Eco Echo

 In my childhood, I wandered the woods near our mountain cabin, earnestly embodying the words I ascribe to comic's naturalist, Mark Trail: Leave only footprints. Take only memories. As I walked through the aspen groves and the stands of majestic pines, I was on the lookout for the scourge of litter. This was the late sixties, after all, and the combined forces of Iron Eyes Cody and Woodsy the Owl had been imprinted on my soul. I would not let someone else's candy wrapper spoil my pristine wilderness experience. Many was the day that I would pick up other's trash as I made my way to whatever location I might have chosen for a hike. Returning home, I would empty my own refuse in the proper receptacles along with that of those who were apparently born without sense or conscience.  

This training lingers in my habits today. Walking across the schoolyard there are not many trips that don't find me picking up the stray wrapper, water bottle or empty Cheetos bag. I stay in shape by bending down to tie children's shoelaces and applying the occasional Band-Aid to a skinned knee. As long as I'm so close to the ground, I might as well pick up that discarded piece of paper. But it's a Sisyphean task. Litter rains down on that playground, in spite of my efforts, exhortations and encouragement. A neighbor drops by our school on a regular basis to lead kids on garbage detail, aided by a picker they can use to tweeze smaller bits into a five gallon bucket they carry with them. There is a lot of job security in this effort, since trash seems to spawn in their brief absence. There is always more litter to be picked up. 

Which brings me to my Saturday morning run. Quite often I pause in my stride long enough to scoop up some plastic bag or scrap of someone else's takeout packaging. I definitely do not stop for every bit of rubbish. I would not make it very far down the streets of Oakland if I did that. I would be worn out before I made it just a few blocks. But on this particular day, I was out enjoying the morning sun when I came up behind a large woman savoring the last of her Budweiser tallboy. Though it was just before ten o'clock, I chose to allow her this morning libation. As I came closer, I watched as she dumped the last few ounces into the gutter. No doubt this was the dregs of what had been a satisfying breakfast brew. Then, as part of that same motion, she lobbed the can into the street. Now just a couple steps behind her, I scooped up her empty and as I moved past her on the right, I pitched it into the recycling bin that stood in a row with the others in front of the apartment complex. I gave her a wink and a tip of my sweaty ball cap as we made the briefest of eye contact. 

"You're welcome," I smiled. Then I was on my way once again, ready to annoy and/or enhance my neighborhood whenever and however possible.