down a storm drain? Pretty high.

Some jerk dropped these butts off on Fairview Road at Phillips Place. Idiot.

Saturday’s haul. It’s 6:10 Sunday morning, and I’m about to head out the door, bag in hand, ready to do my thing.

This debris represents the blight that affects our neighborhoods. We have to do something about it. But we can’t expect someone to do it for us. We have to accept the responsibility on our own.

The sordid morning haul. I tire of this grind, but there is some solace in knowing it’s all destined for recycling and it won’t intrude on the environment any more than it already did.

There are things to do this morning – a breakfast about my upcoming trip to the Bridger followed by golf and later hosting 20 golfers at my house. I’ll dump this trove out later.

I was sweating my first weekend morning out, and for good reason. There’s no telling how many items were picked up among this 10 – 12 pound bonanza of litter.

Pick Up Your Path!

An environmental blog with a focus on your personal effort to keep our world clean

The biggest losers…

About Dave Bradley (264 Articles)

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