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It’s not the weight, it’s the volume…

So, the other day as I dumped yet another bag of refuse on my driveway, it occurred to me ‘How much of this is recyclable vs. what goes to the landfill?’

Of course, I try to recycle as much as possible, but some bits/pieces of junk are destined to avoid my green bins. IMG_1774IMG_1775

The hierarchy of importance to me are the non-degradables; plastic, metals and glass. Paper, yes, but not so much if it is tainted with food (and worse). (I haven’t quite figured out, yet, what to do with polystyrene foams. If you have ideas or a solution to handle this scourge of all scourges along my path, I’m all ears.)

IMG_1773My rough guess/estimate is that about 80% of trash picked up on my 2.5 mile jaunts can be reclaimed into other useable items. My best guess is based on the volume in the Harris Teeter bags that serve to hold the sorted and sifted debris. This isn’t rocket science by any means; indeed, numbers don’t tell the entire story vis a vis what ultimately could wash down storm drains or just simply sit there as a persistent eyesore.

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.

2 Comments on It’s not the weight, it’s the volume…

  1. Bob Furstenau // October 29, 2014 at 12:29 pm // Reply

    Your are a good man Dave!

  2. You have the right thinking! Unfortunately most of the people don’t really care. Recycling is really great and I hope that in the near future it will become a global practice!

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