I’ve been feeling a bit guilty lately about the amount of trash I create, after I read recently about the girl, Lauren Singer, who is one of the guests on this radio show about how to live a greener life – one of her blog posts, about not producing any trash for two years. (the photo below is of her fridge…)
Having a daughter who likes yogurts, and the both of us being diabetic, we’re always going to generate plenty of plastic – unless I get a keg installed at home, I’m going to keep buying cans of beer. I can’t calculate how much plastic and metal we put in our recycle chute here.
But I have been buying packaged veggies in the supermarket just because it’s quicker than waiting in the lines for the veggie stalls in the old fashioned market downstairs, which is terrible, since I’m sure the veggies are better for me from the market, and I love the fact that here in Spain these old markets still exist and want to support them.
I have just come back from a trip to said market and went to the stall which sells veggies mostly grown right here in town on a small farm… and they gave my daughter a free strawberry (yeah… they still sell strawberries in December, but they’re from southern Spain, not Chile…) AND they gave me an extra courgette that wasn’t in great shape just to not waste it. I feel great about myself again and will hereafter make the effort – during the week the queue wasn’t even long.
Then again, listening to the show, I can see my carbon footprint is huge because I don’t’ live at home any more. I can only hope all my cycling will one day make up for flying home twice a year!
I was reminded of this by a friend on facebook today in reference to my second novel, Five Days in Ballyboy Beach, just accepted by Tirgearr Publishing. It is also, sadly, appropriate from the less romantic viewpoint of the amount of rubbish swirling round in the ocean – a paper just the other days suggested that melting arctic ice would release trillions of tiny pieces of plastic back into the water.
Along the Shore
I walked along the shore
Searching for stories,
And saw from the tide line there
Was no shortage of them:
A small apple, still intact,
Discarded from a recent
Cider-pressing at a nearby orchard,
Taken by the rain down a drainage ditch;
A balloon, lost by a boy
Who stared skywards, crying
As it sailed out of sight
Inside the blue, at
The truth of his father’s words
That it would fly away if he let go
More than at the loss of his toy;
The arm and lens-less frame of
A former pair of pink, heart-shaped sunglasses
Lost from a inflatable boat
Bouncing over the Caribbean,
Bought in a stall in the resort
At two in the morning by a gentleman
After travelling from a Guangdong factory;
A piece of string – a balled up knot of
Baling twine – tied to a gate on a mountain farm
In place of a hinge that had long since rusted off
And fallen into the mossy rocks,
Until it wore through with use,
Taken by the wind to the river
There to flow towards the ocean
Entwined in twigs and tree trunks
Till they too, rotted away, then
Enticing turtles as if tentacles;
Seaweed, streams of it, several hues of
Green and brown clumps covered in sand
Some curling as they desiccate, smelling of
Sea and the denizens of the deep,
Symbolising and indicating some
Small piece of the unseen reaches beneath
The lapping waves, wondrous, dangerous
Violent and intense as any city-street.