I had a little help in the third hour of cleaning under the 6th Street Caveman Bridge this week. You can join the cleanup here, or just come down on Saturdays at 10am.
I decided to be a better host and brought cucumber water and grapes. Around noon, since no one had shown up, I offered some to a group that I kept passing between the bridge and my truck, saying no one had shown up, and a nice girl, Chelsea Bledsoe, offered to help. She did for the next hour, which was about as long as I wanted to work on it that day.
I let her use the litter grabber while I used the broom and screen-bottom
dustpan that I got Donnie to make for this project, for sweeping butts off of
loose soil. Then we switched for a while, and switched back.
The first hour, I first cleaned the top, as usual. It was no different than usual, except behind the parapet at the NW end near the Riverside Inn. There was only one piece of trash there this week, a cup hidden deep in the blackberries. Cleaning the bucket-full out of the shielding shrubbery last week might have made a difference.
When I got to the stairs and the tree at the bottom, I was glad to see that the area wasn't nearly as trashy as it was the week before, or even a few days before; I did a bit of work mid-week. My main fear in this project has been that it would get so trashed between visits that we wouldn't be able to make progress. But it takes money to make trash, and most people are not deliberate about their littering; it is subconscious.
As I was cleaning up around the tree at the bottom of the steps, a man who was sitting on the steps was greeted by his arriving friends. "What's up, Mad Dog?" one said. He replied, "My space is being intruded on. Let's go." And he and his friends headed somewhere downriver.
I don't like to intrude, but sitting on narrow steps is inherently rude and is intimidating to some folks, especially tourists. It is one of the reasons that locals avoid the area of the bridge. Unless one is walking to the park from the other side of the river, there is little reason to go there. But I suspect that many walkers cross traffic rather than go down those stairs.
Before I even finished under the tree, I decided to go down toward the river and pick up the food trash that I know gets spread down among the rocks near the drain outlet, a cool place with a nice level concrete surface. From there, I headed downstream a ways, and realized a lot of the trash there was falling from a path above. I went back and took that path, and found more falling from level ground at the top. That was where I found the biggest trash, discarded clothing.
That filled my bucket, and I headed back to the truck, when I found help for the next hour with Chelsea. I had planned to work on the 7th Street Bridge later, but I went home for lunch, had a leftover sandwich, and tasted bad meat in the last bite. I made some slippery elm tea to stop any stomach trouble, but I was weak and gassy for about an hour and stayed home for the rest of the day. Just as well; it was my daughter's birthday.
The first hour, I first cleaned the top, as usual. It was no different than usual, except behind the parapet at the NW end near the Riverside Inn. There was only one piece of trash there this week, a cup hidden deep in the blackberries. Cleaning the bucket-full out of the shielding shrubbery last week might have made a difference.
When I got to the stairs and the tree at the bottom, I was glad to see that the area wasn't nearly as trashy as it was the week before, or even a few days before; I did a bit of work mid-week. My main fear in this project has been that it would get so trashed between visits that we wouldn't be able to make progress. But it takes money to make trash, and most people are not deliberate about their littering; it is subconscious.
As I was cleaning up around the tree at the bottom of the steps, a man who was sitting on the steps was greeted by his arriving friends. "What's up, Mad Dog?" one said. He replied, "My space is being intruded on. Let's go." And he and his friends headed somewhere downriver.
I don't like to intrude, but sitting on narrow steps is inherently rude and is intimidating to some folks, especially tourists. It is one of the reasons that locals avoid the area of the bridge. Unless one is walking to the park from the other side of the river, there is little reason to go there. But I suspect that many walkers cross traffic rather than go down those stairs.
Before I even finished under the tree, I decided to go down toward the river and pick up the food trash that I know gets spread down among the rocks near the drain outlet, a cool place with a nice level concrete surface. From there, I headed downstream a ways, and realized a lot of the trash there was falling from a path above. I went back and took that path, and found more falling from level ground at the top. That was where I found the biggest trash, discarded clothing.
That filled my bucket, and I headed back to the truck, when I found help for the next hour with Chelsea. I had planned to work on the 7th Street Bridge later, but I went home for lunch, had a leftover sandwich, and tasted bad meat in the last bite. I made some slippery elm tea to stop any stomach trouble, but I was weak and gassy for about an hour and stayed home for the rest of the day. Just as well; it was my daughter's birthday.
I probably won't serve cucumber water again; it seems to
be diuretic, and it's a long way to the bathroom, with a lot of trash to clean
up on the way there and back. When one is wearing a Litter Cleaner tunic,
it doesn't do to pass trash. I'll serve lemon water next week.
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