Relay: Other People’s Garbage

What were they thinking when they sped by me on the Napeague stretch one Sunday morning this spring? What were they thinking when they honked but did not stop?

Were they wondering for a split second what those people (many decidedly over 30) walking along the road with black bags, gloves, and pickup sticks were actually doing?

Were they thinking, “Those poor folks must be working off community service after getting D.W.I.s”? Were they thinking, “Those silly geezers; I hope they check for ticks”? Were they thinking, “Suckers! Nothing better to do than pick up other people’s trash”? Were they thinking, “Those poor seniors must need the money” or were they wondering if we were a chain gang and were all prisoners? Did they even see us?

Did they slow down to pass us in a safe way? Did they look at the coffee cup they were thoughtlessly going to throw out the window and have a change of heart? Did one of them consider stopping smoking instead of pitching that burning butt out the window? Were they thinking (thought bubble) “I have something really important to do” like yoga or tennis or 800 calories of pancakes to dive into?

Were the folks speeding east thinking of anything or did they tune out the stretch as they hurried to trash downtown Montauk, celebrate a birthday by releasing balloons into the air, or let their dog poop on the beach before it closed to dogs for the day?

And the folks heading west (because we picker-uppers worked both sides of the road), you were worse than the folks heading for the mayhem of Montauk. You had made your mess, spread your seeds, spat your spit, and bought your beers for the trip back west. But oops, a little woozy on the stretch, and maybe a cop, so many, many, many of you decided to throw the cans into the woods so they wouldn’t nail you for an open carry. Now, the cop will know that you are impaired by your driving, open beer or not, empty or not (and in my opinion, anyone stopped on the stretch for a D.W.I. should get an automatic littering ticket too, but that’s just me).

So they sped by us on that Sunday morning, nursing hangovers or heading to church or Ralph Lauren, the car wash, or their second or third jobs to make ends meet. If they noticed us on the side of the road, or they even saw the black bags, did they maybe wonder if last week’s pizza box or Styrofoam takeout container was in one of those bags or still in the woods? If maybe their spent lighter, dead batteries, or the contents of their ashtray got picked up and taken away in those bags? The tissues, the strips of plastic, the cans and the cans and the cans. Maybe next time they consider throwing garbage out the window or leaving their household trash at the beach, maybe, maybe they will have a tiny memory of the adults who wanted to make their world tidy, if for just one day.

Maybe they will learn by example and not entitlement, reject some hierarchy that says there is always someone lowlier than I am to pick up my droppings.

This is what I pondered as I picked up stuff by the side of the road. I wonder if they thought well of me or thought of me at all.

We’ll see at the next cleanup if anyone but us “got it.” Thanks Dell Cullum, and the rest, for trying.

See you then, I hope.

By the way, stopping to get close to Mother Nature’s little sister, the Napeague stretch, revealed lady slipper orchids, ferns, and some tiny white flowers that resembled clematis but were not vines. Open your eyes, folks; the world is an amazing place. Please leave it cleaner than the day you arrived.

Durell Godfrey, who said she “gets annoyed easily,” is a contributing photographer for The Star.