To the Dump

Years ago, most farms had at least one dump, located in a ravine or grove of trees.  Dad has always made it his mission to clean up any dump he found on property he rented or owned, so cleaning up abandoned dumps often became a family activity.  The first dump I remember cleaning up was in the grove on the farm near Bloomfield.  I wasn't really old enough to be much help, but I could pick up some trash, if I was careful.  Mom and Dad always cautioned me to not pick up broken glass or sharp tin cans.  Sometimes, we found wonderful treasures close to home, like old marbles, or a head from a china doll.  Broken dishes were interesting to look at, even if I couldn't touch.  Old farm equipment was always salvaged and saved, to be taken, eventually, to someone who bought scrap metal. 

Cleaning up a dump was never a quick job; it often dragged on for weeks or even several years, before the land was restored to pristine condition.  We enjoyed working together, often in the gathering dusk, when Dad had a few minutes to devote to cleaning up the dump.

By the time I was born, the use of farm dumps was beginning to be discouraged, and large, city or county dumps were used instead.  As long as I can remember, going to the dump has been a family tradition.  When I was a preschooler on the farm, the dump was located less than a mile up the road (close enough that vermin were a real problem.)  The whole family would climb into the pickup to take a load of unwanted trash to the dump.  I can still recall the song Mom sang, "To the dump, to the dump, to the dump, dump, dump," sung to the tune of the William Tell Overture (also known as the Lone Ranger theme song) as we drove the short distance to the dump.  Usually, we would come back home with several useful things that someone else had discarded.  I remember bringing home stacks of used lumber, old tools, furniture, and toys--stuff that my dad deemed too good to be thrown away.  I don't think I ever visited a  toy store as a child, but I was always happy to accompany my dad to the dump, because chances were good that we would bring home something "new."

It didn't matter where we lived as I was growing up; a trip to the dump was always an adventure.  Even when Bill and I were first married, living in Michigan, it was still possible to come home with more than we took to the dump.  The sanitation workers were glad to help salvage whatever we wanted, sometimes even helping us load it into the back of our pickup.  Sometimes, a trip to the dump really resembled a swap meet!

How things have changed!  Now, the garbage truck empties our dumpster once a week, and delivers the contents to the county landfill.  The sanitation bill is included with our monthly electric bill.  In addition, we pay several dollars to take a covered pickup load of unwanted stuff to the landfill.  Garbage is meticulously bailed and buried, but neighbors still complain about the landfill's smell.  No one is ever allowed to remove anything from the landfill--it just wouldn't be sanitary.  Instead, people buy and sell good, used stuff at garage sales.  Recycling is strongly encouraged.  (At our house, we recycle milk jugs, cans, newspapers, and magazines.)

I'm sure that landfills are an improvement over the old farm dumps, since great care is taken now to avoid contaminating ground water.  Every April, during the free landfill week, I get rid of at least one pickup load of tree branches or trash that won't fit into our dumpster.  As I drive the mile or so from our house to the landfill, that old refrain still goes through my mind: "To the dump, to the dump, to the dump, dump, dump."  It just wouldn't be right to sing "To the landfill."