Siren Song of the Counter Culture

I HAD to go pickin' yesterday.  The stuff alongside the highways and byways must have been calling me.  That's it!  Maybe among things junk, it is considered an honor to get picked up.  Can't you just hear the trash, "Pick me!  Pick me!"  On the other hand, do you like it when someone puts YOU in your place?  That's exactly what I do, after all--aluminum cans in one sack, recyclables No.1-6 in a bin, glass in another bin, cardboard in the truck bed, gloves in that plastic sack hanging by the back door and everything else in a bag destined for the dump--unless it's something really nifty that I want to keep like a humongous bolt, or something I can't identify.  Later on, Jack will tell me what it is.  Anyway, it was such a lovely morning, I broke the Golden Rule.  Oh, not THAT Golden Rule.  My Picker's Golden Rule:  "No pickin' over two hours."  The primary reason for this self-imposed mandate is not that I'm too busy and have other more pressing matters to attend to, but that inevitably at the 2-hour mark, the trash bag is too heavy and unwieldy to carry.  Never the less, I picked for 2 and one-half hours. 

My feet kept taking me away from the house instead of toward the house. The price was paid later on as I had to propel my bag in a rhythmic swinging motion with my right leg pushing it as I walked north on Hiway 7.  (I have this move perfected from many times of ignoring my Golden Rule.)  Speaking of rules, I don't think they are made to be broken, do you?  Rules are made to be kept; records are made to be broken--like the 3-way tie among Tom Dempsey, Jason Elam and Sebastian Janikowski for the longest NFL field goal--63 yards.  Man I love football.  OK, Winter, concentrate.

Turning west on Scott Avenue and just up the road a bit there is easy access to Fish Creek.  All the cans and cups know that and somehow throw themselves into the water at that location.  Noticing a styrofoam cup in the center of a quiet pool, I carefully picked my way down the rock-strewn creekside to its rescue.  Too late, I realized the pool was so utterly quiet because it was frozen and so was my styrofoam cup.  Not wanting to make a total waste of my effort to reach the cup, I retreated in a different direction and was rewarded with these finds:  2 tissues, a newspaper, a plastic bag and a CSU cup from McDonald's.  Continuing west on Scott, I noticed a kiddie pool in the drainage area of Perch Pond.  (Named by my grandsons for that plentiful freshwater gamefish.)  It blew there from who-knows-where along with 3 plastic plant pots and several plastic bags.  Abandoning my big, black bag and picker, I navigated the slippery, partly frozen slope to the blue plastic wading pool.  I couldn't resist salvaging the pots as well, and nearly lost my balance dragging everything up to the street.  Hmmmmm...I honestly think the wading pool was wider than our Honda, and I sure wasn't going to drag that thing over a mile back to my house.  Enter Jack.  He answered the phone at work and didn't seem a bit surprised to hear that I was leaving a pool at the intersection of Baldpate Court and Scott Avenue.  Before I could walk another 20 feet, he came grinding his way up the street in the company truck.  Yay!  He made the big, blue, broken tub disappear.  Thanks, Jack.

Quickly passing three mama elk with that what-do-you-think-you're-doing-here look in their eyes, it wasn't long before I warmed up enough to unzip my winter jacket and even my Nebraska sweatshirt.  Sometimes I wonder why homeowners aren't interested in picking up the trash in their own yards, but while wondering, I reached Hiway 7.  Lots of folks use the bike/walking path on 7, and one lady thanked me for what I was obviously doing and also warned:  "Be sure to check for ticks when you get home." 

All in all, it was a lovely spring-like day--almost inconceivable that one week earlier I had nearly frozen in less than a quarter of the time.  As I walked along, my black bag, which wasn't in very good shape when I left home, kept slipping and ripping, so it was great timing when I found a large clear bag stuck in a bush.  It was the perfect salvation for my holey, ripped black bag and allowed me to stuff even more stuff into the doubled sack.  Besides all the normal trash, I discovered a big, red Christmas bow, 3 ever-present Marlboro cigarette packs, a gas cap, golf ball and a really cute polaroid picture of what I'm guessing was an 11-year-old kid in a striped tee shirt at Lake Estes Marina holding his 2 lb. 17-inch catch.  Too bad this event is no longer recorded for posterity, as the picture made its way to the bottom of the bag. 

Oh!  Also found:  2 CDs.  The first was 13 Moons by Charles Frazier, published in 2006.  This is apparently a kind of coming of age novel about a boy who is adopted by Bear, a Cherokee Chief.  Fascinating, I'm sure, but it went into the bag.  The second was a copy of "Siren Song of the Counter Culture" by Rise Against.  I just wish somebody would rise against littering and careless corralling of trash.  Good grief, what was a empty Raisin Bran box doing on Hiway 7?

Always,
Winter