Back in December 2014, I did a post about roadside litter. It's time for another.
Every morning I walk my dog, taking routes east, west or south in a 1 kilometer radius from my house. As the snow disappeared in late February, offended by the roadside litter that had accumulated since my previous cleanup in the fall, I began collecting it again. Each bag would be taken back to my barn, dumped on the floor for documentation, then sorted into recyclables, returnables and burnables. Here's what I found in successive sweeps:
Every morning I walk my dog, taking routes east, west or south in a 1 kilometer radius from my house. As the snow disappeared in late February, offended by the roadside litter that had accumulated since my previous cleanup in the fall, I began collecting it again. Each bag would be taken back to my barn, dumped on the floor for documentation, then sorted into recyclables, returnables and burnables. Here's what I found in successive sweeps:
 |
| February 24 |
 |
| February 28 |
 |
| March 6 |
 |
| March 13 |
 |
| March 27 |
 |
| March 29 |
 |
| April 4 |
 |
| April 5 |
 |
| April 12 |
 |
| April 17 |
 |
| April 21 |
 |
| May 1 |
 |
| May 2 |
 |
| May 8 |
 |
| May 16 |
The teenagers and adults throw out their cigarette packages, throat lozenge blister packs, fast-food meals, beer and liquor cans and bottles. Their children toss their candy bar and gum rappers, zip-locked sandwiches that they don't want for lunch, and broken hockey sticks and toys.
It's the same along all of the roads in our township now--they're disgraceful. Anyway, along one road there's a stretch with a lovely woods and a marshy area, and it especially discouraged me to see the garbage blown and trapped among the trees. I couldn't help but reflect on what Robert Frost had seen in Shaftsbury, Vermont when he penned his famous poem in 1922, and what I saw now. So, with sincere apologies to the great American poet, I offer the following:
Stopping by Woods on a Blowy Morning
Whose woods these are I'd have to ask.
It's all dead elm and dying ash.
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with trash.
My little dog must think it queer
To see this garbage far and near
Between the road and frozen pond
The nicest morning of the year.
She gives her furry head a shake
To ask if there is some mistake
For plastic cups and metal cans
To foul the shoreline of the lake.
The woods were lovely, dark and deep
But now they're filled with filth, and reek
Of fast-food meals, tossed from the road,
That now lie stagnant in the creek.
It's the same along all of the roads in our township now--they're disgraceful. Anyway, along one road there's a stretch with a lovely woods and a marshy area, and it especially discouraged me to see the garbage blown and trapped among the trees. I couldn't help but reflect on what Robert Frost had seen in Shaftsbury, Vermont when he penned his famous poem in 1922, and what I saw now. So, with sincere apologies to the great American poet, I offer the following:
Stopping by Woods on a Blowy Morning
Whose woods these are I'd have to ask.
It's all dead elm and dying ash.
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with trash.
My little dog must think it queer
To see this garbage far and near
Between the road and frozen pond
The nicest morning of the year.
She gives her furry head a shake
To ask if there is some mistake
For plastic cups and metal cans
To foul the shoreline of the lake.
The woods were lovely, dark and deep
But now they're filled with filth, and reek
Of fast-food meals, tossed from the road,
That now lie stagnant in the creek.
2 comments:
You're awesome... I do this near my place a bit, but not enough.
Teach your children well...
Teach them to respect...
To not foul the nest
PS-love your stuff daily :)
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