One Culture's Trash, Another's Treasure

We arrived expecting to spend our morning picking up garbage, and instead, we found treasure. Twice a year Lansing, Michigan sponsors a program called: Adopt-A-River. Those who participate gather in the Impressions Five parking lot bright and early. They are each given a pair of sterile gloves, a large refuse sack, and are assigned a portion of the Red Cedar river that they will then be responsible for cleaning. We were given the area adjacent to Frandor Mall, where campus ends and the city begins.

As we set about gathering trash along the banks, I was amazed at the massive amount of litter that had been deposited. Among the refuse we found a coat, a hat, shoes, shirts, underwear, a set of keys, notebooks, lighters, dishes, a guitar strap, a sack of rotting groceries, several condoms, a diaper, dozens of plastic bags, all manner of broken plastic, glass, metal, and more pint bottles than I could ever begin to count.

After the bag was so full that it took two of us to lift it, we lugged it back to the dumpster, emptied it out, and realizing that it was only 9:15 am, decided to have another go at it. The second time, we opted to leave the river’s edge and dig into some of the thickets, suspicious that they would be full with trash left there by partying students and drunk softball players. Deeper and deeper we trekked, following the trail of litter, and what we found was something amazing.

Tucked in so snug, that if we hadn’t stumbled upon it with our own two (six? ^^) feet we would never have known it was there; was a hobo camp. The two gentlemen sitting there were rather alarmed that we had found them, and later told us that they originally thought we were the police coming to arrest them: a common occurrence for them apparently. Once we explained what we were doing, and why we were there, they lightened up a little, and one of them even helped us pick up the surrounding garbage. Afterwards, we talked for awhile.

“Can dogs” is how they identified themselves. They asked if we knew what that meant, and seemed a bit shocked when we told them we didn’t. ‘That’s someone who survives through dumpster diving,’ they explained. One of the fellows claimed to have his Masters degree in Psychology, and I’ll admit it, I felt like he was putting us on, until he started listing some of the books he has read. The guy was for real. He seemed intent on providing us with a long list of excuses as to why he was living along the bank of a river, and seemed generally embarrassed with himself.

I asked them both if they were happy, to which they reluctantly replied that yes, they were. I did my best to make it clear to them that I understood the need some people have to not participate in society, to not “play the game.” We talked about the state of things in Michigan, the economy, labor, soup kitchens, shelters, religion, philosophy, literature, the war, and so many other topics. We eventually had to shove off to continue picking up litter in the woods, but I am so very grateful we had the opportunity to meet them, and spend some time with them.

Later, my daughter and I had a discussion about stereotypes, and how totally wrong they usually are. We also talked about why it is, that in our society, highly educated individuals are choosing to live out of dumpsters rather than serve as cogs in the machine. This was her first exposure to the homeless, aside from the times that we’ve taken her walking through downtown Chicago after dark, and been swarmed by the pan handlers. These guys were different though, they didn’t seek charity, and I get the impression that had we offered any they would have been offended.

I reminded Sage that in this country we call America, long before the white man came, the people who lived on this land, her ancestors; also lived in temporary structures near the rivers, lakes and streams. Their culture was advanced, their respect for the environment was unmatched, and their spirituality was expansive. Yet, when European settlers came to this continent, they looked down upon the native tribes, equating them to “can dogs” living down by the river. Steadily, the native peoples were pushed to the invisible edge of the Earth, to the breaking point of sanity. Asked to fit in, adapt, assimilate, become white.

How can any of us blame the drifter, the vagabond, the hobo, the wandering minstrels of our day for refusing to conform inside this twisted facsimile of culture? Ask yourselves, what compels you to live as you do? What is the driving force behind your existence? What is your “Masters degree” worth outside of the finite system in which you use it? Are you happy with the life you have lead? What is protecting you from the potential circumstance and/or social epiphany, that would send you to live in a shanty down by the river? Think about how fragile that security blanket really is, and know that you are blessed.

Onward and Upward

There comes a time in some people's lives that they look upon what they have become, and begin to ask themselves some very difficult questions, and that is precisely where I am at right now. I started this blog as a means to communicate with myself, and somewhere along the line it evolved into a desire to communicate with you. In some ways, doing so has allowed me to expand the scope of my own awareness by filtering the issues that affect me personally through a community lens, and this has been an expansive learning experience for me. Yet, I am beginning to feel that my own voice is drowning in an ocean of that very same community awareness, and it is lost amidst the torrent of overwhelmingly huge concerns that, while they do exist, I cannot reach out and touch in my everyday life, and so on some level they become immaterial. It would be fair to say that through my blogging, I am beginning to struggle with a form of cognitive dissonance, and until I resolve the whys behind that, it is time for me to take a break. There is much good within me, but I must discover how to unleash it in a more focused and beneficial way. It is not enough to wish to do good, to discuss doing good, to teach how to do good. It is time for me to break free from this cocoon. This is not to say I will no longer blog, or frequent other's minds, but rather, I have come to realize the limitations of blogging, and I seek to do more. When time permits, I will renew my blogging journey. Until then, I'll borrow a line from Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure: "Be excellent to one another."

Built to Spill ~ Ancient Melodies of the Future: "Strange"

Bonded for War: Always Looking to Collect

Whilst wandering through the museum last week, I entered into the area where the WWII exhibits are kept, and felt a mixture of fascination and horror as I stood there ogling all the "Buy War Bonds" posters. I reminded myself that during the second world war, 98% of America's citizens approved of our involvement, but this only complicated matters. I've dug up a few for your perusal.

Interestingly threatening concepts to be leveled on a people who are already pro-war. "Freedom from want?" Are you kidding me? At least in the 1950's the U.S. government was straight forward regarding their motivation for war. Don't get me started on the use of the term "Jap." Apparently America was also more transparent in regards to racism back then as well. Nice touch accusing people of somehow being less than American if they didn't purchase war bonds. That sounds eerily familiar though... oh yeah, 'you're either with us, or against us.'