Dump Run

Trip to the dump today.  

Two barrels of mixed recyclables and three tall kitchen bags of garbage.

Unlike city dwellers - who enjoy municipal curbside garbage and recyclables pick-up - in rural America you have to haul your trash and recyclables to the town waste disposal facility (the dump).  Sure, we could pay extra to an outside contractor for end-of-the-driveway pick-up of a couple of carts.  But considering the minimal amount of waste we generate it doesn't seem economical.  Besides, a trip to the dump is something of a social affair on a Saturday morning and I'm almost guaranteed to bump into someone I know and have the opportunity for some idle chit chat and local gossip.  Moreover, I can combine it with a stop at the grocery or general store in town.  

The vehicle in the picture is our first and only pick-up truck - a 1998 Chevy 1500 Silverado 4X4 with a towing package and a matching cap on the back.  We took delivery of it in early autumn of 1997 which means it celebrates its 28th birthday this coming fall.

It has made multiple trips to Canada and the Gulf Coast and everywhere in between, pulled a boat countless times for fishing and recreational cruising and has hauled more dead deer than I can count.

It lives in its own stall in the machine shed, doesn't leak or leave spots on the concrete and started this morning in 14 degree weather on the first crank.  You can tell by looking at it it's pretty clean.  It even has an AM/FM cassette stereo.  In a couple more years I suppose it officially becomes an antique.

At 135,000+ miles it doesn't owe me a thing and at least once a year someone will approach me and ask if it's for sale.  It isn't.  A similarly-equipped Chevy today would cost about what I paid for my first house in 1984.  Scary, eh?