Home Notable Ithacan-Americans When morning gets broken and Tiny Town Recycleth

When morning gets broken and Tiny Town Recycleth

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Tiny Town, USA – Today was a good day because today was ...

A Recycling Day!

The bluebird, robin and the cardinal, the grackles and the starlings all rhapsodizing their convoluted morning chorus a little too blithely these humid morns. The 2013 avian morning chorus is robust on my side of town.

They are unbeatable this year, in frequency alone.  With one exception: Every other Thursday morning the recyclers come and shut them right out of my ear drums.

I am keen to the sound of the Recycling Truck, the one with the squeaky breaks that rids me of my recycling and so thrills me: even the reverse beeper of the hazard alarm is comforting. All except the cost. I don't mind it shuts the two local mourning doves out for a while -- what is their problem? Nice feathers, pretty birds, singing this mopey version of "Tea-for-Two."

In the fetid semi-gloom of a still-humid hour, real men/women shout orders at one another the old fashioned way: They BARK, because baby, it's dark outside, and they are half-lit by red tail lights, and some times probing bins with headlamps (if they are so lucky. Note to self: do our municipal waste management people wear headlamps? Mark it).

I don't mind the shatter of the glass bottles or the crash of tin, crackle of plastic and the compressor's grinding screech; I know it's my detritus and it will all be compacted, sorted, hidden from my view, and best of all -- removed from my premises. Merrily merrily merrily, my crap goes down the solid waste stream!

Out of sight, out of mind!

Er ...  That this whole industry truly has a massive impact on the solid waste stream I am in some doubt ... But I am a dolphin safe, comfy with my carbon footprint, Ithacan-American.

I reflect as I roll over in my pallet. And I doze off to the sweet music of the big squeaky-braked truck rumbling and screeching every 10-15 feet. Don't ever stop those crude, refreshing voices telling it like it is to us Lotus Eaters in The Land of Nod: A voice cries: "AllllleeUP! P'LOUT! – or something  like that. There's a boom and a crash. The Town Criers announce a new day!

"GDrEEYULP- JGHAGOON!" The engine lurches forward spewing ancient gutturals from the falling angel's first stockyard which led to offal, your animal friend, once inside all those cans of cat food that just went sayonara.

Still time for a little snooze ... Job well done, one and all. Raise the bird chorus again, please.

Franklin Crawford, dumped his share of trash, in a proper vessel in a civilized, orderly manner; as for compost: who can afford not to eat all?

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Last Updated on Friday, 12 July 2013 05:50  

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