Occasionally, when I walk the roads and streets in Bloomfield Twp., I see the occasional odd piece of trash or recycling that has blown from a homeowner’s bin. I resettle it or shove it into my pocket to dispense of when I get to my destination, either back home, the library, the bus, St. Vincent Center, or Kroger. This morning I buried a crushed robin in a snow mound. I had to use two tree sticks to extricate its frozen body from the street ice. Its bloody red guts were plastered to the slick neighborhood street. A few weeks later I buried a squirrel on Lone Pine; I dug him a cozy hole in a dense snow mound; he looked like he was asleep and dreaming.On Locklin on Union Lake, similarly, I buried another squirrel who had dared to get in front of an aggressive suburban all important driver. It’s still very cold and snowy here. MSU extension has suggested feeding the birds, deer, rabbits due to snow.
I started writing the first draft of my new YA book, ‘Famine Log’ today — part of how we know about our ancient ancestors is through their garbage, Jamestown included. Winter was ‘the starving time.’ So fare thee well good robin. Your rich-burnt-sienna-old-red-firetruck breast will be remembered. Sorry a mean and evil car hurt you, killed you.
On the other hand, sometimes I also find things on a walk that are still perfectly useful, like a cheetah-print scarf, or a pair of orange and white print polyester pants. It’s a form of foraging. These two items I just found recently, both immured in the snow, the former in a chunk of snow on Webster Street in Chicago where my daughter lives; the latter in a snowy alley in Benton Harbor, where I hope to live soon (for a teaching job at Dream Academy). After being washed and dried, both these articles of clothing are wearable and have a cool vintage punk feel.