Trash And Treasures

Bee balm and roses. 
Bee balm is such an interesting plant. Until Liz Sparks gave me some cuttings, I had never really noticed it.

Bee balm! Where have you been all my life? 
 

The bees are drawn to it for sure but no more, and maybe even less, than they seem to be attracted by the African basil. 

Today has just been laid back. I didn't do nothing but I didn't do a lot. I got a few little things done and that felt like enough. Toilets cleaned! Whoo-hoo! Porch plants watered. They are so happy. Two loads of tablecloths and napkins washed, folded, and put away. These are things that I do not mind doing at all. And then of course there was the trash run. I don't think I've ever taken a photo of what our trash depot place looks like. I don't even know what to call it. Not really. Maybe next time I go I'll take a picture of the whole thing for educational purposes. It's pretty much a mess as you might expect. What we dump the actual garbage in, not to be confused with furniture or appliances or big items like rugs or other various and mysterious items, are two big containers which have masher things in them. 
"Masher things" is, I believe, the correct term. 

There's a little shack-like place where the attendant hangs out. It has air conditioning and a TV. Also, a recliner. I believe these things were salvaged from items people dumped. Sometimes the attendant comes out and helps people unload their trash and sometimes he does not. I say "he" although there was, for a week or so, a woman attendant. I have not seen her in years though. She was quite attentive. 
Today I did not see the attendant. I tell you what- I would not want that job even if it paid a whole hell of a lot of money and trust me, it does not. There are lots of flies, it smells atrocious, especially in the heat of summer, and the facilities to relieve oneself is a porta-potty provided by the "Doody Calls" company. 
For some reason, taking the trash is not a dreaded chore for me though. I always drive slowly by the household stuff, looking for things I myself want to salvage and I have found some pretty cool things there. People sometimes leave items they know are still in working order or which someone might actually want to take home on the flat parts of the trash container. When I first moved to Lloyd, I found a bag of vintage bottles that I suppose someone had found and been keeping and then decided to toss. I thought life was going to be far more exciting in Lloyd than I had imagined. I've never seen another such treasure bag. At that same visit, I found something that made me incredibly sad. It was a box of notebooks and loose printed pages of poetry, mostly, written by the author, Connie May Fowler, who had lived here before we bought the house and which I assume she'd left here when she came in and did a ninja-loading of the furniture and possessions she wanted to take with her. She had a truck and helpers and the almost ex-husband was no doubt absent that day for some reason. She had it planned. 
And then he had dumped the poetry. I will admit I read a little bit of it and it made me so sad. It seemed like their love had been pretty sweet at first, and for quite awhile until it wasn't. 
I found proof, when I was cleaning here before we moved in, that he'd not been the most faithful of husbands and just upon meeting him, he was not someone I would have trusted with my heart. 
Hey. We all make mistakes. Or we all learn lessons. Or, whatever. We've all been fooled and had our tender hearts broken. 
Now I don't know both sides of the story but the book she wrote after she moved, "How Clarissa Burden Learned To Fly" definitely tells her side of things. It's a novel set right here in Lloyd in this house and it follows the protagonist for twenty-four strange hours as she discovers and uncovers the realities of her life and marriage. 
Ghosts are involved. 
I've written about this book before. I was so looking forward to it, already living here when it came out but was vastly disappointed. It was just...
I don't know. 
Anyway. Those are two things I found at the dump depot. Some of the bottles I brought home, the poetry I left where I found it which seemed both sacrilegious and respectful of the privacy of a marriage. She didn't value it enough to keep it and he certainly didn't either. Who was I to take possession of something like that? 
I still think about that, though. 
And from what I see online, Connie is a now-happily married woman married to a man with whom she is restoring a house built in 1911 in Maine. He is a carpenter and seems to know what he's doing. I wish them both the very best. 

Boy, did I wander off the rails in that one. 

Mr. Moon went out to set up some solar powered trail cameras at one of his hunting areas. I don't mean that in the sense that he owns the areas, but he has permission to hunt there. Unfortunately, not everything went smoothly and the mission was not completely successful. This year the taking of deer to feed the family seems more important than ever. The price of meat in grocery stores and the distrust in its origins and certifications makes deer meat seem like a better-than-ever option. 

Meanwhile, tonight we are having some grouper made with a recipe I have used before and enjoyed immensely from the NYT's cooking app. 
Coconut fish and tomato bake. 
I haven't made it for while but I have coconut milk leftover from making The Monstrosity. I had the ginger, the limes, the spices, the cilantro and the tomatoes. 
Let's do this thing. 

One more thing I did today is yet another experiment in crow/human relationships. I always read about crows leaving gifts for the humans who feed them and the crows I feed have indeed gifted me. 
But what about humans gifting crows with pretty, shiny things? 
So today, I got out the jar of stones and rough gems we got when we went to a place in North Carolina where we "panned" for treasure. It was such a fun day and we did find a few things that were quite interesting. We all kept our favorites and I have a mason jar of ours in the library. I picked out a smallish, glass-like piece that google-lens tells me is probably quartz. 

And I took it out to one of the stumps where we feed the crows and left it there. I am so curious to see if one of them takes it. 

I really hope so. But if not- well, perhaps a crow's taste is not anything like mine. Who knows? A piece of crinkled aluminum foil might be a better offering but then again, that piece of what is either amethyst or purple glass they brought me (I think) indicates that they do have pretty sophisticated ideas of what is valuable. 
Still, we must consider the rock they left me. 
Oh, it's all just such a mysterious and curious thing. I am not looking for crow love. I do not want to make them pets of any sort. 

But hey...a crow tattoo? 

Nah. Not going to happen. 

Love...Ms. Moon