Another Man’s Waste


Last week and again today I am struck by the effects of other people’s rubbish and how years later it affects us.

I read somewhere as a statistic that all the plastic that ever existed still remains in the world today.

This news saddened me greatly. I wondered how we would ever get rid of it. Although it is only a tiny small step I do try to do whatever I can not to buy anything needlessly wrapped in plastic. Save on bags and reuse everything possible.

I wish I could say that I’m doing my bit, but I feel as though it is a drop on the ocean and that we are all such a long way off.

I digress as usual…

On both occasions I was picking up rubbish in the garden. I would love to turn this place into a healthy garden, but several previous owners and my current neighbour here have some awful habits when it comes to litter and seem to think it’s ok to bury it or just leave it floating around the countryside. Something that makes me really mad. We spend a lot of time picking up other people’s rubbish here.

The house was derelict when we bought it. Those of you who have been reading for a while will know that it is still in a bad state now but we are only one couple on a non existent budget trying to make a difference whenever we can.

Yes I have dreams of off grid eco living off the land. By during today’s clear up I thought I wonder if it will ever be the sort of land which will bear fruit. I was standing in what used to be an orchard and will be once again one day.

I was clearing up the debris of a life which ended in 2001, some16 years ago I thought. For someone who lived off the land, he didn’t think about the effect of his waste upon future generations or inhabitants. I cannot hold this against him really. I did not know the man and I don’t think he really thought about it.

It was pointed out to me that due to the remote location it is not easy to get a rubbish collection up here. But for goodness sake, there are recycling bins in the village and at the end of the track a small village where they would collect it from, so I’m not buying that.

I picked up 6 pairs of leather shoes which were buried along the hedges. Toothpaste tubes, wine bottles and jam jars, cocoa jars and Fizzy pop. Plastic bread bags, probably of brands which no longer exist buried in the ground. But of course as the years go by, ground moves and things reappear.

There was broken Crockery, plates, dishes. Glasses and wine and beer bottles. Plastic containers and that was just from the old boy who lived here. The last owner used this place as a dump. He was a glazier and so the amount of glass that has been shifted from here over the years since we took it over is astronomical. I think we will be unearthing it until the end of time. Just when you think you have found it all, you turn around and find more. There are also rubber, window fittings, metal and plastic all over the place all surrounded by our woodland. What was once a lovely green space was tarnished by waste and is fighting to recover along with our help.

It may sound crazy that I am worrying about the garden in a decidedly shabby house. But I hope that if I sort out the ground around it. It will be usable and things will thrive here again. It costs only the time that we put into it and a whole lot of effort but I hope that it will be worth it.

I have visions of the orchard full of fruit trees, the garden with a lawn and the woods at the back with healthy trees again. The broken pieces of the past finally removed and something new and wonderful will remain for years to come. Even though I have no one to take over the place after my demise I don’t want it to be in a sorry condition for the next person to come along and say “what on earth were they thinking of leaving all this rubbish laying about?”

So today we have recycled the glass jars and window glass we have found so far but we literally have not scratched the surface. Whenever you take or dig anything over, it is as though you haven’t done it all.

The old toothpaste tubes and tin foil and cans have also gone to the recycling and rubbish dump along with a lot of rubber sections used by the glazier. I also found out something interesting. At least four pairs of leather shoes which have not broken down either and a tobacco pouch. The only thing that has rotted down has been the stitching. I wonder if he ever thought that part if his legacy would be found 16 years later after he died, buried in the garden. It probably wasn’t the type of legacy he had in mind at all as a writer and artist his legacy should have been far more artistic.

You can find out a lot about a person from their rubbish, especially when they leave it laying around.

We decided to make a track through the orchard to get to the back unearthing yet more of the same. There will still be trees, more will self seed no doubt and we will find some more to transplant later on. My partner talked about the possibility of a paddock one day. He has a yearning for me to have animals here. I voiced my concern today that we could be picking up glass there for years to come so I don’t even know if it is possible down the line. Maybe with a JCB to skim the top of it all it might, and we would probably lose the orchard in the process and it’s also such a lot of work and expense. It surprises me where we find it all. Around the edges, in the hedges and by the fences around the perimeter. We will have to build new ones later, a huge job (in my eyes) due to the area. But then I am used to a small plot when back South. To a farmer it’s nothing but to a townie, it’s something else entirely.
My years of dreaming of eco living may not be possible on this plot due to it’s previous life.

That saddens me more than I can say.

I thought about my plans to litter pick on the beach when I go back back South but there is so much of that here I am starting on my home ground first.


Tomorrow I will pick up the debris from the trees which were moved and felled and probably get the chain saw out. We need to restock the woodshed which has been seriously depleted on this trip due to the cold nights. Today it was warm and glorious followed by a windy evening and a beautiful red sky so I think we will be in luck for tomorrow.

Natures Way


As you hear the wind through the trees,
Sounds on the ear to entice and tease.
Natures bounty there in the wood,
Planted here for the great and the good.
Will share its branches and bend its bough,
Save some for later, not all needed now.
Leave some behind, to heal and regroup,
Let nature keep you in the loop.
Berries and fruits, there to behold.
What was once a garden of old
And one day, will be so again,
If you take care and do not drain.
The resources it’s happy to share.
While you clamber among it there.

In The Days of Green Ink writing…

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I wonder when it was that I stopped writing in Green Ink, I used to all the time…. Before that it was almost always black, we had to write in Blue when I was at school and from then on I shied away from it, rebelling. Which is slightly odd as Blue is actually my favourite colour. Now more often than not, it is Purple or Pink, I guess they must have run out of Green and I picked up a job lot of coloured ink, I am looking forward to using the Turquoise, it isn’t the same boring old blue.

I do love a fountain pen… I don’t use it often enough now, using it mainly for writing cards or special notes.

I am currently putting the handwritten poems which I have just found from way back when into some semblance of order, well at least in one place on the laptop.
I found them other day, in the bag which I mentioned in a previous post. A total blast from the past. But so many other things in there too along with my old poems, among them a book where I had written recipes, in one place. I don’t remember whether they were favourite ones, or if I had copied them from a newspaper. Some people had scrapbooks for such things, but I have written them out instead.

It is funny how going through this I noticed how, dependent on what I had written and when, my handwriting changed. As I grew up, I did away with the loopy I’s and flamboyant T’s, but from time to time it still maintains a creativity of it’s own. Back when I wrote these, my handwriting was very controlled Probably like the rest of me. The recipes however maintain a different script to that of the poems, following similarities with my writing today as though somehow more relaxed. It is different again now, noticeably so. I wonder what the experts would make of it now if it were deciphered.

The Daily Post – Handwriting