The wind let up Saturday morning for the first time in days. So I burned the trash. We’ve got a terrific burn-barrel that Jamie graciously shared and Michael kindly delivered. Grace held a match to help.
I’m guessing that the local burn-ban has been lifted, because farmers have been torching their wheat stubble for days. If not, then paint me a scoff-law. There are both trash-burners and haul-to-the dumpers in my family. We do this because, unlike pampered urbanites, we don’t have solid waste disposal services.
Here’s the thing: My collection represented a week’s trash for three cranky girls, the leavings of a dinner party for 10, and some trim pieces from a construction project. Any organic matter was composted, and we’re not strict constructionists about meat and dairy. What do we care if the skunks pull an uneaten piece of cheese from the heap? Any recyclables have been removed to be meditated over, because I dare anyone to make sense of the recycling system around here. Paper and aluminum? Great, drop it off in town 24/7. Cardboard, plastic, steel cans? You can drop those off in Air Force Base Town between 10 and 2. Batteries and glass? You’re hosed, unless you want to schlep them to Oklahoma City during business hours. Many is the time that we’ve thrown up our hands and just sent them back to Austin in a southward-bound vehicle. And how nuts is that?
So is it any wonder that only a few stalwart souls try to work with this system? And is it any wonder that the bridge by our house is the defacto staging area for the county dump? We can take any manner of trash (except tires) to the dump between 9 and 5 on days that aren’t Wednesday and Sunday. Unless it’s now Monday and Sunday. The dump is a bargain when it’s open–only $3 for all the trashiness you can fit into the bed of a pickup. But alas, many rural people generate trash after closing time. We know this because we find their above-ground-pool installation debris, their outgrown baby layettes, and their dead goats by our bridge. Our cousin Paul and pal Jeremy once pulled an exceptional number of lawn mowers out from under the bridge (I think it was 4). Brother Michael has called in a fit of righteous indignation to report that a full-sized refrigerator blossomed at the end of our driveway.
The county workers and the church’s youth group have been pressed into service to haul away other people’s stuff (Thanks guys! There are more kolaches where those came from!). But mostly it’s Uncle Sid and Uncle Michael, who have the pickups and trailers that you really want in the trash-removal biz. Jamie’s pickup was just the thing for that elliptical exercise machine that didn’t quite make it into the ditch. These people’s time, gas, and equipment wear-and-tear are the effective Other People’s Crap Tax that we pay for living in the country.
So urbanites: Celebrate Big Trash Day! Lift a glass to Single Stream Recycling! And be content in the knowledge that any day you wake up without someone else’s pool skirting on your property is probably going to be a good day.
–mcg
One of the very cool things about this museum, besides its three dozen flavors of candy sticks, is that it not only has Educational Old Stuff. It also has a whole block of Educational Old Buildings. A school. A bank. A jail. A church (more on this later). A blacksmith shop. And two log cabins. The log cabin pictured below is of particular interest to Cranky Girls because it was owned by the Cole family. Meta Cranky is sure she will be corrected if she gets this wrong, but she thinks that it was the home of her mother’s great-grandmother. That would be the 3rd-great grandmother of Crankies 1 and 2. That’s a 
Cranky Girls farm 
