Litter, Litter Everywhere!

 Is it just me, or is our litter problem getting worse? I live on a country road in Maryland, and every day there are more plastic bottles, McDonald’s sacks, beer cans, paper napkins, and Big Gulp containers than the day before.

One of the many ways that plastic trash can affect the health and growth of
wildlife. Photo by Ian Kirk from Broadstone, Dorset, UK CC BY 2.0

Not only is the litter unsightly, it harms wildlife. One of the reasons animals get hit by cars is that they are attracted to roadsides and medians by the delicious smells of our litter. The last couple of times I’ve gone up Interstate 81, a 60- or- so-mile stretch from Hagerstown, MD, to Harrisburg, PA, I’ve noted ten or more dead birds of prey along the median - an alarmingly high number for that amount of space! The median is covered with litter, which no doubt attracts mice, which no doubt attract red-tailed hawks, which are no match for the steady stream of 18-wheelers going down the road at 65 miles per hour.

Food trash on the side of an Arkansas highway

I keep thinking about four possible explanations for all this litter. First, we are eating more and more crap from fast food restaurants and gas stations, which require plastic forks, plates, and cups, and paper napkins. We buy this unhealthy stuff, eat it in our cars, and then pitch it out the window. It makes me sad to think that most of the litter is from completely unnecessary purchases of so-called food that, for health reasons, we shouldn’t be consuming in the first place - and that we’re consuming our meals in our cars instead of at home with our families.

Second, in some places, local governments are providing fewer services, including trash collection. In our rural area, we have to pay for both trash collection and recycling, and they are expensive. Some of our neighbors choose to pay a smaller fee and haul their own trash to the dump. And some people choose to throw their trash on the side of the road: big kitchen garbage bags full of waste, television sets, tires, and all kinds of other things that cost big money to get rid of.

Third, I wonder if the increasing litter is a sign of Americans’ decreasing interest in the social contract. We don’t trust our government, we don’t like our neighbors, we feel this country isn’t giving us enough, and so we don’t mind junking up the roadways, even in our own neighborhoods. Think I’m making this up? I was talking to someone just the other day who said he never used to litter but now he does. His explanation? “I hate this #%!*ing state!”

Finally, I can’t help but think that the litter problem is related to our attenuated relationship with nature. Important books have been written in recent years about how we are spending less time in nature and how that harms us physically, emotionally, and psychologically - especially children. Perhaps people do not appreciate nature as a rich setting that we share with trees and animals and insects and depend on for clean air and water; perhaps instead people see it as empty space, a wasteland that may as well be trashed as not.

What do you think?

Driving My Dad, Part 1

In the last several years of his life, my father and I loved to go on car rides together. I would drive while he would point out landmarks: a creek where people used to be baptized, the location of one of the peach sheds that marked Arkansas’s long ago past as a major peach producer, a hillside thick with cedar trees indicating the presence of limestone. He knew so much about the history and the topography of southwest Arkansas, and I always learned a lot.

These car rides harkened back to many such car rides with him when I was a little girl. I loved to ride in the car, snooze on and off, and stare out the window and daydream as he told me long and (to my child’s mind) boring stories about his work life or a civil engineer’s view on the merits of asphalt versus concrete roadways. (I’ll never forget one car ride adventure, when I was around eight or nine years old. We stopped at a gas station, and I asked if I could have some money to buy some candy. “Sure,” he said and gave me a dollar. A week or so later he asked, “Where’s that dollar you owe me?” A child of the Depression for sure!)

In later years, there was something that frustrated him more and more on our rides together. He would see a brushy fencerow, or a stand of scraggly trees along the side of the road, or a weedy pasture, and shake his head in disgust. “Who would let that go to waste like that? I hate to see it!” he would complain fiercely. “I just don't know why a person or a government would allow that to happen.” That would lead into a discussion, again a civil engineer’s view of the world: rivers are meant to produce power, fields are meant to nurture crops or feed animals or grow pine trees for the local paper mills, and roadsides are meant to look neat and clean and tidy, showcasing good management of shared public property.

I look at those same scraggly places and see sources of food and cover for wildlife, fields that could grow grasses to sustain the breeding of the many grassland bird species now in rapid decline, and roadsides of bee-covered wildflowers and weeds. “But Daddy, what about the wildlife?” I would ask, knowing how much he loved birds and wildlife, too. He would grunt or answer noncommittally and move on to the next topic. I got the message: wildlife shouldn’t get in the way of progress.

Dad’s point of view made me think of centuries of rugged people in America logging forests, diverting waterways, building canals and bridges, and mowing lawns. They saw the land as something to be put to use and managed, something that would help them survive or make them grow rich. And the land and water have given us much. I’ve written previously about how we’ve also developed a preference for mowed yards and careful landscaping, a containment of nature. But it seems to me that we’re realizing now the importance of the scraggly, the unmanaged, the wild.

A few days ago I returned from spending a month in China, where I observed the manifestations of a cultural and historical context that has viewed nature as something to be organized, managed, and brought into harmony. More on that in Part 2. Hint: this photo of a tree-planting project shows neat, weed-free rows of one species of tree, with the same precisely-measured distance between each individual. I think Dad would approve!

The Asphalt Cage

Every morning I have an hour-long commute from rural central Maryland to rural south-central Pennsylvania. This morning I began, as always, with a 10-minute stretch on I-70 East, blinded by the morning sun, battling seemingly angry and demoralized commuters heading to D.C. and Baltimore, before blessedly turning off on back roads, where the mountains and trees soften the sun and the few drivers on the road are a little slower and more relaxed. As I drove past all the familiar forests and pastures and streams and cows and goats and sheep and geese, my body and mind began to relax.

The great German social theorist Max Weber wrote of the “iron cage” of modernity. He was writing in the early 20^th century, trying to envision where Western, capitalist, industrial society was heading. In part, he argued, it was headed toward further and deeper bureaucratization, efficiency, rationalism, and so forth. Where we become social security numbers instead of people, census and poll takers rather than citizens, and people whose time and ability to navigate life are in the hands of low-level state bureaucrats rather than family and community members. Eventually the iron cage will imprison us, Weber argued, taking away our freedom, autonomy, and joy. I think we can all feel that iron cage at times.

But this morning I was thinking of a cage made of asphalt rather than iron. How much of our lives do we spend hurtling down an asphalt road to hell, in danger from the crazy drivers around us, our backs hurting from sitting too long, our only window on nature the little blur of trees and mountains we can see through our windows and windshield? And have you noticed how complex parking lots have become, with divisions and subdivisions and stop signs and arrows marking the direction of traffic? I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been trapped in a shopping center parking lot, unable to figure out which of the exit-like turns is actually an exit that will finally allow me out of the shopping center!

But this morning I was concerned even more with how much of nature is now carved up by asphalt. Take a look at how wide some of our multi-lane roads are now: much too wide for most birds to traverse, too dangerous for deer and other mammals to cross, and effectively cutting an ecosystem into pieces. I just googled some best guesses as to how much of the U.S.’s land surface is paved, and it’s probably around 61,000 square miles: about as much land area as the state of Georgia. As for the portion of the planet’s land surface that is paved, probably around 0.2%. That is small in quantity but potentially huge in effect. And I cannot imagine that this percentage will do anything but grow rapidly as populations swell, development of infrastructure increases around the world, more goods need to be trucked to more places, and urban centers require greater connection to each other and their hinterlands.

A part of me loves to get out in my car and drive. It feels like such freedom! But I fear that the asphalt cage, in addition to its negative effects on us and our lives, is gradually imprisoning nature, taking away its freedom, autonomy, and joy.