Prompt: write 44 words using the words “spring” and “fall”
How could I have forgotten? Who I am? This strength?
You are not only the rock I stand on, the pillar within me, the roots that ground me–You are my all. Your strength permeates me. I am a mountain in spirit.
Let the storms come over me! They will not move the mountain. The wind will batter me and tear me apart, torrents of rain will scar me with rivers of red mud, and it will hurt. It will change me, but it will not ruin me. The mountain is resilient.
The mountain is dynamic — continuously changing but always constant. The mountain will remain open for all to return and gather under. The mountain is forgiveness.
The mountain is patient and peacefully observant of all the life around it. The mountain holds space for life and death. In the mists of conflict, the mountain continues to stand in love. When all is clouded and the storm screams over the mountain, I will be still and strong.
The mountain takes on the burdens of the storm, listens to the howling cries of the wind, and allows fires to consume and purify it. I will come out changed, but ever the same. This core — this base rock — is a tranquility and solitude within me that even in the darkest, most chaotic moments I can seek out and remember myself.
I am a Mountain.
Tribute to the Smoky Mountains–my spiritual home.
Green eyes flourish in the Autumn. A robin dances around fallen leaves and dead seeds. Summer heat melts an early frost.
Helter-skelter world.
We see cycles as one-directional, but does a circle have a beginning or end? A forward or backward? A point of no return?
Bolded line is from the poem “She knows sacrifice so well” by Dakota Feirer, an Australian Indigenous poet, in honor of National Poetry Month via YeahWrite Microprose challenge!
Dear Followers,
You may have noticed that I’ve done a little reorganizing. Hopefully, I have made it easier to navigate with the addition of the category explorer widget and about page. If you have any problems please let me know in a comment.
Additionally, I am dedicating ImaginingsWeb to creative writing–mainly fiction short stories.
I have started a second blog for my environmental ruminations which will be more non-fiction, green living, memoir, travel writing, etc. I would love to have you support me there as well at WebofGaia.wordpress.com
Thank you for following and be sure to leave a comment or like on posts you enjoy reading!
Anyone who knows me would do a double-take at that title. My roommates in college called me a Recycling Guru, and I spent ten months living on a minimalist budget as an AmeriCorps volunteer informing residents of Clark County, Washington how to “recycle right.” Sustainability and resource management is one of my driving passions; however, our recycling systems have a lot of flaws.
Here’s a list of the top 10 flaws with current recycling systems, but the markets are so complex that there are many issues that I won’t even touch on or go in depth with here.
1. Recycling is a Profit-driven Business
Recycling is driven by markets and profits. That can cause barriers to making choices that will benefit people and the planet the most if that choice will damage the business’s profits or sales. Read New York Times Article “The Conflict of Interest that is Killing Recycling”
2. Lack of Unity
While some cities or counties create contracts with a specific hauler, there are many different haulers out there. All are independent businesses and have different types of sorting capacities and access to markets which means that they don’t always accept the same materials or collect them in the same way. The recycling symbol is universally known, but its meaning has been reduced to “may or may not be recyclable in your area.” There’s not many universal rules when it comes to recycling.
3. Lack of Communication
A material passes through many hands from resource extractors, processors, package designers, processors, marketers, consumers, recycling haulers, and recycling processors. There are a variety of individual companies in each segment located all over the globe, and they don’t always communicate across the board. Often the recyclers are working backwards to try to find buyers or processes to recycle more products rather than producers making products that can be easily recycled. And consumers are stuck in the middle of all of the turbulent confusion.
4. Single Stream Recycling
Recycling can be especially confusing for consumers. In order to increase recycling participation, in the 2000s haulers started switching to single stream–or mixed recycling: where paper, plastic, metal, and sometimes glass can all be thrown into the same cart. Even with single stream recycling, US recycling rates have teetered out at around 30%. Additionally, it takes a lot more effort to sort those materials out later, and mixing them increases contamination. Paper is especially vulnerable to being contaminated by moisture from water or food residue on other materials or getting ripped up or stuck to other materials. How much was really gained by converting to single stream?
5. Contamination
A combination of the above flaws leads to increased contamination which reduces market value of the material. Residents sometimes throw outright trash (hoses, medical needles, hazardous waste, dirty diapers, etc.) into recycling receptacles. But a lot of contamination is specific types of plastic like grocery bags or materials that can be recycled separately through certain programs but not in curbside recycling. Haulers are in trouble of closing if they can’t find buyers for their bales and contamination increases that risk.
6. Accursed Plastic
Plastic bags are the bane of the waste system, most places don’t have the equipment to efficiently sort them out. They get stuck in gears and belts backing up the system; they get caught up in winds and become pollution; they are stuffed with other materials and end up being thrown out as trash. They even cause problems at the landfill.
Plastic in general is a headache. Within the #1-7 resins, there are different chemical combinations, mixed materials, and shapes that make sorting and processing complicated. These subtle differences between products and what specific haulers accept is confusing enough to make people either throw it all in (leading to higher contamination) or stop recycling all together.
Plastic is also one of the least sustainable materials to recycle: it can only be melted and reformed a few times before the bonds are too broken down; it releases a variety of chemicals during its lifetime; it can easily become litter that persists in the environment; it is made with oil and requires a constant supply of raw resources even with recycling. So far, the new bioplastics made of plant products are not recyclable and only compostable under certain conditions.
7. Downcycling
Some materials like glass and aluminum are recycled into the bottles and cans like the original product, but paper and plastic is often recycled and processed into new materials which are not recyclable and destined for the trash such as tissues, toilet paper, plastic bags, rigid plastic objects (cutlery, toys, etc.), and mixed material products. Or you get products like t-shirts made with recycled water bottles when there are so many other material options that may be more environmentally-responsible for a t-shirt. Additionally, raw materials are still needed to make the product that is being recycled. If you always recycle paper but you don’t purchase paper with recycled content (note it’s really hard to find 100% recycled content), are you really saving that many trees?
8. Lack of Life Cycle Thinking by Manufacturers and Consumers
New products and packaging are constantly being produced, much of which is not easily recycled. Haulers try to meet the demand of consumers to recycle more materials but end up reducing the quality of end material for recycling processors. If everyone made choices with the whole life cycle of the product in mind, we might be able to connect the loop.
9. Recycling’s Environmental Footprint
Recycling takes lots of energy and can create pollution during processing and transportation. Most materials are shipped around the world for processing. In many places around the world, regulations are so loose that much of the material can end up as litter and during processing pollutants may be released into the environment. It’s important to know your hauler and also where they are selling their sorted bales. China has been placing strict laws on their waste and recycling imports to help clean up their environment (research China Green Fence, National Sword, and Blue Sky policies).
10. Recycling will not save the World
The most major flaw is the public’s conception of recycling as some magical solution that will save the planet. Even if everyone recycled, even if they all recycled only what was accepted by their haulers, the planet would still be in trouble. Recycling should always be the last “R”. Reduce, Reuse, and so many other terms (ReThink, Rot aka Compost, etc) should be actions that dominate our thoughts and actions before recycling.
While the state of Washington has a 50% recycling rate, they also produce 7.3 pounds of waste per person per day compared to the US average of 3.5 pounds, which is still unreasonably high (EPA stats). Recycling is not an excuse to produce waste.
All that said, DON’T STOP RECYCLING! Use recycling as a stepping stone towards living a more sustainable lifestyle where you think ahead to reduce waste and environmental impacts with every choice you make.
RESOURCES:
Always confirm with your local hauler which materials they accept. There may also be other opportunities for recycling items like batteries and electronics at local stores and drop-off locations. Follow my blog for more posts like this one!
I stood on a slab of slate, my toes dipping into the edge of an isolated lake. I wore only a bra and underwear. Slanted rays of the setting sun glistened off the still water, broken only by four bobbing heads. I wanted to join them, but the moment I submerged myself… my feet went numb—my lungs constricted. I scrambled out. A chilly breeze nibbled the water droplets from my bare skin; I shivered but remained exposed on the edge for a moment longer.
The week of Babe Crew ended in tears.
I was third to arrive at the trail junction where we let off our loads, cracked a beer, and stretched before the last mile back to the cabin. My load was lighter than usual, but I was still surprised to not be the last one.
After a while, Tits* came stomping up the trail, staggering under her towering pack-frame. Her gear hung off loosely, throwing her off balance. Her eyes were dark, her jaw set in a snarl, her shirt ripped to tatters as if she’d fought a bear. She marched past us and threw down her pack before disappearing behind a few trees where we could only hear her distress.
Candy* wasn’t too far behind, but her face was already streaked with tears. She had torn her shirt in half; the shreds now lay over her shoulders. Their packs were heavy, easily over 100 pounds with the rock-working tools. I had nearly thrown up on the pack-in while carrying the 50-yard, steel cable for the grip hoist which must weigh 50 pounds in itself. I was glad to be carrying the empty lunch bag and buckets—the lightest of our gear—over the steep, rocky five miles back to the cabin.
Apparently, I was the only one in the group who took the actual trail, which is at least a half-mile longer than the shortcut across the river. With the water-levels high and their packs so heavy, each of them had a terrifying story to tell. But they weren’t crying because of fear or pain, they cried for the same reason I cried for the first few weeks of the season: they were ashamed that they weren’t stronger. These women who never complained, who laughed when it stormed, who happily threw an ax into a tree for hours… These women who were the strongest women both physically and in spirit that I had ever met still didn’t think they were good enough.
We finished our hike out together, dropped our packs, and submerged ourselves in the lake, muddy boots and all. Then, we paraded back to the trail cabin with our modified WOMEN WORKING sign as our banner leaving evaporating footprints in our wake. But the boy’s crew hadn’t returned yet, so they did not get to see our spectacular display of tattered and grimy clothes and rats’ nests of hair or our smiles at returning home after a successful week of work.
I’ve never considered myself a feminist, though I’m proud to be female and don’t let it stop me from doing anything. The women I got to work with inspired me in many ways, but their ambitions to be strong seemed a bit misplaced. Rather than praising their own improvements, they continuously compared themselves to the men. They weren’t trying to be strong women—they already were—rather, they were being overcome by the same power play dynamics as the men. This type of feminist isn’t trying to make a place for herself in this world, she’s trying to take The Man’s place. We don’t need women in the roles of men; we need a complete reform of society.
At the end of the season, we took a crew picture. It was tradition to yell at the camera: to raise your ax, flex, and scrunch your face into an fierce, wild snarl—the look of a professional trail worker. We stood on railroad tracks, the mountains rising behind us. We were all teeth and tanned skin taunt with muscle. The men threw their shirts to the side, as did the women boasting their black bras with pride. Before the camera took the last shot, Candy threw off her bra and positioned her double-bit ax before her bare breasts.
From the other side of the lens, you can’t even see Candy’s bare breasts behind her ax.
*Note the trail names used here are not their real trail names, but reflect a similar style, and by no means intend offense. From my experience, there are lots of offensive things said in loving ways between close-knit people. In case you’re curious, over the years I have been called: Ifets, Cloud Whisper, Silent Death, Recycling Guru, Phantom, and Lotto.
The road ended in a blockade of trees. A layer of dried leaves paved the ground, leaving only the occasional green flare of pine needles among the dark trunks. The forest smelled pungent like old jack-o-lanterns with smiles collapsed into snarls.
Fern parked the car.
Murphy opened the door and looked around, “Where’s the cabin? You said we’d be staying at a cabin.”
“Don’t freak out. It’s just a short walk.” Fern tossed Murphy a backpack from the trunk.
Murphy threw the bag over one shoulder and her mustard scarf over the other. Wind jostled her hair, knotting the bleached threads into snarls. She tried to fix her hair in the reflection of the car window.
“Come on, Murphy,” Fern called moving towards the trail head.
Murphy followed swatting mosquitoes. “Did you bring bug spray?”
“They’re not bothering me. Maybe you’re jinxed because of that can you threw out the window on the way here.”
“Oh, shut up.”
After they had walked for a few minutes, they could hear the trickle of a stream and river flies reinforced the mosquitoes. Murphy smashed a fly, flicked the carcass off her palm, and grabbed the hand-sanitizer hanging off her backpack covering up the smudge with the scent of fresh linen. “How far away is this cabin?” Murphy said.
“Just a little farther,” Fern said. “It’ll be cozy and relaxing, I promise. Just what we need after those killer mid-terms.”
Murphy sighed, “Don’t remind me. I don’t even want to know my scores for chemistry and biology.”
“I’m sure you did fine. I helped you study,” Fern winked and ambled ahead.
The clouds darkened and several droplets hit the ground. “Of course, it’s going to rain,” Murphy said.
“It’s just a little drizzle,” Fern said. But seconds later, the rain pelted them in sheets mingled with tiny bits of ice. They covered their heads and ran dripping into the cabin as the wind tore after them.
Murphy threw down her backpack and went to the bathroom while Fern started up the fireplace. Cobwebs strung every inch of the bathroom, and when a spider skittered across the floor, Murphy stomped on it with so much force the floorboard cracked.
“Are you alright in there?” Fern called from the kitchen.
Murphy came out drying her hair with a towel and slumped into the chair closest the fire. “I only came because you like this sort of thing.”
Fern poured two cups of tea from the screaming kettle as wind rattled the windows and thunder rumbled overhead. The electric lights flickered and went out. Fern smirked and threw another log on the fire.
Murphy stared at the writhing flames, her knees drawn up to her chest, a scratchy wool blanket clutched around her. She rung a twig from the wood pile with her fingers scraping off the bark and leaving gashes in the grain. Fern handed her the tea, and Murphy set aside the mutilated twig.
“Have your parents found a new house yet?” Fern asked.
Murphy kept an eye on the writhing flames. “No. They’re still in an apartment. They’re thinking of moving to a different town since Kendelville was completely wiped out by the fire.”
Fern sipped her tea.
“It’s not fair. I’d lived there my whole life, and I didn’t even get the chance to say goodbye to the house. And all of my stuff—besides what I had in the dorm—it’s all gone.” Murphy put her feet down, and a mouse scampered out from under her chair sending her screaming out of the chair. “I swear nature has it out for me.”
Fern laughed, “It’s just a mouse. Think of it like a little brother teasing you. My brother’s always trying to annoy me.”
Murphy sat in a different chair. “It’s not just the mouse. It’s that fire, the flooding, the earthquakes. It’s like James Henry who took a gun to school in St. Bern and shot everyone for no good reason.”
Tea spilled over the edge of Fern’s cup as she set it down. “That’s too far.”
They locked eyes, and then Murphy looked down into her cup, “You’re right. I’m sorry.” A leak in the roof dripped onto Murphy’s head, and she stood to move seats yet again.
Fern patted the couch, and Murphy sat beside her. The cabin groaned. Fern glanced at water streaming over the panes and wrapped an arm around Murphy’s shoulders, “You really shouldn’t have thrown that can out the window.” They sat together as trees thrashed against the walls and cracks of lightning threatened the roof over their heads.
Cover Image by Imaginings
People. Place. Occupation.
That’s what makes up a life. It’s what molds our decisions. As a single, recent college graduate, people say I’m lucky to be able to go wherever I want. But a lot of people that have the same freedom as me usually end up choosing a job close to home or where they went to school. They put people highest on their priorities. They want to be close to friends and family. Or, with a career-first train of thought, they buy a one-way ticket in whatever direction that may be, but more often than not, it’s close to where they studied, where they had a work-study or an internship, where they are already known and recommended. And then there are the few gypsies, like me.
I’ve always loved to travel. Staying in one spot for more than three years gives me angst. I love learning about new places and seeing what others have taken pictures of with my own eyes. There’s something about feeling the aura of a place and being present in it that feels like being a part of something much bigger than me. That’s probably why I’m a geography major and why I chose place as my priority after graduating. I couldn’t see myself anywhere else except in a cabin in the Appalachian Mountains so that’s where I went.
I had enjoyed doing volunteer trail work there in the past, and what better thing to do to get yourself out and intimate with a place than to live in the dirt and breathe the rain? But when I got there, I quickly learned that I was not prepared for the work. It was hard admitting that I was weak and inexperienced and would have to try a lot harder to get better. I’m not a quitter, though, so I pushed onward, imagining how much I’d grow if I didn’t end up dying from the treacherous conditions.
But when I had accepted the job, I hadn’t thought much about the people. They were hard to forget once I got there. There was rarely peace and quiet in the cabin with music blasting out the windows, stomp dancing shaking the floor, and beer cans spraying around the room. During the week, you worked side-by-side all day, then slept nearly on top of each other in a hot, damp tent all night. And while they were nice people in general, we never really became friends.
When I had told people I was going to do trail work for the summer, they’d say, “Going to be with your people!” But, these were not my people. I was quite different from them—not into drink or partying or smoking, preferring card games to yard sports, and, to my dismay—nearly hating our work and living in the woods which they thrived on.
The mountains were beautiful and full of life, but I couldn’t take my time to enjoy it because we had to power through miles of trails. I’ve always hated being wet, and it rained almost every day. And even though I’d hear an occasional bird call or wander upon a bright orange newt, the giant boulders of granite that we moved and the miles of hovel bush vines we pulled out were the things I became most intimate with. I thought I had chosen the Appalachians because of place, but I kept getting caught up with my dissatisfaction of the people and the occupation. I couldn’t say that I was happy except for in fleeting moments of standing alone on a mountain peak under a cloudless sky with a view that took my breath away.
I’d always felt drawn to the mountains, and I still do. But the back country, I learned, is not for me.
I enjoyed the volunteer work I had done before because I had been with my people, people who enjoyed and cared about nature but who may or may not pursue it in such a direct, full-time occupation. Maybe what I was seeking wasn’t so much the place as it was my memory of the community and connections I had made with the people there. The volunteers had been a diverse group of people that may not have even met otherwise, and who didn’t bond enough to stay connected after our one, close week.
The people I long to be with are scattered. Sparks from the same campfire dancing off into the night.
My people have always been small lights shining among different friend groups, with different ambitions and passions, staying by my side for just a short few steps before we went separate ways. I don’t feel like there’s a place where all of my people are, so I’ll keep traveling and hoping that I run into another drifting ember. If we dance together for even just a moment, it will be enough to rekindle my flame and keep me going, knowing that I’m not alone.
You can learn all about hydrology and ecosystems, you can weed out invasive plants and establish anti-erosion structures along banks, but the most important thing is to know your water, know your stream, your river, your lake, and what better way to bond with your water than to walk along side it and listen to it. The idea of a water walk is more about meditation and observation than action.
The following is a photo journal of my solo bike ride along Plaster Creek to the Grand River in Grand Rapids, MI. Some of the way was paved trail, some dirt, some roads.
Plaster Creek is considered one of the most polluted streams in Michigan, and I have been involved in many trash clean ups and invasive plant removals and rain garden projects in service to the health of the stream. But I had never taken the time to meditate in the sound of its brooks or walk beside it through tangles of invasive oriental bittersweet or admire the array of wild flowers and bird calls or lament of the concrete restraining walls and massive erosion or rejoice in the beauty of the parks it runs through or see it as a whole system not on a map or diagram. Today, I became the creek and the river. I cut through over-grown terrain and navigated through concrete cityscapes. I listened to the sounds of industry and cars blending with bird calls and the soft melody of the creek. Instead of working at one location or enjoying a specific park, I journeyed with the creek. I let it lead me through good and bad. I let it show me how it lives.
Imaginings 