As I mentioned in yesterday’s post, animals can camouflage themselves and render themselves easily missed by my pathetic human eyes, but, as it turns out, so can some trash. A brown plastic bag half-buried in dark earth is barely more visible than a toad amongst leaves, and a faded can of strawberry Fanta covered in long, dead grass hides itself as easily as a moth against the bark of a tree. Other bits of garbage are fortunately more obvious, even if it’s a green Heinekin bottle under long blades of similarly green grass and stinging nettles. I see you, brilliant blue Bud Light label, and you, you bag of ranch-flavored sunflower seeds. (To which I say: is that really necessary?)
I also see the curious looks I get from the more regular trail-walkers when they catch me knee-deep in garlic mustard taking a picture of a beer bottle. With my unkempt hair, old rubber boots, and muddy jeans, I’m certain that I look more bag lady than responsible mother. Once or twice I’ve tucked my phone in my pocket and pretended to be birdwatching just to save my reputation. (Because birdwatchers are such exemplary people? I don’t know.) I guess I should hold my head high and just tell them I’m a trash-collector who writes a blog. I just haven’t gotten there yet.