Spring clean-up

(http://home.comcast.net/~milazinkova/Fogshadow.html)

Can you believe that this past Saturday (May 19) was the first opportunity I have had in six months to schlep our fall 2011 leaf bags to the yard waste recycling center?! Holy smokes. Since October, we have had close to 50 black plastic bags piled in front of our house. And, it’s only in hindsight that I wish I had spray painted the pile a glossy fuchsia or turquoise and called it a Christo-inspired art installation. Winter came earlier than expected? The weather in intervening months has been wildly unpredictable? This past spring semester has been more demanding than ever? All true, but searching for an excuse in pathetic. I know.

Full wayback

Finally, Simon and I endure the hideous traffic around St. Thomas (graduation day) this past weekend, and made three trips to the recycling center. These trips were as many as we could manage before the boys’ lacrosse practice. All the bags were muddy, wormy, and heavy with the wet accumulated from winter snow and heavy spring rains. Many bags had holes, inevitable given the number of sticks we bagged, and fetid liquid poured from them. The recycling center emitted the evil sweet smell of decay, and I half expected something to rise from the depths of lawn clippings and discarded landscaping.

When we returned home from our last trip, tired and caked in mud, we laid the remaining fourteen bags on the front steps to dry in the sun. The hope was to make one final push after reinforcing (ha!) ourselves with  bloody Marys. Colin and Helena, who came to brunch on Sunday commented on the body bags in our front yard.

By Monday, following another rain, these bags had a heft that certainly suggested body parts. I made two solo trips to finish one small part of what is destined to be a major yard cleanup. As I ripped open the first bag and dumped the partially wet contents, I realized most of the waste center’s odor was coming directly from, no surprise, my contribution.

yard waste recycling, a marvelous thing