Body Bag's of Trash

It had been a terrible night, that one. And really, a terrible month. My girlfriend had dumped me. My dog had died. And I was alone in the southwestern forest of Oregon. The night was frigid and raining off and on.

I started drinking wine around 3 pm in an attempt to rid my brain of the scarring images of my supermodel ex-girlfriend - who by now was surely making love to some other chap far better looking than myself. And there I was, alone and cold in the forest; not even able to enjoy the campfire I had made because the damn rain couldn’t make up its mind.

Around 6 pm I gave up on the wine. It was going to work that night, so I turned to the only other option I had on hand, weed. I packed a bowl and quickly cashed it, then packed another as the blue skies turned grey again and finally submitted into darkness.

But I’d made that dreadful mistake we’ve all made. Paranoia overwhelmed me. The voice in my head was torturing me. The images of my ex were now even clearer than before. Worse yet, each time the wind blew, I reasoned that it was not the wind but rather a bear. And every odd car that passed on the dirt road behind me was a murderer, a cannibal, or a depraved thief.

I couldn’t take it anymore and lurched out of my tent to do a perimeter check. Hell with it I thought. There are few terrors quite like being alone in a dark forest alone with a twisted head of tumbling and worsening paranoid thoughts.

I shined my light around in front of me as I walked like a mall cop through the thick trees. After about five minutes of this pathetic waltz I saw a black tarp fifteen feet from where I was standing.

That was all it took. My heart sank. In my head - at that moment - I was dead certain that the black tarp was filled with bodies. I was camped at a serial killer's dump site. There was no other explanation. Shear terror enveloped me.

I didn’t sleep much that night. In the morning when I went to investigate, knife in hand, I found that the body bag was not one. In fact it was a black tarp filled with trash.

This is common. I live on the road and camp out in the back country on many days. The states and trees change but there is usually one thing a camper can count on - trash left by another at the campsite.

Many times I have gotten angry and disappointed at humanity. Who could do that? Go enjoy a serene spot and then leave used condoms, chip bags, and toilet paper behind… It baffles me.

This body bag of trash and shame needed to be dealt with. So I did. And I felt great about it. I realized then that I can make other’s trash my treasure. Now, the first thing I do when I get to a new campsite is to go collect any and all trash I see, used condoms included. I’m not afraid. My immune system must be invincible by this point.

In the past I rationalized my way out of fishing the trash problem. ‘Well, it’s not my trash…’

What good does that do? Nada.

I think that it is easy to get discouraged in the fight to save our planet with all the gallons of oil that are leaking into our oceans every second, and the factory farms, and and and…

I know how great it feels to pull up to clean a campsite. And maybe by picking up those bits of trash I am saving a few small critters' lives even. And that has got to be worth something.

I’m not a saint. Obviously. I still eat meat and drive a low MPG car. But, that doesn’t mean I can’t do my small part. And now I take pleasure in that small part. I really do.

We can all do our small part and help in a collective way.