My Big (Trash) Day

Becoming the Steward My Patch Deserves

The microwave was the last straw.

When we bought our house in the fall of 2022, we were excited about the towering white and red oaks, shagbark hickorys, and sasafrases that dominated the property. Those trees promised a woodsy vista for my wife, Alex, who works best when gazing at nature, and a birdy playground where my binoculars and I could geek out.

Once our offer was accepted, I hopped on Google Maps to take a look at the parcel. I was struck dumb. My eyes bugged. A tide of drool was loosed. We had a wooded ravine out back, and at the bottom of that what appeared to be…a stream? We had a stream? You know who likes moving water? Birds! Understand that I loved living and birding in Michigan, but here I was taking a fickle turn, ready to ditch our East Lansing home (where I counted 99 yard birds in 8 years) for sexier, birdier digs.

Of course we anticipated what bird we’d see first. The question was answered on move-in day, when Alex pointed to a Pileated Woodpecker, the bird she saw daily when pregnant with our eldest son. Nice omen. When the hoots of a Great Horned Owl greeted us in the morning, I knew—this was gonna be good.

Even though there was a whole house to set up, I had an itch to explore ASAP. The steep slopes of the ravine looked daunting, but I needed to know just what was down there. Luckily, I was able to make out a deer path that took a sideways route to the bottom. After some careful manuevering, much of it on my bottom, I touched down and feasted my eyes on beautiful Pine Creek.

I was giddy. Beside myself, really. Woods and a creek like this had to mean lots of birds, right? It did. All manner of songbird abounded. Raptors and waterfowl too. Within a couple of months I had surpassed 99 species. I baptized my patch Saddle Sanctuary, and indeed it proved quite the refuge, for the birds and myself.

And others…

It didn’t take long to learn that Pine Creek, part of a vast watershed that feeds into the Allegheny River, is a popular fishing spot for outdoorsy locals. Twice annually, the Pennsylvania Fish and Boat Commission stocks the creek with trout. That attracts a lot of anglers, human and avian.

From what I’ve observed, most of the folk who come down to fish respect the surroundings, leaving their sites as they found them, if not better.

Some do not, and I quickly grew frustrated with water bottles, beer cans, tobacco tins, and all the jetsam that comes with fishing—bobbers, lures, hooks, and especially the fishing line that, once tangled in a snag, is all too quickly cut and abandoned, leaving a perfect deathtrap for birds.

There was more too. Sadly, the quiet road that runs through the sanctuary provides cover to jettison all manner of crap from vehicles. The more refuse I saw, the more I grumbled, vowing to do something but doing precious little, aside from removing fishing line.

Then, a few weeks ago, a guest moved in, the kind who quickly overstays their welcome.

Just how a microwave found its way to the creek, I’ll never know, but I’d had enough. No more bitching. I was going to do a Big Day, measured not in birds counted but litter removed. I needed fair weather for this job, and I chose October 22nd’s forecast of cool temps and sunny skies as my Big Trash Day.

Armed with a roll of plastic bags, some heavy-duty gloves, and enough moxie to power all the microwaves of Allegheny County, I drove down at eight a.m. I planned an eight-hour shift, and I got right to work at one of the popular fishing sites. It wasn’t in terrible shape. I combed the area and filled one bag. Beverage containers were the main culprit, as might be expected. Then there were the unexpected finds.

I also fished out a tire that had bothered me for two years. In all, my first hour of work yielded a modest haul and zero pregnancies.

Less than expected, but there was a lot of creek left. A lot of trash too, it turned out.

Some of it creepy.

Some old school.

I found socks, bullet casings, balls (volley, basket, beach), the facia of a window air conditioner, a brick cellphone battery from an ancient Motorola. The variety was staggering. Some things I couldn’t identify and wasn’t sure I wanted to.

I collected everything I could, however this skeletal engine wasn’t going anywhere. That was fine. It was there before I was. Any damage it was going to do had long been done, and it had assumed a mossy, wizened, almost noble quality as it slowly merged back with the Earth. The engine was now part of the forest.

But most of this stuff would never merge. All the plastic detritus especially had to go. So I scoured for ragged tarps, lawn chairs, and buckets. Grocery bags were a problem. They were brittle, often disintegrating in my hand, a stark example of how microplastics end up in our waterways, drinking water, and bodies.

For hours I picked Saddle Sanctuary clean, filling bags, finding some irony in that my bags too were more plastic. My supply of them dwindled as the day wore on. My heap meanwhile was growing.

There was a problem. This was too much for our car, and way more than our garbage trucks would take on. No chance in hell were they taking the tires, which now numbered seven.

WTF was I gonna do with this shit?

Obviously I hadn’t thought it through. I called and left a message with our township’s assistant manager, asking if they could send out a truck, worried I had created a problem.

Around this time several fellows began converging near my temporary dump. They were curious and expressed appreciation for the cleanup. One of them had come with a trash bag of his own. The reason they were gathering, they explained, was to stock the stream for the fall. At 2 p.m., the trout bus arrived.

That meant the anglers would soon arrive too. By the weekend, much of what I had done would be undone. I snorted at my luck and carried on. Between loads, I chatted up the elder among them, Tom, who offered some local lore as he chewed a cigar to death. The road was one of the oldest in the township. A streetcar had once run through here all the way from downtown Pittsburgh. This particular area used to be a reclamation site dotted with disgusting chartreuse pools.

I myself hadn’t found much worth reclaiming, save one item I’ll reveal shortly.

By 3:30, the fish truck was gone and anglers were arriving. After logging 25k steps, nearly 10 miles, I was pretty much gassed, at the brink of overdoing it. I put in a leisurely last half hour around our car. Mostly bottles, but I found another three tires too. Huge ones. They looked comfortable as they sat there. A little smug too. Go ahead, they taunted, or perhaps I was delirious. Remove us. There’s more where we came from.

Finally, 4:00 p.m. arrived. Time to clock out. Not having heard back from the township, I had no choice but to leave my junk pile behind for the night.

After eight hours, I was sweaty, exhausted, and easily the dirtiest MF in western Pennsylvania. What I wanted more than anything was an ice-cold crappy beer. What I needed more than anything was a piping-hot shower. I grabbed an Iron City from the fridge and combined the two.

The next morning I got a call back from the township. They were aware of the rubbish and glad to finish the job. My Big Trash Day was getting a happy ending after all.

But was it? I’ve been thinking about those chartreuse pools and all the terrible things we do to our world, a world we owe everything to. What form of sludge was in them? Is it there still? They were capped with clay decades ago, Tom said. Was that enough? I wonder. I wonder if whatever was in those pools leaches through its containers, into the waters of Pine Creek, into the trout who feed there, into the birds who eat the trout.

There’s probably not much I can do about that. Or maybe there is. That strikes me as a long-term question involving a lot of thought, many people, and endless red tape. For now, I’ll stick to making little impacts. They add up, if we all make them, and I promise to be the steward my beautiful birding patch deserves.

🪦 👟 In Memoriam 👟 🪦

My trusy New Balances did not survive the ordeal. Though the temptation to throw them into the creek was almost overpowering, I opted for the trash bin instead.

FEATURED PHOTO - HERMIT THRUSH

Before last week, I’d never taken any photos of a Hermit Thrush. Now I can only say I’ve never taken any good photos of a Hermit Thrush. This one announced its presence in the sanctuary with a sudden, urgent, wheezy call. Though it gave me every chance at the perfect shot, I flubbed all over the place, as usual, and only ended up with something I can live with. Let’s just pretend I was trying my best to capture the Hermit Thrush’s best field mark—the rusty tail that distinguises it from the other members of its family.

10/10 Recommends

Chesapeake Coffee Roasters Bird Friendly Coffee

I’m very aware we can’t buy our way out of our environmental crisis. I’m also aware that I depend on coffee more than any other substance, and if a coffee company takes a more responsible approach to how it goes about business, especially when it comes to protecting wildlife, then I can at least be a more responsible consumer. I often don’t enjoy pricier coffees, which tend to be too fruit-forward for my palate. I like toasty, chocolaty, nutty flavors in my cup. This offering from Honduras (love the Cerulean Warbler on the label!) fits the bill, and I’m looking forward to sipping their other products from the mug I reclaimed from the creek 🦜🪺☕

That’s all for this week. Above I discussed the cumulative positive effect our little impacts can have. What little impacts are you making to help save nature from ourselves?

Until next time, bird your ass off!

nwb