One of the things that is automatic in my life is the weekend visit to the transfer station (aka, the recycling center and in olden days … the dump).
When it comes to trash, there are only three ways to deal with it – keep it as they do in the Ozarks, put it on the roadside for Waste Management to pick up, or visit the Woodstock Transfer Station. Second to road maintenance, I suggest that the transfer station under the watchful eye of Bob Blair (with Avis Spalding as the Chairman of the Transfer Station Committee) may be the most important service the Town provides to its residents.
Yesterday, on Saturday, I made two trips to the station to transfer some wealth to other Woodstockians. Besides unloading our weekly trash, my wife has been on a mission to eliminate all unnecessary items from our house and I have been cleaning out things that we have accumulated and stored in the loft over our garage. We have a lot of stuff.
At the transfer station, my first stop is always the shed where people deposit still useful items that they do not need or want anymore. When I step into the shed, I have that feeling of being a kid again on Christmas morning; you know, when we woke up, we ran downstairs wide-eyed to see what gifts were placed in our stocking or under the tree by Santa. I often say or think “has my Christmas present arrived yet” when I step inside and my eyes start to adjust to the cluttered darkness.
On this visit, however, I was delivering goodies to the shed. The first item I placed in the shed was a coffee maker. This is when I met Tom who asked “Does it still work?” I said yes and pointed to two other coffee makers there also. Tom pointed out that the others were missing a pot and, without hesitation, swept up my former coffee maker before someone else could claim it. This was instant gratification for me too. Tom explained that he was taking it to give to someone at the school who needed it. We talked briefly and then I continued to transfer other precious items from my car to the shed.
After finishing with the shed, I transferred some nickels in the form of plastic bottles and a six-pack of empty Sam Adams beer bottles to containers for soccer dads and moms to scavenge each week to raise funds for their kids’ little league teams. This is the same labor-intensive activity that the Academy football boosters used to help fund the new Academy football program.
Slowly I get around to distributing our regular trash to the compactor, and glass bottles, tin cans, milk bottles, plastic bottles, unread Villager newspapers, and used batteries to their respective locations. Finally I drove over and backed up to bulky waste to deposit the unusable things. I couldn’t help note that much of the stuff I was getting rid of was stuff I got at the dump in the first place. It was raining so I was holding a rather garish orchid umbrella, my favorite in fact. This prompted some off-color remarks from two friends across the way also in the process of unloading their trash. I pointed out that “I got it at the dump” … a phrase I use a lot.
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