In the little town in Vermont where I grew up, we had a dump. It was on the bank of the Winooski River. Even back then it seemed a bit odd to have a dump located right next to a river. Things were always rolling down the bank into the water; and whenever it rained, a rainbow colored ooze seeped into the river for days. I guess the feeling was that the river was polluted anyway so what difference did it make? Besides, the fish we caught downstream tasted just fine. Winooski means onion in Native American, and the river was aptly named. In today’s vernacular I suppose the river would have been “aromatically challenged.” Back in the day, it just stunk.
Not that the smell discouraged anyone from visiting the town dump, in fact, several people even used the dump to dump (pardon the pun) their garbage. For several more, however, the dump was a gathering place. It was a place of intrigue and high adventure, a virtual treasure trove of great stuff, just waiting to be uncovered. For a boy of ten, there were few better ways to spend a Saturday than exploring the dump. If you got there early, before all the good stuff was gone, there was no telling what wonderful gems of detritus you might discover.
It was important to know and follow the rules, however. I’m not referring to the boring rules written on the sign which greeted you as you entered the dump. I’m talking about the unwritten rules passed down from generation to generation of townspeople, from kid to kid, from vagabond to vagabond.
1 - NEVER VISIT THE DUMP AT NIGHT!
The police might pick you up; and the feral dogs, cats, and rats (are there domestic rats?) didn’t like the competition.
2 - IF IT MOVES, LEAVE IT ALONE!
Duh!
3 - ALWAYS WEAR THICK SOLED SHOES WHEN EXPLORING THE DUMP!
At our dump, the trash wasn’t buried, it was burned, I guess to reduce the pollution of the river. Air pollution wasn’t likely to be a problem (there’s so much air), and most days the prevailing winds blew the soot and smell away from town. You had to wear thick soled shoes to keep your feet from being burned by the embers that were usually smoldering just below the surface.
The dump was eventually closed, and all the trash and treasures buried for eternity. A trailer park (excuse me, a mobile home community) now sits on the “reclaimed” land. It’s a lovely mobile home commuity, with beautiful landscaping, lots of amenities, and a great view of the river. Nevermind the sink holes that pop up (I guess more accurately pop down) now and again, and the pesky non-domestic rat problem.
What’s up with that?
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