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fter college, when I moved back in with my parents in the suburbs, I was all fired up about recycling, composting, and trying to save the earth. This was the ‘90s, before curbside pick-up was commonplace. At that time, I would gather newspapers, cans, and bottles that my dad reluctantly let me store in the garage, load them into my parents’ minivan, and drive over to the recycling center once I had a decent stash built up.
One Sunday, while my parents were at church, I saw that day’s Chicago Tribune strewn all over the couch. Figuring it was part of the recycling pile, I scooped it up, tossed it in the van, and off it went with the rest of the recyclables. Later that day, my dad went looking for the paper. When I proudly announced that I had taken it to be recycled, he stared at me in disbelief. “I hadn’t finished reading it,” he grumbled. Then he said, with the gravity of a judge delivering a verdict: “Your recycling days are OVER.”
At some point, I moved out of my parents’ house and in with a boyfriend. Not only did I continue recycling, but I also set up a compost pile in my tiny backyard. My system consisted of cutting the bottom out of a Rubbermaid trash can, burying it halfway into the ground, and tossing in food scraps like eggshells, fruit peels, and coffee grounds (no cheese or meat/animal bones as that would attract rodents). By occasionally stirring, the worms did their thing, breaking it all down into rich soil. It was great!
What wasn’t great was the boyfriend, so before long I was back at my parents’ house. By then, curbside recycling had arrived, so no more newspaper mix-ups but my dad wasn’t on board with my composting efforts. The sight of a bottomless Rubbermaid trash can among his beautiful flowers and manicured yard? Absolutely not. Determined, I resorted to covert composting – strategically tucking banana peels and vegetable scraps under bushes around the backyard perimeter. It worked fine until I got sloppy. One day, my dad was mowing the lawn and spotted a bright blue Chiquita sticker poking out of the mulch. You can guess the rest: my composting days were OVER.
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