Recycling in the city of Aspen appears to be on the increase, according to a recent newspaper article.
That sounds like a positive trend, although our recycling rate is still only about half of the national average. And there is the fact that about half of what goes into the Pitkin County landfill is construction and demolition debris, which makes the diligent practice of sifting my own waste stream into its newspaper, magazine, office paper, paperboard, cardboard, glass, plastic, and aluminum can constituents for the recycling container seem a bit anticlimactic.
Can the demolition debris be screened into whichever different materials have potential for reuse? It’s possible, and could add up to 10 years to the landfill’s life, according to solid waste manager Chris Hoofnagle. Maybe those in charge of the renovating, tearing down, building, and re-building could take inspiration from the turkey vulture. In fact, we all probably could, in one way or another.
Turkey vultures return
These supremely mobile scavengers are returning from riding the warm thermals over southern landscapes all winter. I just saw my first one of the spring season the other day above Carbondale, tilting its soaring body back and forth like a lightweight boat in an unsettled blue ocean. Among the different wildlife species around, the turkey vulture is our one strict scavenger. Its red, bare-skinned head is adapted for digging into carcasses and the bird uses its finely tuned sense of smell to locate carrion, which it can locate even under a forest canopy.
What the turkey vulture does in one fell swoop is find what it needs among the “scavengeable.” It is, by ecological definition, a being that recycles through direct reuse.
While our own acts of separating materials from the trash that can get re-processed somewhere else into new products is classic recycling, it’s rather indirect and not very local. In fact, the other two well-known “R’s” of waste reduction, “reuse” and “reduce,” seem to have more homegrown options.
In terms of reuse, composting, consignment and thrift shops, donations of surplus food to those who need it, garage sales, and Freddie Fisher’s legacy of scavenging materials out of the old Aspen dump to use for fixing and creating things — these fit the local bill.
The “reduce” mantra couldn’t be more local. The less stuff acquired, the less that needs to be recycled, reused, collected, or dumped. Bottled water offers a great example. By doing the simplest thing imaginable, drinking tap water, one doesn’t have to buy bottled water imported from elsewhere and figure out what to do with all of the plastic.
I do have to say there is a local aspect to recycling in the form of community contact and mutual good will. Perhaps others would agree, many of whom I see at the Aspen recycling drop-off site as regularly as I might see others at the post office (ugh — that brings up the wasteful nuisance of junk mail, a topic for another column).
Tire sandals
Two favorite images that linger in my mind from travels to other countries are the tire sandals you can find at any market in Kenya (and many other countries, as well, I’m sure), and the aluminum can wallets that I remember seeing in Mexico. Walking around with the same rubber that transports our fuel-guzzling vehicles couldn’t be more ironic and beautiful. And putting money into a wallet made from Tecate cans carries its own symbolic weight.
The turkey vulture would be proud.
Kristine Crandall’s column appears here on alternate Fridays. E-mail her at birke@sopris.net.
