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The environment loses some weight…

Finally, some extra pounds I can live with.

For sake of argument, let’s say my average daily haul of picked up trash is … 2 pounds. The volume by weight can vary wildly (the variables are hard plastic and glass). But a couple of pounds is pretty close.

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

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

I walk, on average, five days per week. Now, as years of disappointed math teachers could sorrowfully attest, my computation skills are slim at best but even these figures are easy for me: 2 x 5 = 10 pounds of junk per week.

By extension, 10 x 52 weeks = 520 lbs. 520 lbs. x 3 years of picking garbage up = 1,560 lbs. of trash forcibly removed from the sidewalk / street / downstream ecosystems.

There are two ways to look at the raw totals. One, that’s a lot of litter. But, two, it’s only one 2.5 mile loop in a huge metropolitan area with thousands of miles of unkempt streets.

That’s not math I’m terribly comfortable computing. The totals would be mind boggling. At some point I’ll reach one ton of stuff picked up one ounce at a time; it’s the remaining tonnage out there that bothers me. Given that, my one ton will earn only a muted celebration.

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.

1 Comment on The environment loses some weight…

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