A Styrofoam Bombing on the Riverwalk

8/19/14

Saturday, I started seeing little pieces of pinkish Styrofoam outside the Greenwood dog park as soon as I got out of my truck.  This was obviously purposeful marking of territory.  Styrofoam peanuts are generally found only by main roads, randomly, where they blow out of the top of trash trucks because some people don’t bag their trash before putting it in the can. 

I threw balls for my dog, Petey, and then we headed down to the river at the Greenwood Overlook to cool off and relax, picking up little pieces of Styrofoam along the way.  Whole pieces started appearing as we got to the Overlook and I could see that they continued down the trail, but we went down to the river to check it out first.  The dead deer in the water by the bank that I had reported a few days before was gone.  I did find most of a half-rack of Coors Light cans near the climb out, and a towel up the tree-root ladder, where I investigated because of a cigarette package at the base.  I took them back to my truck, not far, before heading further down the trail.

I would normally visit only this spot along the river on a Saturday morning, since I had a group cleanup under the Caveman Bridge at 10:00 and some refreshments and ice to buy first.  But now, I had to check out the extent of the Styrofoam along the trail and police the lower fishing block and camping spot.   I don’t know or care if anyone sleeps there and leaves nothing; I clean up anything that anyone leaves there, including fire pits.

The pieces of Styrofoam became more numerous as I walked down the trail.  I knew I didn’t have time to pick them up along the way, and just picked up some pieces along the way.  I ran into a lady who mentioned that they had been there for about two days, apparently spread right after my last visit.  The timing may not be coincidental.  I mention the Bridge cleanup on my latest leaflet, and someone using the river walk would be familiar with my cleaning patterns.  I’ve only been getting there about twice a week lately.

When I got to the lower fishing spot at the end of Spruce Street, I found nearly another half-rack of cans, this time mixed Coors Light and Pabst.  It seems that the Coors drinker switched to Pabst.  I hear it’s on sale.

The kind of litter, pink Styrofoam, makes me think that the perp is female.  And I can’t help but connect the Styrofoam to the Coors/Pabst drinker; these are light beers with little hop, and I’ve been picking Coors Light cans up by the half-rack for weeks.  But this is sheer speculation in work that lends itself to forensic thinking.

But what is readily apparent is that this littering was neither accidental nor unthinking.  It was purposeful and aimed right at my litter cleaning efforts, probably in retaliation for cleaning up under the Caveman Bridge.  It appears that this person walked along the River Trail toward the Dog Park, tossing Styrofoam, and started to run out too soon to make it to the Dog Park, so she started crumbling the last pieces to make them go farther.

That Saturday, I had to stop cleaning at that point and get to the Bridge.  Sunday was my day of rest.  Monday, I cleaned along the path to the end of the Wastewater Treatment plant fence before leaving for my 10:30 Networking Toastmasters meeting.  I could see that the Styrofoam continued down the trail, and notified my liason with the City that Parks needed to get the rest.

Along the way, picking up Styrofoam near the blackberries at the edge of the river bank, I found another river access that was not obvious from the trail, about half-way between the two known spots behind the Wastewater Treatment Plant, seemingly recently opened with weed whackers, with steps cut in the bank for easier access.  It has two conglomerate shelves that are currently out of the water, and a deep hole in front of the lower one.  Perhaps fishermen cut the steps; it looks to be a great spot, and unreachable otherwise except by boat.  It was also being used by drinkers, with cans and toilet paper in evidence. 

The Styrofoam Bomber thereby showed me an access I didn’t know about and she did.  They often do this with their litter; I follow it and find amazing things.  When one marks territory with litter, it can lead curious people to one’s hideouts.  That top conglomerate shelf is nice and dry and soaks up the heat of the sun during the day for a warm sleeping surface at night.

Tuesday, I postponed Westholm cleaning to see how far the Styrofoam went, walking Petey further down the trail after our ball-throwing and checking the river spots, which were pretty clean.  There was a fisherman and his buddy watching him.  They were telling me how they pick up litter, as I picked up litter around them.  I get this a lot.  Some I know are lying for my benefit.

Of course I found a few pieces where I had already cleaned; it will take weeks to get all the pieces.  As I walked down the trail I hadn’t cleaned yet, I started finding broken pieces again, within a few feet of the trail, while there were whole pieces further out.  This made me think that Parks had sent a lawn mower along the trail to pick up the litter, which may have picked up some, but broke up others, making just as much or more work picking up the pieces.  I reported it to my liason, our Assistant City Manager, David Reeves, leaving a message.

A few minutes later, I called to report my displeasure with having to pick my way through knee-high blackberries and shrubs that had been cut to that height months previously to retrieve a chip bag lying on the weeds, and got to talk to him.  When he made a joke about punji sticks, I told him about the time on Work Crew, out at the Food Bank Farm, when I fell and nearly got killed by a bamboo stalk cut off about 8” high; it cut my forehead, a few inches above my eye.

A while later, I called him and let him know that I’d found Ground Zero of the Styrofoam Bombing, where she had apparently opened the bag and lost a bunch right off the bat.  There was none apparent past that.  At this point, my bucket was pretty full and it would take another half-hour to pick them up one at a time, so I asked him to ask Parks to get the rest, about 100 feet or so east of the foot bridge on the river side of the path, and headed back to my truck. 

 

This makes a third obviously retaliatory incident connected apparently to cleaning under the Caveman Bridge.  The first was dumping a 3-gallon bucket worth of moldy dog manure on the Caveman Bridge, soon after I started cleaning under it a couple weeks in a row.  The second, soon after that, was dumping a baggy full of push pins and other sharp objects in front of my house.  I didn’t get back there for a month or so, but then started the weekly cleanup under the Bridge.  And now one has attacked my home ground, the River Walk.

The litterers and day sleepers in Riverside Park are not vagrants, for the most part; they are residents, unemployed and disorderly, only some of them homeless.  They like to hang out with their friends in that area, and they like their surroundings disorderly.  They really resent it being cleaned up.  They know that disorderly surroundings repel the orderly and respectable and they like it that way.

Blowback from litter cleaning?

This looks a lot smaller in the photo.  It filled a three-gallon bucket.  It made a very big stink.

July 10, 2014

It’s hard to believe, but some litterers can be possessive about the litter they leave.  They are not discarding it; they are using it to claim a piece of land for their own use, and they get very upset when someone cleans up their stuff. 

Baker Park’s cat lady uses the space behind the bathrooms to feed cats.  She tried to house them there, too, but cardboard boxes and plastic bins were a bit much.  She actually caught me cleaning up her cat food bowls, and we had quite the argument, with her saying she had permission from a city official, and I telling her that that very  official had told me he was no longer going to tolerate it, and does she think that only cats eat that food?  Someone else had told me that a vagrant lady steals it for her dogs.

My housemate, Donnie, was telling me about a person at McDonald’s who keeps eating about 2/3 of each French fry, and then leaves the rest out on the ground outside to feed the birds, where he sweeps them up.  He actually saw her (another old lady) dumping them while he was doing lot cleanup and went right away and swept them up in front of her, which started an argument.  She said she was feeding birds; he told her that the birds don’t eat McDonalds’ fries, and they are not allowed to leave food lying on the ground. 

Likewise, when one cleans campsites, territorial markers and fire pits from the riverside, and calls cops on day sleepers in the brush, one might get a bit of blowback, but it’s not direct, because these people cannot claim charity for animals, only for themselves, and it’s not charity if you claim it; it’s theft.

Sunday, June 29^th, I was heading out to work in Schroeder Park and to clean the Intersection of the Redwoods when I saw what appeared to be a large pile of horse manure on the Caveman Bridge, centered between the first and second arches, against the parapet.  I decided to clean it up on my way back.  I ended up not doing the Intersection, because the bridge needed doing more and I had work to do afterwards.

I parked my truck, got out my signs and such, and took the necessary tools out on the bridge, cleaning up litter on the way.  When I got to the pile, it turned out to be big dog feces, moldy and mixed with dry grass.   Someone must have been filling a dog food bag for a while and dumped it right on the bridge where the tourists cross from the Riverside Inn to Riverside Park.  Stunk to high heaven.

I started to sweep it up into my standing dustpan and dump it into a bag-lined bucket, remembered I should get a picture, and dumped it back out, not spread out quite as far as it had been.  Got pictures from several angles, and started sweeping it up again. 

Our Mayor came along on his bike and asked how I thought horse manure got onto the bridge?  He must have been upwind; I told him it was a big dog, not horse.  Reaching for my most charitable explanation, I said it must have fallen out of someone’s pickup in a dog food bag; they came back, took the bag and left the pile.

But thinking on it since, I can’t see how that could happen.  Things fly out of pickups on curves, not straight bridges.  There is no way that pile could have accidentally landed there.

Yesterday, two strange events occurred, at the beginning and end of my day.  Down at the Greenwood Dog Park, someone had left wet dog food scattered in the turnaround, and big pile of soft dog doo on the sidewalk, along with other litter.  I had to scrape the dried-on food from the pavement with my hula hoe before sweeping it up, and wash the sidewalk with water and a broom after scraping up the dog doo.

A more worrisome kind of littering happened while I was attending the Commissioners Weekly Business Session, the evening meeting on the second Wednesday of the month.  Someone dropped a baggy full of push-pin tacks and other small, sharp objects (glass; hooks; curtain hangers; metal scrap) in front of my house, where traffic scattered it further, including me pulling forward and backing into my driveway.  I spent the next half-hour cleaning up the traffic hazard.  My tires have survived thus far, but the pins could take time to work in.  Fortunately, their shape, which makes them lay sideways, probably kept them from penetrating anything.

I have been displaying my two Litter Cleaner signs in front of my house for two days, since getting the Indiegogo campaign sign made.  Perhaps not a great idea, but they know where I live now, so there in no point in not displaying them.  It’s a busy street and good advertising.

Protesting disorderly drug bans that create black markets means that one offends the more orderly people in society, which is relatively safe.  Protesting the non-enforcement of nuisance codes and taking direct action against disorder means that one offends the more disorderly people out there.  They don’t like people messing with their stuff and cleaning up the marks they make on their world.

#Litter is #tagging, marking the territory of the disorderly:  Contribute to cleaning it at https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/public-litter-cleaning/x/7551098#home/share.

Every Day Not Needed on the River Trail

May 19, 2014

I’ve been having trouble getting to doing all my favorite spots lately, what with starting my day walking Petey along the same stretch of riverfront, and doing extra spring work for gardening customers.  We’ve been finding so little trash along that walk that I decided to do it every other day or so and do White Rocks, Greenwood Dog Park or Schroeder Dog Park on the alternate days. 

Friday is my day of rest, and Petey and I both rest from gardening, long walks and litter cleaning on that day.  Like Sunday used to be, it is the one day that does not vary in that regard.  These Sundays, I do one of these litter walks, and then work on either my yard or my parents’ place, as customers don’t care for Sunday work.

Yesterday Sunday, I actually had to start the day making crackers, as the dough had been in the fridge for 32 hours; I was too tired the night before, after the Rogue River Cleanup (more on that later).  I didn’t get out to walk along the river with Petey until 9:00, and then found my car wouldn’t start.  Apparently I’d left the radio on.  So I called Dad for a jump and watered my potted plants while we waited. 

I drove down to the Harry and David parking lot, put up my sign, and decided to carry my litter grabber and small bucket, though I usually carry only bags when walking Petey.  I picked up the parking lot first, something I started because I don’t want to leave my truck in a dirty lot.  It doesn’t look good. 

But I still don’t like to wear the tunic while walking my dog.  A man asked me if I work for the city; I said that I work for the people of the city, and gave him a leaflet prize.

Do you see that glimpse of pink back there in the shadows? 

We went down to the river at two spots along the trail and found a small bucket full of trash along the river, mostly above the most recent high water in the blackberries, including several returnable cans.  Coming up from the second one and heading for the main trail, I saw color out of the corner of my eye about 50 feet away, along the edge of the mown area, behind a pine tree.  

We went to check it out, and found a pink piece of polyfoam about 18” x 36”, just big enough to lay the main part of one’s body on.  It had been run over with a lawn mower at least twice, getting about a quarter of it torn off and torn up the first time, because I found as I picked it up that a blackberry had grown over the torn portion and rooted; I had to break it to get it loose.  Nearby was a Wal-Mart bag torn and pushed into the blackberries.

I don’t blame the guy on the mower.  On a riding mower, one cannot see such things before hitting them, and he has a lot of mowing to do, and nowhere to put the litter.  He has every reason to expect that the city would send someone after him to pick up the trash he hits.  But the city apparently doesn’t assign anyone to litter pickup alone; it is part of other duties, and thus gets done mainly on the way to other places, along the paved trails.  Out-of-the-way spots don’t get cleaned except by unofficial volunteers.

Obviously, this trash wouldn’t fit in my little litter bucket; I had to go back to the truck for a litter bag that I’d just started the day before at the Rogue River Cleanup.  As I was walking back, I thought that maybe I should move it closer to the trash, and tried to start it.  It tried to turn over, but couldn’t do it.  I’d forgotten how short a drive it was to the park and hadn’t charged it sufficiently.  I decided to finish my walk and hope someone was around to help me start my truck when I got back, rather than have to call Dad again before I was done.

So we left the bucket in favor of the bag, and went back to get the trash.  The grabber made it far easier to pick up the torn pieces of foam.

We headed back to the truck and traded the bag for the bucket again, and headed out.  Forgot the bag with Petey’s balls and didn’t discover it for a hundred yards or so and went back and got it and headed out again.  Ran into a couple of ladies taking a rest on a bench.  Petey insisted on stopping with them and they invited me to set a spell and chat, which I did for a while, until we were all ready to move on. 

There was very little litter at the fishing block or the camping spot near it.  Frequent cleaning has been having a real effect, especially in the hiding spots.

The litter grabber came in handy at the dog park for picking up rocks and picking up and throwing balls; I am a lot more productive when I don’t have to bend over frequently.  I think I will keep taking the grabber.  Even without the tunic, it is easy to see that I am a litter cleaner when I carry a litter grabber.  I am only missing out on advertising my website away from the truck, except for those who get leaflets.

When Petey got two balls in his mouth and wouldn’t give one up, it was time to leave.  We hoofed it back to the truck as fast as we could go and still get the litter along the way.  As we approached the parking lot, there was another couple walking several dogs to their truck, and I asked if they could give me a jump, giving them a leaflet. 

It was quickly done, and I took Petey out of the truck for a walk around the Harry and David shelter, as the day before was Saturday, and I’d been picking up water balloons along the path.  Sure enough, there was a bunch around the shelter, along with other small litter.  Someone had picked up the big stuff and blown the little stuff into the grass, which saved me walking all over within the shelter.

Cleaning litter on my dog walk

I couldn’t do it.  I could not walk my dog and not pick up litter, once it is daylight and I can see it.  It is too painful not to pick it up; I started this as a hobby years ago, while walking my dog, for just this reason.  It’s a compulsion.  I can’t wait for my weekly litter walk around the neighborhood; it bothers me too much.

The doctor told me to double my aerobic walking time in the morning, so I started walking the whole river trail from the end of Spruce, doubling back at the west end, and walking back to my house on Greenwood, trying to ignore the trash along the neighborhood streets, and only pick up along the river trail where it was light.  But it was too long a walk, and it was too painful to walk the neighborhood and not pick up litter, which would take longer still.  At this point, I excepted parking lots in the park for the same reason: because it was too concentrated there and slows me down too much. 

The Harry and David Shelter

But the parking lot and the Harry and David Shelter at the west end of the trail bugged me.  After a few weeks of this, I had to start picking them up.  But doing a lot of stoop work around the shelter only ticks me off, when I’m without my litter grabber.  I don’t mind bending once in a while, but shelters and parking lots have way too much little litter after weekend parties. So I decided to start demonstrating the power of daily cleaning and adopt the shelter area and its parking lot.

I started driving my dog and my tools to the west end of the river walk trail in the Reinhart Volunteer Park, walking the whole trail to the dog park to throw balls, and walking Brownell and through the middle of the park on the way back to my truck, picking up litter along the way.  Walking the river trail every day and visiting riverfront destinations, litter doesn’t build up that much, and I can maintain an aerobic pace, with occasional squats for litter.  

A funny thing happened in the meantime.  My neighborhood became less littered than the river walk, and indeed, less littered than before.  After nine days between neighborhood litter walks, I was walking at a good pace and not seeing much to pick up last Sunday.  Even the problem properties didn’t have much litter.  It seems as though using my sign while working the neighborhood is making an impression. 

Litter wasn't bad, but this is bad at Spruce and Bridge.  Code forbids grass clippings on pavement.

Indeed, as I was picking up litter on a street I rarely clean up, but had 9 days before, the resident there said, “Ricky, we didn’t do that.  It blew in.” 

“It has been windy,” I replied.  “A copy of the latest?” I asked, as I handed him a leaflet that he was happy to accept.

 Rocks on Heather near Spruce, now cleaned up

That day, since things were going so well, I cleaned up a bunch of rocks along Heather, where three out of four yards on one stretch have 1 ½” rock along their frontages.  The rocks have been knocked into the street over the years: black crushed basalt on the corner; grey crushed granite on the next, and grey river rock on the last.  I hate rocks underfoot.  Until lately, I only kicked them down the road.  Now I clean them off the road.

Likewise, when I am at the dog park, I pick up rocks while throwing balls for Petey, gathering them in a litter bag and then dropping them in a dog-dug hole or at the base of a tree.  I twisted my ankle on a rock in a customer’s yard a few years ago; I have moved them ever since. 

It’s very rocky soil; they constantly wash out of the dirt, and will until the grass grows in thicker, which it won’t until it is mulched a bit.  Spreading compost last fall did wonders for the grass outside the fence this winter.  Too bad most of it is seasonal, but an inch or so of yard mulch (composted yard waste, fairly light and fluffy) from Southern Oregon Compost would do wonders for the evergreen perennial grass inside the fence.  Mulch can be a bit messy in a heavily used dog park, but I think we can deal with it through the winter.  The soil is clay silt; it needs organic matter lighten it and feed worms, which love clay.

While the neighborhood was cleaner than usual, it is almost summer, and the riverfront is now the focus of both residents and vagrants.  Two days ago, I cleaned up three bags of trash along the river, as well as a grocery bag full of returnables.  I had to stop leaving returnables in my big yellow litter bags because someone was dumping the bags in the trash cans I put them next to (as instructed) in order to find them.  So now I keep them separate and label the bags “Trash only – no returns.”  So far, so good.

While on my Sunday litter walk, I had an urge to visit the only river camping spot along the route, even though I’d been there the day before.  Sure enough, I found a camp being set up again, with afghans hung for privacy, and scattered litter. 

I’ve also been finding camps being set up in the Harry and David shelter area under the younger evergreens that have branches close to the ground.  People broke off incense cedar branches and hung them in the trees for screens in one place and stuck them in the ground in another.  Following a path broken by the mower I found a third place where big fir branches had been gathered and set up in a lean-to, and two furniture-moving blankets were in a pile nearby.

We all own public property like city parks, and they are there for all to use.  Claiming a personal piece of it by leaving one’s stuff there sullies the view and restricts others in their use of it.  But we are free to clean up the messes left by others.  I reclaim public property for me and you by doing just that.

Spreading Chickweed and pulling Foxtails at Greenwood

Sunday, March 16, 2014

This morning, I had the Greenwood Dog Park to weed, and some chickweed to spread around the wastewater treatment plant property before the city got to mowing it.  Schroeder Dog Park, my usual Sunday weeding, was just going to have to miss out this weekend.  So was the cleaning of the Intersection of the Redwoods, by extension.

After blowing the bark off the path at the entrance of the trail and picking up litter, I went straight to spreading chickweed from areas where it was thick to nearby spots that were still bare compost from what was spread along the trail last fall. 

Where the compost was not too thick for the seed to grow through, a mid-calf-high variety of perennial grass has sprung up thickly to join the perennial rye already there, a joy to see, as anywhere it grows is a place where a foxtail or heron’s bill is not growing and it’s relatively short.  We need more perennial grass and less annual fire and sticker hazard weeds out there.  Compost may well be the way to get it.

I’m spreading chickweed because it crowds out spring weeds; wilts down to a mulch that prevents summer weeds; only drops its plentiful seeds, rather than spreading them; and is exceedingly edible, even when seeding.  It’s a great spinach substitute on a sandwich, salad, or as a boiled green.

I also filled my big weeding bucket, a 15-gallon pot, with chickweed and spread it in places with no good patches nearby.  But that’s a heavy pot, and I ran out of energy fast.

  

I gave up on that pretty quick and took the bucket inside the dog park to pull foxtails from under the locust trees.  Not many were blooming yet, so I only half-filled the bucket, which was pretty heavy with the dirt clinging to the roots.  There would be a lot more dirt to shake off if I didn’t wait until they showed their seed heads, and they would be a lot harder to pull.  So I only pull the ones that are beginning to violate code by blooming.  Our nuisance code tells us precisely the best time to pull most weeds: as they “mature” and “go to seed.”

Green foxtails, closeup, ready to pull.  The dying leaves at the bottom are unusual.

There are fewer loose ankle-twisting rocks in the dog park as I bury them or throw them away; they are natural litter, the disorder of nature in the wrong place, and hazardous to boot.  Likewise, I pick up boards, no matter how small; if it shows man’s hand, artificiality, it is disorderly in the chaos of nature or on our pavements and lawns.

I noticed that some litter actually disappeared from the river path and dog park between the time I walked Petey in the pre-dawn and when I walked down the trail later.  I’ve quit picking up litter while walking my dog because it’s not aerobic and I will do it later, but I’m not the only person who picks up litter while walking the trail.

I’ve left some litter

Thursday, March 20, 2014

Confession is good for the soul.  I’ve left some litter lying in the dog parks when I work there, but I’ve stopped doing that now.

This morning, as I threw away the third water carrier this week, I reflected that there is some litter that even litter cleaners leave, because it seems too good to be litter.  I’ve been leaving gallon or more water carriers that are left by the faucets that are not turned on in the winter.

I started throwing them away a few days ago, when I found two at Greenwood Dog Park.  They were accumulating. 

The day after throwing out the water containers, I found a bowl of dog food by the water faucet.  I don’t know who was thinking what there, but I saw no good coming from it; it went in the trash, bowl and all.  If you want to feed a vagrant’s dog, hand him a little bag of dog food.  Otherwise, you don’t know who or what you are feeding.

This morning, I found a plastic cat food container next to the faucet and water tub, presumably used to transport water.  It went in the trash.  I don’t know what I was thinking, leaving them for so long.  I don’t leave them anywhere else.

A person brings water to the dog park, empties his container, and leaves it next to the faucet, probably thinking he will bring it home.  But he forgets and leaves without it.  Will he pick it up next time?  Maybe; they don’t usually accumulate.  But the containers are always reused containers, usually milk or juice; they are free.  They are made to be thrown away; I may as well do it.

It’s interesting how people will leave clothing that they find on a fence or something where it is visible, in hopes that the person who left it comes back.  Sometimes, they do. 

But if I see the article more than once, I clean it up too.  Vagrants get their clothing very cheap or free, and they tend to discard them when they get dirty, wet, or too hard to carry.  One time, I found a pile of clean used children’s clothing and a plastic sack discarded on the disorderly edge of an otherwise well-kept yard.