CAFFINATED OBSERVATIONS ON RECYCLING CORVIDS AT THE CLOSE OF THE COVID YEAR

Pencil Tracing of Crow on the Wing
on Recycled Paper in Repurposed Frame.

I was treated to the antics of some scavenging crows this morning.  I had returned to my front enclosed and heated porch, with my second cup of coffee, while I participated in my morning ritual of drinking the beverage while trying to swallow the latest news from the world-wide-web.  And while walking to my favorite perch in front of my computer screen in front of the screened windows, overlooking the trees in my front yard, I noticed one of the large black birds swooping through the tree branches, with what appeared to be a large chunk of bread, donut, or other flour-based treat clasped in its beak. I ducked down to get a better view through the window, to try and see where the fortunate bird might have scored the gift from we benevolent humans, and noticed my neighbors overflowing green plastic garbage bin placed next to the street.  The “trashcan” parked at the snow-covered curb reminded me that it must be garbage day-Thursday, which in this case was also New Years Eve - the last garbage day of the year.  

 Concern filled my mind, as I pondered if I should go out to add my collection of garbage to the bins who had lined the street to wait for their turn to be dumped into the soon to arrive garbage truck, where it could then conveniently be carted away to some unknown landfill, in a place, somewhere far away.  Optimistically I recalled from my last trip to get rid of another bag of my own trash that my bin was still half empty.  Unless I produced a lot of trash in the first days of the new year, I would not have to worry about curious critters finding their way into my completely closed bin in hopes of feeding on my discarded bones, bread, or other edibles for at least another week.  I put that worry out of my mind and returned to watching the crows trying to eat garbage, while I drank my coffee.

Gathered around the neighbors “can” was a collection of the black feathered corvids – three or four of them perched in the branches of the trees closest to the bin, and another three or four where climbing around the up-tilted top of the over-topped bin, trying to get a foothold on the lid, so they could take a stab at trying to score some scraps of their own.  It was probably just my overly optimistic ongoing attitude, but the crows seemed to be enjoying their ride as they took turns sliding down the sloping snow covered lid of the bin taking their best shot at trying to rip something tasty from the white plastic bags enshrouding the former treasures soon to be turned to entombed trash. 

The assemblage of crows, which if there were more of them might have been called a “murder”, but likely the flock of a few only constituted a “mob”, continued their antics while I finished off my second cup of coffee.  One of them landed in one of the dead branches in the eighty or so year old oak tree in my front yard, and began washing up after breakfast.  The beak and face washing consisted of the crow rapidly wiping first the left, and then the right side of its large black beak against the snow that lined the top of the branch the bird was perched on.  I wondered if the morning morsel scored from the neighbors’ garbage was coated with butter, another greasy substance, or maybe sticky frosting as the crow seemed to have to put a lot of effort into the cleanup process. 

As an after thought, I also contemplated if the crow struggled like I did with trying to remember which was the left and which was the right side of its beak. After repeating this face washing multiple times, the crow then began to gulp down beak-fulls of snow it scooped up from around it’s claws, to pass on  to its waiting gizzard, in an attempt to flush away the previously consumed ground up junk-food, or maybe to just stay hydrated.  The bird then flew off, and was eventually joined by the rest of the mob who each in turn eventually took off to apparently participate in more sustainable practices after they grew weary of the their attempts at recycling the neighbors organic wastes from the unclosed receptacle.     

Last Garbage Truck of the Year
as Viewed from Screen Porch.

Eventually, the garbage truck showed up, stopped in front of the overflowing bin, and dropped down the claw-like mechanical grabber around the waiting plastic garbage can.  It was then hoisted up to the top of the trucks trash holding cargo bay, where the white plastic bags and other contents were dumped and combined with the collections from the rest of the community.  The claws of the bin grabber then returned the now empty bin to its resting place at the curb where it was released to wait for the neighbors to retrieve it and refill it with their coming weeks collection of trash.  As the truck drove off to collect more human waste, I worried that the diligent waste hauling humans would have to repaint the logo on the side of their trash truck that proclaimed “Waterman’s Recycling and Disposal”, proudly displayed next to a waving American flag, with the slogan “Keeping It Clean” placed thoughtfully below the flag.    

For we the patriotic consumers who employed Waterman’s to carry away our trash, were informed the previous week that it was no longer cost effective for the company to send a second truck around on the first and third Thursdays of the month to collect what we had for years been convinced was the more valuable separated “recyclable” portion of our trash.  For the coming new year anyway, Waterman’s would be focusing on the more lucrative “disposal” only portion of their business, and we would have to deal with the recyclables, if we so choose, on our own, or return once again to the less environmentally-friendly option of comingling the recyclables with the rest of our trash in the final resting place of the properly designed landfill in somebody else's back yard.   

And with that, I went off to refill my last cup of coffee for the year, in hopes that it wouldn’t overflow, like the neighbor’s garbage bin, and listened to the screeching brakes of the retreating truck as it slowed down to pick up one more batch of disposables from a neighbor somewhere further on down the road.