Off to the dump
It was Carrie who came up with this one. The first mission flown in by carrier pigeon from Portland Maine to Whidbey Island Washington was for us to both make visits to our respective local dumps for an afternoon of fun, photos and flies.
If you are a piece of trash or something that needs recycling there are actually three places between south and central Whidbey island where you can go. If the day happens to be Saturday, Sunday, Monday or Wednesday you can hit the Bayview transfer station. As dumps go Bayview is, well, OK. Mostly it’s just a collection of enormous recycling bins and four trash compactors. Seeing as though everything that isn’t recycled is pretty much squashed into oblivion on the spot it’s nearly impossible to find anything that you can’t believe someone would throw away. There is a little collection of found junk there but it’s really small. Bayview is really just good for that monthly trip with the brown, green, and clears. When the bins are full in Bayview they are taken up the highway to Coupville to the big Island County recycling station and landfill. This one is a little better. Clean construction debris can be buried here, you can bring that dodgy unmarked jar of something obviously poisonous, and illegal since the early 70’s, to a fellow in a workshop surrounded by eerily similar looking jars and he’ll figure out what it is and how to get rid of it. You can compost your yard waste, and a nice woman will weigh you in and weigh you out. There is even a little shop of retrieved items for sale, a bin full of broken bicycles and a collection of toilets. But for the purposes of this mission as clearly defined in Carrie’s use of the word “dump”, the crown jewel then of Whidbey refuse has got to be Island Recycling in Freeland and that’s where I went for my end of the bargain.
In 1971 John Hartford sang the following lines:
Someday about 25 years from now
When we’re all grown old from wondering how
We’ll all meet up down at the city dump
And talk about the goodle days.
You’ll pass a joint and I’ll pass the wine
And anything good from down the line
Lotta’ good things went down one time
Back in the goodle days”.
I love these lines. Time has accelerated here in the new millennia. When I was a kid though it was the 70’s and things were a little different and I always liked going to the dump. Back then going to the dump was pretty much as involved as backing your car up to the edge of a cliff (on the spot were Island Recycling is today) opening up the trunk (or sliding door as was the case for my parents 1970 Volkswagen van) and unceremoniously pitching your trash over the edge. After a couple of years that area would be bulldozed over and your stuff would be pitched over a little ways further down the line. It’s probably all still down there too. Slowly going back to earth. Except the Styrofoam. That stuff isn’t going anywhere. But I remember liking the dump ‘cos there was old stuff there. Bits of farm tractors, disused fire hydrants, broken and slowly disintegrating cars from the 30’s and 40’s – it was all there. Growing up on the west coast of the U.S. the dump was about as close as you could get to hanging around with old stuff. The trees are old out here, the occasional old barn is still standing, but when I was a kid the dump was a time capsule, or the place where I discovered the thread by which I understood that the stuff of old pictures actually existed. The past was real. Our dump had a certain post 60’s sensibility about it too. In the 70’s there was still a funky odd twist to American culture. The odd psychedelic animations of the early Sesame Street seasons, the Fat Albert cartoons, men wore painter’s caps and mustaches, and there were still cabooses at the end of trains. If you went down to the old city docks there were still bits of old boats from the turn of the century. The docks were still there from a hundred years ago. There weren’t as many “No Trespassing” signs so you could walk out on the piers and wonder about old bits of iron machinery. The water tank for my hometown was still made of wood, and my friend Tosh’s step dad drove us to see the first Star Wars movie in a Chevy Impala from the late 50’s. The dump was where all of this came together in a great amassing of culture and history. The man who took the money at the dump wore a union suit and had a little white hair left above his thick 50’s-esq glasses, and to a little kid seemed really old. He had always been old. He remembered the Civil War and had ridden a horse from North Dakota to Washington. The dump seemed mystical and American. I was sure that just on the other side of the stack of rusting cars in the clearing before you got to the woods that the last vestiges of the Confederate army were still bivwacked, camping quietly around hobo fires waiting for the orders that would never come. I was sure that they were over there. This was the dump. The place where the past still existed. And since the past was alive, the dump must be a portal through time.
I believe that there might be a few remaining bits of something rusty and too heavy to bother moving still lying at rest at Island Recycling. Bits I well could have used to stand on while looking for Confederates and dinosaurs as a kid. There are bins at Island Recycling for your bottles and cans. A place for car batteries, and aluminum foil. Mixed paper, cardboard, and they will come and tow your old car out of the blackberries and squash into something the size of a soup can. It’s all there. Out in the yard though is where the fun begins. In piles and areas organized by theme there is porcelain, rusty, rubber, things with hoses, things that are long, things with wheels, things that used to have wheels, things that work, things that dont but are still good for something. That's where the odd fantastic fancy of childhood fascination is still alive and well. I asked Jill who is the matriarch of Island Recycle if she wouldn’t mind me taking a few pictures. She was well pleased and I hadn’t been the first to ask. “Just make sure that you get one of my two men drinking beer in a cage” she said. Ok Jill. Got it. Two men drinking beer in a cage. I love the dump.
My pictures are still out of order but for now...P.S. I didn't know this but Blogger has evolved and you can click the photos for larger versions now....enjoy the dump. Timothy
Two men drinking beer in a cage.
If you are a piece of trash or something that needs recycling there are actually three places between south and central Whidbey island where you can go. If the day happens to be Saturday, Sunday, Monday or Wednesday you can hit the Bayview transfer station. As dumps go Bayview is, well, OK. Mostly it’s just a collection of enormous recycling bins and four trash compactors. Seeing as though everything that isn’t recycled is pretty much squashed into oblivion on the spot it’s nearly impossible to find anything that you can’t believe someone would throw away. There is a little collection of found junk there but it’s really small. Bayview is really just good for that monthly trip with the brown, green, and clears. When the bins are full in Bayview they are taken up the highway to Coupville to the big Island County recycling station and landfill. This one is a little better. Clean construction debris can be buried here, you can bring that dodgy unmarked jar of something obviously poisonous, and illegal since the early 70’s, to a fellow in a workshop surrounded by eerily similar looking jars and he’ll figure out what it is and how to get rid of it. You can compost your yard waste, and a nice woman will weigh you in and weigh you out. There is even a little shop of retrieved items for sale, a bin full of broken bicycles and a collection of toilets. But for the purposes of this mission as clearly defined in Carrie’s use of the word “dump”, the crown jewel then of Whidbey refuse has got to be Island Recycling in Freeland and that’s where I went for my end of the bargain.
In 1971 John Hartford sang the following lines:
Someday about 25 years from now
When we’re all grown old from wondering how
We’ll all meet up down at the city dump
And talk about the goodle days.
You’ll pass a joint and I’ll pass the wine
And anything good from down the line
Lotta’ good things went down one time
Back in the goodle days”.
I love these lines. Time has accelerated here in the new millennia. When I was a kid though it was the 70’s and things were a little different and I always liked going to the dump. Back then going to the dump was pretty much as involved as backing your car up to the edge of a cliff (on the spot were Island Recycling is today) opening up the trunk (or sliding door as was the case for my parents 1970 Volkswagen van) and unceremoniously pitching your trash over the edge. After a couple of years that area would be bulldozed over and your stuff would be pitched over a little ways further down the line. It’s probably all still down there too. Slowly going back to earth. Except the Styrofoam. That stuff isn’t going anywhere. But I remember liking the dump ‘cos there was old stuff there. Bits of farm tractors, disused fire hydrants, broken and slowly disintegrating cars from the 30’s and 40’s – it was all there. Growing up on the west coast of the U.S. the dump was about as close as you could get to hanging around with old stuff. The trees are old out here, the occasional old barn is still standing, but when I was a kid the dump was a time capsule, or the place where I discovered the thread by which I understood that the stuff of old pictures actually existed. The past was real. Our dump had a certain post 60’s sensibility about it too. In the 70’s there was still a funky odd twist to American culture. The odd psychedelic animations of the early Sesame Street seasons, the Fat Albert cartoons, men wore painter’s caps and mustaches, and there were still cabooses at the end of trains. If you went down to the old city docks there were still bits of old boats from the turn of the century. The docks were still there from a hundred years ago. There weren’t as many “No Trespassing” signs so you could walk out on the piers and wonder about old bits of iron machinery. The water tank for my hometown was still made of wood, and my friend Tosh’s step dad drove us to see the first Star Wars movie in a Chevy Impala from the late 50’s. The dump was where all of this came together in a great amassing of culture and history. The man who took the money at the dump wore a union suit and had a little white hair left above his thick 50’s-esq glasses, and to a little kid seemed really old. He had always been old. He remembered the Civil War and had ridden a horse from North Dakota to Washington. The dump seemed mystical and American. I was sure that just on the other side of the stack of rusting cars in the clearing before you got to the woods that the last vestiges of the Confederate army were still bivwacked, camping quietly around hobo fires waiting for the orders that would never come. I was sure that they were over there. This was the dump. The place where the past still existed. And since the past was alive, the dump must be a portal through time.
I believe that there might be a few remaining bits of something rusty and too heavy to bother moving still lying at rest at Island Recycling. Bits I well could have used to stand on while looking for Confederates and dinosaurs as a kid. There are bins at Island Recycling for your bottles and cans. A place for car batteries, and aluminum foil. Mixed paper, cardboard, and they will come and tow your old car out of the blackberries and squash into something the size of a soup can. It’s all there. Out in the yard though is where the fun begins. In piles and areas organized by theme there is porcelain, rusty, rubber, things with hoses, things that are long, things with wheels, things that used to have wheels, things that work, things that dont but are still good for something. That's where the odd fantastic fancy of childhood fascination is still alive and well. I asked Jill who is the matriarch of Island Recycle if she wouldn’t mind me taking a few pictures. She was well pleased and I hadn’t been the first to ask. “Just make sure that you get one of my two men drinking beer in a cage” she said. Ok Jill. Got it. Two men drinking beer in a cage. I love the dump.
My pictures are still out of order but for now...P.S. I didn't know this but Blogger has evolved and you can click the photos for larger versions now....enjoy the dump. Timothy
Two men drinking beer in a cage.
posted by carrie losneck and timothy hull at 3:36 PM
