Today I had planned to write about a finished project. I went to my favourite rubble beach at the river to take pictures – it wasn’t too hot outside yet, and the scenery is so nice.
I won’t be writing about that today. Instead I’ll write about what I found at my happy place.
Trash. Garbage. Rubbish
And not just garbage, no. The picture above is all that would still have been usable. Several unopened packages of barbecue sausages. Two near-full bottles of ketchup. Tons of scattered (and by now molten to the ground) marshmallows. A blanket, only smeared with a little ketchup. One-use dishes and cutlery.
The meat was what hit me the hardest. I have no problem with people eating meat although I try to avoid it myself (except for my guilty pleasure sushi and smoked salmon), but buying it and then letting it spoil somewhere? Beings died for that. The least people could do would be honouring this by eating them (and maybe be thankful).
I went home, called Scoundrel and told him to get garbage bags. He even brought our dumpster diving rubber gloves, and we got to work.
His comment? “Other people give their girlfriends chocolates. I help her pick up trash at the beach.”
Me: “Chocolates only generate more garbage and make me fat and are unhealthy and would melt anyway with the weather and all.”
Thank you so much for helping me, favouriteperson. I love you. ♥
I usually try to make my pictures look pretty. I didn’t even bother with these. It’s rubbish. It’s not pretty, and it doesn’t deserve pictures with optimised colour contrast.
The people who left that shopping cart there and probably all of the trash didn’t put their stuff back into the cart, by the way. That was a guy I met when I went swimming with Pwyll the day before yesterday who didn’t want to tan between rotting barbecue food, either. Thanks, whoever you are.
Also thanks to the woman who always maintained a garbage bag up to now. She’s fed up, too, because when I came to the beach this morning she’d left a note next to the bag and sign saying “Thanks to the bag overflowing (because nobody takes anything back with them) I can’t get it away from here anymore, and I’m sick of it. Have fun cutting your feet on shards (and those of your kids) and sitting in your own trash”.
Well, she ain’t wrong.
However, we put the garbage bag into the shopping cart (after we got rid of the two we filled with the trash pile from the cart and the rubbish left on other parts of the beach) and hung a new one. We might even make a new sign. “Using the beach? Fee: Pick up three pieces of trash. Thank you.”
See, this is what being a Mori person (or Hama, in this case) means to me. More than pretty, flowy layered dresses and cutesy woodland animal accessories. More than drinking tea and looking at the raindrops on the window pane. Don’t get me wrong, I love the aesthetics and style. But this is Mori, too. Caring for nature. Getting shit done that nobody else will be because they don’t care enough. Getting your hands dirty planting or cleaning. Thinking about alternatives. Giving back.
This is my happy place, and it deserves to be pretty and clean.
All of Nature does.