The county dump near here is actually very well – or at least energetically – run as far as I can tell. Layered like lasagna, the fields of trash never seem to remain exposed for more than a few hours at a time and there’s always a garbage galleon busily and noisily plowing the latest offerings under.
And with the great armored gadget roaring and clanking and the garbage reeking and the ravens cawing insolently just out of reach and the barren ash hills glowering down over it all, all we need to complete this as a scene only Dante could appreciate is a nice cold harsh wind – which is rarely lacking.
The good news is that this is the last load of J&H’s discarded garbage, which spent the winter under an old tarp in a part of my yard not quite as out of the way as I’d hoped, along with whatever I’d accumulated that couldn’t be gotten rid of some other way – such as a very nasty old toilet which lent a lovely redneck-and-not-in-a-good-way touch to the spectacle my yard had become.
Yeah, yeah, I’m a hermit and supposed to be above caring about such things. And anyway very few people ever see it. But there’s still self-respect. I had planned to spend today in other ways, but when D called yesterday saying he wanted a dump run today I jumped on it.
And that’s it! J&H and all the privileges and obligations arising therefrom are officially, finally and forever out of my life. That was the last remnant. I kind of miss them. But I’m glad that dump run is over.
Dante yes! Some folks claim that our whole concept of hell comes from an ancient garbage dump. “The Valley of the Son of Hinnom” to be precise.
I remember when a dump run was like going to a swap meet. I often came home with more than I took. Now they bury stuff just as fast as they can and it just isn’t the same.