But will it recycle?
Once each month, more or less, my carefully gathered bags of recycling get taken away. I don’t always remember that the “third Monday of the month” actually falls on a predicable date, so I stockpile for another thirty days. And when the truck passes, and my driveway returns to the free of bags state, I heave a sigh of relief.
You see, the truck driver also polices the quality of my choices. Did I put the right kind of paper in the right bag? When is a pizza box not equivalent to a cereal carton? Should that piece really go to compost? I get reminders when my civic action falls short: a huge red sticker, attached to the bag that didn’t get to go away.
This morning, I watched the procedure. All good with the blue bags. Next, that carefully packed carton of cartons. We had rain overnight, so there was a certain soggy tone to the whole thing, and the watchful inspector undid the pile, piece by piece. Finally, accepted for transport. Like a benevolent Santa, he actually waved to me. Guess I’d better be more discreet, next time around.
I know; we have too much material, even in a recycled world. Should I continue to favour the large plastic milk jugs, or opt for the tetra pak which (I think) involves paper treated against lactic acid? Hard to tell, and the big blue bag eases my sense of guilt, every time. I have no intention of getting a dairy herd, and powdered milk (for now) will only serve in the prep of yougurt and bread.
